Volantis was an ancient city, well learned in its roots. Its buildings and ships were a reflection of older days, days of the Valyrian Freehold. Artur looked out from his place at the prow of the ship, marveling at the grandness of it all. "This is it," he said, with perhaps a little regret. "The last we'll see of any living city, before we plunge into the unknown."

Clayton nodded, "Aye, which is why we oughta eat hearty and bed as many wenches as we can. We can leave a few bastards behind even if we die." Jorje said, "I'd like the oppurtunity to try and collect some rare volumes as well. Volantis is the closest we have to a modern day Valyria. The knowledge held in this city is likely staggering." Tyran Hill looked at the city and said, "We'll have to watch ourselves. Slavers run amok in this city, Thieves and cutthroats of all types. We best watch our step."

Clay turned to Artur and said, "What's our first move then, m'lord?" The last he enunciated with his usual somewhat mocking lilt.

"The records would be a good start," Artur mused, mostly to himself. "I'd have to see them. Tommen must be on one of those pages. It might even say where we're going. Of course, then I'd need permission from the Volantene triarchs . . . " he was shaken out of his thoughts by the ship bumping into the dock with a thud. Shouts and curses were exchanged between the new Triarchy sailors and that of the original Westerosi.

"So sorry, ser," said one of the Westerosi, coming up to the prow. "It's these damn Lysene, ser! They won't row into the docks!"

"Don't bother his mind with your corrupted lies!" spat a Lysene, quickly following behind. "It is the fault of the Westerosi! They insist on ramming into the dock like a Dothrak horse!"

"Enough," Artur said, clutching his forehead with one hand. He was annoyed already. "I'm sure it was merely a misunderstanding between the sailors. If neither ship nor dock is damaged in any way, then nothing done." The two sailors glared at each other, but chose not to say anything.

"Come, Artur Ser," said Calla, touching him on his hand. "Let us be to the city. City is far more beautiful than little ship, yes?" A playful smirk danced on her lips as her eyes turned towards Volantis.

Clay nodded, rubbing Clegane's head, "Aye, let us be off." Jorje pointed out the famed Long Bridge, one of the wonders of the world, and how it connected the two sides of the free city of Volantis. The Halfmaester said, "We're docked on the western end, but we can make our way through the Long Bride to the Black Walls of Old Volantis. Your Lannister connections might come in handy there. It is the nobles of Volantis who would have the answers we seek."

Tyran was already strapping on his bow and his sword, "Let us go then. I'll have the captain take the ship in and see to supplies. If the nobles accept us, we can send for them and have the ship docked in the eastern half. Otherwise we'll have to find lodgings on the western half. Either way, we should leave half the men here to watch the ship and our supplies. The other half can come with us."

Tyran shouted orders to the captain, and a short time later, several Lannister men-at-arms were gathered with Artur's companions. Clay nudged Artur, and grinned, "Lead the way Lannister."

"If you say," Artur said, taking the first nervous step off the boat. There was something about the wood that just felt old. It was like he could feel the years of trade and travel, starting from the hands of the Valyrian woodworkers, imbued in the ground itself by their strange magics. Volantis struck him in a way that Lys didn't, a portal back to the days of the Freehold where Lys was an imitation.

The sights, sounds, and smells of Volantis were a riot of exotic scents and spectacles, heady and exciting to the Westerosi travelers. Jorje looked on in awe, while Tyran kept a sharp eye and had the men form a cordon around them as they walked. They passed through crowds of fishmongers and shouting sailors, the guards jostling away whores and pickpockets both. And everywhere there were slaves. Slaves of all colors, with tattoos that marked what they were for. For every free man, the Westerosi could see five enslaved men.

The Lannister contingent passed through a market, Fishmonger's Square, where everything under the sun was being sold, goods from as far east as Asshai and as far west as Lannisport. But other than the odd merchant, they were the only people of Westeros in the crowds. Clayton gawped as he watched an elephant stomp past on the street, women wearing only silk giggling and laughing from the tower atop the beast as a noble of Volantis sat within.

After an hour of jostling their way through the noisy crowd, they entered the Long Bride. It was even more congested than the port. Even more marvels to observe. All in much less space. They passed between the archways flanked by sphinxes, manticores, and other stone creatures, Volantene guardsmen with tiger cloaks and tiger stripes watching them closely as they passed through.

The buildings pressed in, shops, inns, taverns, parlors, brothels, and all others rising on either side up to great heights besides them, and in the distance they could see the Rhoyne glittering in the sun. Jorje gulped as they reached the halfway point of the bridge and they saw the severed hands and heads of criminals displayed proudly by more tiger guards. The walk took a few hours and Clay whistled, nudging Artur, "No city like this back home, Artur. What do you think?"

No words could describe what Artur thought. The bustle of the Valyrian city stretched out as far as the eye can see, making the entire city come to life. For a second, he could consider his quest done. He had seen the wonders of the children of Valyria, both in the west and east. Is that all one needs in life? Duty, however, calls to his spirit, even in this city of wonders.

"We must speak to the Triarchs of Volantis," he said, trying to focus on the large wall on the far end of the city, where they met. "I will know where Tommen has gone." He began wading through the crowd towards the Black Walls, a singular thought burned into his mind. The crowd proved difficult to maneuver through, and engulfed him like the jaws of a hungry beast. He turned this way and that, but no matter where he looked was either a merchant, guard, or beggar blocking his view. This, combined with the many backstreets and winding turns, meant that when the jumble of people finally spit him out of the other end, he found himself in a dirty alley, with neither the capitol building nor any of his companions in sight. "Clay?" he called out, but was drowned out by the sound of Volantis. That didn't stop him from trying again. "Tyran? Calla?"

The young Lannister had made his way off of the Long Bridge. But the Black Walls and the old city they hid, were shielded by the buildings around him. He could hear the chattering of dozens of languages. But of his companions he heard none. Suddenly there was a scratching on the wall behind him and Artur would turn to see a lanky, dirty man, scraping a knife on the wall of the alley. He grinned at him. More were shambling behind.

Artur would look around and see that he was surrounded. On both sides of the alley, thugs were closing in. Around a dozen in all. The lead man croaked out in broken common, "Westerosi boy, far, home eh? Help? Find way?"

He held out a palm, "Coin. I help."

Artur's eyes darted to the lead, then his compatriots, his mind aflame with panic. Could he fight twelve men? He slowly backed up, and pulled his sword from its rest.

"I have no money," he managed to croak. "Don't fight. You will be killed." If anyone believed his outrageous bluff, they didn't seem to show it.

The thieves eyed the Westerosi boy. He had armor. He had a sword. All they had were rags and daggers. But they had him surrounded and outnumbered. And they looked hungry. The leader snapped out a word in bastard valyrian and two men ran at Artur, one from each side, the rest of them crouching and advancing more slowly.

Desperate, Artur cut at the left and ran. He didn't see the man fall, but he knew what it meant to be cut by a sword. Without armor or a blade long enough to block his attack, there was no way the attack could miss. Artur didn't look back. He couldn't. He dashed down the alley and made a hasty right turn, then another, before turning his head around to see if they followed.

His flight had surprised the thieves and the larger armored man had bowled through several of them as he ran. The one Artur had cut was screaming as his guts fell from his stomach and the thieves ran after him, shouting and cursing as they jostled their way through the alleyways and after Artur. The leader was in the front and shouting the thieves on.

Artur continued to make his flight, knowing well enough that his heavy armor was slowing him down. The lighter thieves were slowly gaining on him, their shouts deafening and getting ever louder. "Clay!" he shouted. Anything is worth a try now. "Tyran! Clay! Guards!"

The gods answered Artur's cries. A figure stepped into view at the end of one of the alleys. It was Tyran. Tyran yelled, "Artur! Hug the wall!" Waiting but a bare second, Tyran strung his bow and let loose an arrow. It lanced through the air and through the brain of one of the thieves. Not even a second later, another arrow was through another thief's neck. Clay appeared alongside Tyran, Clegane by his side, and both of them roared, charging down the alley while Tyran fired another arrow before nocking his bow and making his way to Artur.

The thieves broke and ran, three of them already dead, and the leader turned, only to feel Clegane's jaws wrap around his shin and drag him to the ground screaming. Clay swung his sword and cut a man across his spine, making him double over. The thieves all spread out and Clegane ripped out the leader's throat. Tyran knelt by Artur, stowing his bow, and grabbed his cousins' hand, "Are you alright, Artur?"

Clay sword drawn, stepped back slowly, "Better get out of here. Rats may come back with even more friends." Clegane snarled, mouth bloody, as Lannister guards appeared with swords drawn at the head of the alley, beckoning for Artur to come.

"Fine. I'll be fine," Artur gasped, leaning on the wall with a hand. "I'll feel better when we see the Volantene port records." He detatched himself from the wall, and looked around him, seeing only low buildings and narrow paths. "Where are we?" he asked. "Which way is Old Volantis? Which way is anything?" It seemed that battle and death were determined to follow him on his path to Brightroar. Whatever road the gods have planned for him will not be kind.

The Lannisters closed ranks around Artur and Jorje and Calla were waiting in the street with more guards. Jorje said, "We're in the eastern half of the city. The wealthier district for the most part. But it seems you found yourself to the rare slum here. Something of an achievement actually."

Tyran glared at Jorje and the man coughed, "At any rate, we must to the Black Walls. There we can try to speak to the old families of the city. Perhaps then we can find traces of the Lion King." Clay slapped Artur on the back, "You're alright Lannister. Let's get on." He laughed, "Can't even leave you alone for a minute before somebody's trying to kill you. Perhaps your brother ain't as bad as you thought."

Calla stuck close to Artur, holding his hand and whispering soothing words to him as the party made its' way to the massive Black Walls that dominated the eastern half of Volantis. The great oval of fused black stone rose higher than any other structure in the city, and the Lannister party were to a man, intimidated by the size of the structure, more than two hundred feet in height.

Men could be seen patrolling the walls far above, and on the ground below, on foot, on horseback, and even elephants rode by. Jorje seemed almost reverent, "Behind those walls lie Old Volantis. And the Old Blood of the city. We need their permission to enter. You must make yourself known my lord."

They walked ahead until they were in shouting distance from the walls. A voice, booming from a large horn sounded down, "Who approaches the Black Walls of Old Volantis? State your name and purpose, immediately."

"My name is Artur Lannister," shouted Artur. "Son of the Lord Jason Lannister! We hail from Westeros!" There was some whispering above. Artur hoped they were good. Lannisport, he presumed, would be a well known trading site, and the name of the Lannisters, even as far away as Slaver's Bay, should carry weight with these trading cities. "We wish to meet with the Triarchs!" he added.

There was no answer and for several moments it seemed there would be none. Right at the moment when Tyran was about to speak, a side gate opened and a column of horsemen rode out. At their lead was a man in black armor, a dragon helm glinting in the sun. With him were a few other dragon-armored men, and a large contingent of slave soldiers in tiger cloaks. They surrounded Artur's party, Clay and Tyran placing hands on their weapons as the leader flicked open his helm.

He had the violet eyes of Valyria, and looked at Artur, "Greetings, Ser. I bid you welcome to Volantis. Your arrival was unexpected and has caused a bit of a stir. It's not often a great lord's son arrives here. I am Qavo Maegyr, son of the Triarch. And I was sent to ascertain the purpose of your visit here. Would you call to tell me, why you have come? I had thought you'd be at home, considering there's a war brewing in the West."

"Yes, the war in the west," Artur said. "I am something of a . . . special case. In fact, it is because of the war in the west, among other things, that I have need to meet with your father and his two compatriots. If you would please show me to them." Qavo nodded, then said a few phrases of Volantene Valyrian to a slave near the door. He bowed, and opened the gate, gesturing into the grounds of the capitol building. Artur entered, heart pounding in his chest. What would these illustrious Triarchs think of him?

Qavo's men dismounted, the guardsmen leading them into the Black Wall and to a moderately sized reception hall, outfitted with cushions and couches, with trays of fruit and pitchers of wine. Qavo said, "You may wait here for the moment, while the Triarchs prepare. Then they will call upon you for your audience. Please, rest. The time for talk will come soon enough." There he left them, awaiting the meeting that would define the course of their journey.

The sun was high in the sky when Aegon's small council began convening. The dragon riders had returned and once more, the sons of King Viserys were all gathered in the Red Keep. Aemond One-Eye had been the first to return to court, having been the first to depart. The young Prince entered the council chamber with his trademark smirk plastered on his face, light from the bright noon sun glinting off of his sapphire eye. Aemond's shoulder length silver hair had shone with moisture and sunlight.

The One-Eye nodded tersely to most of the seated counselors, bowing his head more respectfully to his mother and grandfather, and smirking at Cole, before he pulled out a seat to the right of the King's chair, crossing one of his legs over his knee. He had come straight after settling Vhagar, and was still bedecked in his black and gold armor, his black travelling cloak still wet from flying through the deluges of the Stormlands. Grand Maester Orwyle cleared his throat and said, "How was your journey, my prince?"

Aemond shrugged, "Storms hit both when I flew in and out, but I have good news for his grace, whenever he does show up. He will be the first to hear it. And we'll see how my little brother fared in the Vale."

The Sapphire Prince began whistling a tune and waited for his brothers to show themselves.

"Seven hells Aemond can you not sit in silence like the rest of my small council? Its considered respectful you know.", Aegon still wore some of his armor. His ornate enameled breastplate was still on though his pauldrons, vambrace and gauntlets had been removed exposing the sleeves of the fine black tunic he wroe underneath. His leather boots trod heavily and he was peeling off his fine riding gloves as he walked. His short hair was wind swept and wild, the curls spilling slightly over the proud crown of the conqueror that sat on his brow.

Ironrod, Tyland, the Clubfoot, and the Grand Maester all rose to greet him, but Aemond remained seated. The Hand rose as well and Queen Alicent kissed her son on the cheek before he went to take his seat.

His skin while still pale seemd sunkissed, his pale eyes seeming to smoulder in the heat. He walked to his place at the head of the table flanked by his page carrying a jug of fine arbor gold. Aegon took his seat and the boy filled his glass without being bid, the golden liquid shone as Aegon took it up, taking a deep sip before placing it back down.

"Dornish wine is interesting but no substitute for Arbor gold. Aemond, how was Lord Borros and Storms End brother?"

Aemond raised his own glass and smiled at Aegon as it was filled, "Well the weather was shite, as to be expected but I had a very productive trip."

He sipped the Arbor gold, taking his time and letting Aegon wait a bit before saying, "I feel as if we should toast. You have finally received your wish mother, I am to be a married man." Aemond smirked, clinking his glass with Aegon as he let the statement sink in for a moment.

"Lord Borros is with us. Princess Rhaenys and our uncle Daemon came to Storm's End, asking for his aid. They raised quite a ruckus, and I thought our uncle might have tried to have at me in front of all the Stormlords. Borros seemed to take a liking to him. And he definitely enjoyed having royals fight for his favor."

Aemond sipped more wine, "But in the end, your offer was too good for him to pass up, and our dear uncle had to grit his teeth and fly home with what bannermen he could have rallied to his cause.

Aegon grimaced at that, "It seems you may have your wish then Aemond. With Caron and whatever Lords sided with her you'll have an excuse to burn nightsong to the ground. What traitors abound in the Stormlands?"

The One-Eye Prince said, "Lord Toyne and Ser Joffrey Lonmouth's kinsman, the Knight of Skulls both stood up for Rhaenyra, with all of their bannermen. Lord Penrose and the Evenstar were the greatest of those to support Daemon and Rhaenys, and some more lesser houses will follow. They'll have the Straits of Tarth blockaded within short order, I am sure. And I suspect those lords that sided with Rhaenyra will evacuate themselves and their families, with their armies, to either the Sapphire Isle or Dragonstone, as Lord Borros gave them leave to do so before any hostilities began. Staying on the mainland would be too dangerous."

Cole scoffed at the mention of 'the Knight of Skulls', the brother of the now deceased 'Knight of Kisses', by his own hand. Having broken the bones of strongbones, and given the knight of kisses a kiss of his own, it only seemed appropriate he would now have the opportunity to smash the skull of the Knight of Skulls. An opportunity he very much looked forward to.

Aegon's brother grinned then, "But Nightsong will not trouble us brother. I made sure of it. I had a private meeting with Lady Helia Caron, and our negotiations were both productive and intimate. She has taken even more of a liking to me then Borros' eldest daughter. And both are coming to court with Lord Borros himself within the coming weeks. The Marches are firmly in our camp."

He winked at his brother and let Aegon puzzle out the implication for himself. Ser Tyland grinned, while Larys snickered and Orwyle looked embarassed. Ironrod's face was screwed up in concentration as the Lord Wylde tried to decipher Aemond's meaning. Tyland leaned in to him and whispered and the Lord of the Rain House nearly spit out his wine. Ser Otto looked mightily uncomfortable and Alicent winced at her son's behavior.

Throwing his head back in laughter at the unexpected twist, Cole could hardly believe it. "Caron! Helia fucking Caron!" His vulgarity often stood out when he was surrounded by the proper lords of the Small Council. "Gods, of all the women of the storm... Helia Caron. That's a bloody achievement to be proud of." His laughter slowly wound down after his final comment, and he brought a hand to the corner of his eye, wiping away a small tear.

Aegon raised an eyebrow at Aemond as his words began to sink in and Aegons eyes widened. His mouth slowly opened in a combination of surprise and astonishment, before drifting into an amused smirk, "You couldn't have... you can't be serious Aemond? You're making a jest surely?", Aegon began to chuckle but quieted himself quickly, taking several deep breaths.

Aemond shook his head, his white teeth glinting with his grin, "I couldn't be more serious Aegon." He chuckled freely and sipped more wine.

"Well then. It would seem we will need to prepare the Red Keep for quite anumber of visitors. A rather large party from the Stormlands, and Dorne. We will have a crowded court it would seem.", Aegon smiled widely as his own good news was shared in this sly way.

Aemond leaned back in his seat, "I assume you fared well in Dorne then? How did that nest of vipers react when a dragon flew into their midst?"

"Pince Qoren was... less than impressed.", Aegon sneered in his signature frown, "He spent the vast majority of my visit trying to intimidate me. In fact in the next few days we shall be receiving his 'gifts'. A ship with the bones of Meraxes and the body of Queen Rhaenys. He seemed intent on impressing upon me the failure of my namesake in Dorne.", Aegon was clearly sour over his visit.

But he shrugged, "It was not all bad however. I was able to sample quite a bit Dorne had to offer. Cuisine, wine... other delicacies and finerys. Prince Qoren has agreed to an alliace and eventually for Dorne to bend the knee properly. For all his blustering and threats we still come out the victor."

Cole cocked an eyebrow, finally raising his voice after chewing over the information offered to the council by their prince and king. "The Dornish and the Marchers in one city. Never thought I'd see the day. I'll see to it the Dornish aren't left alone with them." Grumbling somewhat, he revealed his own bias toward the Dornish with his biting remark, "Or anyone, for that matter. Fucking vipers."

The Hand nodded, "Best to keep a close eye on the Dornish when there are in the city, both for their safety as well as our own. We wouldn't want some overzealous foot soldier on either side ruining this alliance."

Aemond nodded with a grimace, "Better watch those poisoners and thieves carefully. I say we keep them all in one place and always have swords close at hand, lest they try some Dornish trickery. And they insulted us, we have to find ways to find suitable gifts to repay the favor." The Prince then smirked at his brother, "I'm surprised you didn't catch some disease down there brother. You never know what those Dornishmen are up to."

The Prince cocked his head curiously, "What made them agree to your offer, Aegon? What made those proud Dornishman agree to join us?"

"Damn, damn, damn, damn . . ." Not the most noble thing to say, as a Lord Paramount of Westeros. Jason dashed down the winding halls, searching in vain for the one door among hundreds that lead to where the Small Council sat. In their difference, with each door decorated all in different ways, they looked no different from the last. He, then losing his patience, chose a door at random from a long hall of tens of doors and pushed inside, with Valyrian sphinxes flanking the entry. Eyes stared back at him. Familiar eyes. " . . . One thousand apologies, my lords," he said, nodding his head at the silenced crowd before him. "I . . . seem to have gotten lost."

Aegon seemed to have been about to speak to answer Aemond before Lord Jason Lannister burst through the door, seemingly out of breath and quite late to the small council gathering. Aegon raised an eyebrow at the blonde Lord, his frown accusing and clearly perturbed.

"How good of you to join us Lord Jason... did you have trouble finding the Small council chamber?", he smirked, lightly insulting Lord Lannister. "Please do take a seat. We have much to discuss, including your position on my council. I beleive we require a new master of ships following the... unfortunate death of Lord Beesbury. Surely the Shield of Lannisport may fill the role admirably?", he asked Lord Lannister.

"Erm . . . " Jason muttered, stumbling over his tongue. The last thing he expected when barging into the room was a promotion. "Perhaps, if you would be so kind, would you inform me on the meeting and its topics, before we jump to filling positions tragically lost?"

Aegon frowned at Lord Jason,"Fill you in? Lord Lannister I am afraid any affairs of state you have already missed have been settled. Next time perhaps you can find your way here at a reasonable pace?"

Tyland smiled at his brother and said, "The Prince and the King had just informed us that their missions were a success. And that both Lord Borros of Storm's End and Prince Qoren of Sunspear have agreed to join strength with us. The King was about to continue explaining the deal struck with the Prince of Dorne before you arrived."

Aemond said, "Yes, yes, now that we're all caught up, can we proceed with business? Let's honor Lord Jason here, and my brother can tell me what concessions we have to give to those snakes down south."

"Thank you, Tyland," Jason muttered, then quietly sat down beside his twin. "Nice that my interruption didn't slow anybody down." Dark thoughts ran through his head, as he bore what he knew were the sneers of all present. Tyland nodded at his brother reassuringly.

"Indeed. Aemond if you must know certain... concessions have been promised to the Dornish. They for one shall retain their Princely style, and will marry into our house. Prince Qoren's eldest daughter shall wed Daeron. Ah, and Cole.", the King faced the proud Lord Commander.

"You should become use to the Dornish quickly. Qoren's nephew is to become your squire and, once Knighted, join the ranks of my Kingsguard."

Cole blinked, sitting in disbelief as the King spoke. Not a second after he had finished, Cole spat, "Fuck that. A viper on the fucking Kingsguard?"

Aemond snickered and drank some wine as he watched the two men shout at each other. The Hand made to speak but Alicent put a hand on his shoulder and bade him keep his peace.

Aegon stared Cole down, "Excuse me Lord Commander? Are you disobeying your charge? Remind me, obedience is a part of your vows is it not? Kingmaker or not, you will take Aron Martell as a squire."

Growing rather flustered, his distaste for the idea more than evident as his face turned a deep shade of red, he retorted. "I'm to keep you on the damned throne. A fucking Viper 'protecting' you?! What poison have these Dornish cunts whispered into to your ear. Not two moments ago you spoke of the bones and carcasses they are sending our way, and now you would have one placed permanently by your side?." Pausing to take a breath after the words poured out of his mouth, he added, "I'm not disobeying your orders. I'm pointing out the fucking risk- the fucking stupidity- of having one of them by your side."

When it seemed as though Cole had finished his rant, he found more words as the realisation that he would have to take on a Dornish squire hit him. "Not to mention taking on one of those accursed snakes as a squire! He'll smother me in my sleep!"

Aegon scowled at Cole, the room was deathly silent as he spoke, "If I were aware the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard were scared of the Dornish perhaps I should have turned down your offer of the throne even still. Qoren flaunted the bones of Meraxes and Rhaeny's corpse yes, but he dared not threaten my person. Lords bluster and boast all the time Cole. If you'd rather my Kingsguard remain un-filled and the Dornish remain out of the war by all means say it. Dornishmen or not I don't doubt *you.*"

Biting his lip so fiercly it looked as though he may draw blood, the Lord Commander listened intently to the words from Aegon. "I'm not afraid of kicking their fucking teeth in. Any fool with a sword can break a Dornishman, but that's now how they fight. They fight with poison and deception. They'll stab you when your back is turned and leave you drooling on the floor in a slow, painful death."

"If I may, that sounds like something you'd want on the Kingsguard," Jason said, surprising himself with his comment. "It is not their purpose to make war, but rather to protect the king. It's all in the name, really. And in these times, just before a war, that the kingsguard is needed most. Smart kingsguards, who can protect the king from not only overt dangers, as well as those less apparent." Jason could see the Lord Commander staring daggers at him, but hearing no words of objection, thought he could continue. "Especially in this particular coming war. What better way to convince Dorne to protect the king with a literal Dornishman protecting the king?"

Lord Jasper looked like he bit into a lemon, "I share the same reservations of our Lord Commander. I would be loathe to see a Dornishman wear the white cloak, both because they cannot be trusted and because the white cloaks are an honored institution. We should not sully the white cloak by draping it on a viper." Larys scoffed, "Lord Jason has the right of it. Doubtless the boy was trained to spot subtle assasins and daggers in the dark. He'd be a valuable addition to the King's security. And I shall keep close eyes on him, like all the Dornish, that you can be assured of." The Hand spoke at last, "We will abide by the King's will. And the Lord Commander would do well to comport himself as befits his station."

Aegon paused to sip from his wine. "At least take a measure of the boy. Perhaps he is like those Dayne's, the Swords of the Morning? I understand you apprehension as a Marcher, but as your King I command you overcome this, and you will mold him into a proper member of the Whitecloaks... unless you beleive you are not up for the task?"

Sighing in resignation, Cole had come to learn that no amount of words could change the mind of their king when he truly had his mind set on something. Sucking on his teeth, the expression on his face made clear his contempt for the idea. "I already was looking at some potential additions, fine additions, to your Kingsguard."

Allowing a silence to fill the room as the two men engaged in their war of words, one Cole was well aware he could not win, he finally concluded, "If this is your fucking command." With that, Cole stood and pushed his chair back with the loud screech of wood against the marble floor. The room fell silent, and Cole looked around the table as he considered a final word, but instead only groaned in discontent before loudly hurrying out of the room, the only sound in the silent chamber being his heavy footsteps, and the eventual slamming of a door.

Daeron's depature from the Vale had been much less than he had originally hoped for, but he still remained content with the result. He had stayed true to himself while still placing his heart on his sleeve. If this was the result of what those actions reaped, then there was absolutely nothing he could possibly regret. His only misgivings would be the tension that he had left behind, but that seemed to be mostly unavoidable. He should be thankful that no one needlessly lost their lives over the ordeal. His flight back to King's Landing had luckily been uneventful; he did not think that Rhaenyra would order anything against him quite yet, but he had seen a different side of his half-sister at the Eyrie. It was a side that he didn't care for at all.

His landing in the dragonpit had created quite the rumble within the city itself- there was no true way to avoid detection while riding a dragon, even one as nimble as Tessarion. News of his arrival quickly transferred from tavern to tavern and person to person, claiming that the young prince had returned to King's Landing at last. It wasn't long before he was given missive to head back to the Red Keep. That was fine by Daeron, as it had always been his intention, but he still had something that he wished to do first.

His father was still be kept cool in the Grand Maester's chambers, and that is where Daeron found himself, as soon as the was past the gates of the Red Keep. His brothers had insisted that he join them in the small council chambers, but they could wait, if only a while longer. He was still be worked on by silent sisters, who ignored Daeron's presence for the entire duration of his visit. Only a few weeks ago, the smell itself would have made Daeron gag and clench his stomach, but he stood firm. At a distance, he mumbled to himself, low enough so that only he could truly hear, "Please watch over Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, and Joff." At that, he left the body of King Viserys.

He joined up with Ser Arryk Cargyll, who he had left to guard the door while he paid his respects. The knight trailed behind the Prince as they made their way to the small council chambers, up a series of winding staircases. Upon their arrival, Daeron saw Ser Criston Cole, slam the chamber door behind him, clearly in some kind of annoyed state. Daeron only gave the Lord-Commander a slight bow and smile. "Going somewhere, ser?"

Raising his gaze from the ground toward the young prince as he spoke, Cole remained silent for a while as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly in an expression of his anger. Another fucking dragon, he thought, with little consideration toward greeting Daeron. He began to make his way past the young prince, spitting out his words as he did so, "Yes. You'd be wise to do so as well, before a fucking viper is following you around, waiting to poison your food - or choke you in your sleep." Cole had little time for the prince, or indeed any Targaryen at the present time, and instead focused his attention on Ser Arryk Cargyll, who stood not far behind Daeron. Standing before him for a moment, he told his friend of the news, "A Dornishman. The King's appointing a Dornishman to the Kingsguard."

Ser Arryk raised an eyebrow beneath his crested helm, clearly this news perturbed his Lord Commander far more than the Crownlander Knight, "So he is? Is he a Knight Lord Commander?", he seemed genuinely curious... or was quite good at feigning such.

Releasing the tight grip he held on the hilt of his sword, he jerked a thumb toward his chest. "No. I am to take on the boy as a squire." Muttering various curses under his breath, he snarked at the idea a final time before storming away. "I'll be dead before I see a viper of Dorne alongside our king." As he proceeded to leave with some haste, the thought of being murdered in his sleep by the dornishman crossed his mind, and he shouted back to the duo, "Literally!"

Ser Arryk watched the Lord Commander storm off down the hall. Once he was safely out of earshot he turned to Prince Daeron, "I suppose this means I am to guard the council chambers then?", and smiled genuinely at the young man.

A dornishman in the Kingsguard? Daeron wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but he could only assume that Aegon's time in Dorne had gone well, or as well as it could. He turned back to the sworn knight that was tasked with his protection. "Aye, and in all likelihood, you'll have to come in to rescue me. Stay sharp." He only gave a reassuring half-smile at that, and proceeded to open the chamber doors, and entered the room itself.

Ser Cargyll nodded solemnly as he took his position outside the open doors.

Back in the council chambers, Aegon sighed loudly, and swilled from his glass. "I fear I will need to seek amends with the Lord Commander after this meeting... regardless. We do have other matters. Have we any word from Daeron yet?"

Aemond had been smiling the whole time and said, "Oh he'll be fine. Get him a whore or two and he'll cheer up right away. In fact, I might even send Helia Caron his way when she gets down here." Alicent sighed at her son and drank some wine.

The Prince frowned at his brother and king, "Why does Daeron get a princess and I, a lord's daughter? Granted, said daughter is quite buxom and sure to be a delight once I get her in bed. But the point remains."

"Qorens daughter is closer in age to Daeron. Besides, I felt your personality would fit better to Lord Borros than Qoren. Besides, it would seem you have secured yourself two women, a fair trade I'd wager."

Aemond's expression became thoughtful and he said, "Aye, that is fair. But we have to find that woman a husband now, I don't want to have to deal with her too often."

Tyland spoke up and said, "I believe we can arrange for a gift to the Lord Commander. Something that speaks to him of the regard we hold for him. A worthy offering to a warrior of his stature as well. I can present you with some ideas later on if you wish, your grace."

Aegon nodded, "That would be most appropriate. Seek me after the meeting Tyland. As for Lady Caron... we will find her someone suitable Aemond, but I hope you have not joined the bed of someone who will be... an issue for us."

Tyland nodded and Aemond shook his head, "She will not be an issue. Perhaps we can have her married off to that cousin of hers, Royce." He smirked, drawing out his dagger and flipping it in one hand, "And if she becomes an issue, I'll take care of her decisively."

The Grand Maester grew somewhat pale at the comment, Otto and Alicent both frowned, and Lord Jasper said, "I believe we can safely have her married off to a cousin or a minor Stormlander noble. Any bastard can be passed off as that man's child, providing they are dark of hair. Let us hope her womb does not quicken in any case."

Aemond chuckled, "I'll make sure to take more care in the future. Don't want any more bastards in the family than we already have."

Aegon scowled at his brother for the jape at his own promiscuity, "Yes. indeed. Oh and... please do not take care of anyone Aemond."

The Clubfoot spoke up for the first time, "Indeed. It wouldn't do to have a Prince dirty his hands." Larys looked at King Aegon, "But if Lady Caron does become an issue... what would you have done, your grace? I have certain... contingencies at my disposal that would leave you clear of any involvement."

Aegon nodded at the Clubfoot, who had always unnerved Aegon to some extent, "I'm certain you do Lord Strong... if it comes to it I will inform you but for now lets avoid removing any notably loyal bannermen."

The Clubfoot nodded and Aemond settled in his seat, sheathing his knife, "Where the hell is our little brother anyway? He should be here by now. If we have the Vale with us, we have enough men to force Rhaenyra to submit or crush her in the field. And I'm sure he'd be happy to know he has a Dornish Princess for a betrothed."

Aemond leaned in to Aegon, "Tell me, Aegon, this princess.... was she comely? I've never been with a Dornishwoman before."

Aegon turned to Aemond with a mildly annoyed look, "A true Dornish beauty Aemond. One you will never taste.", he smirked at his brother, "She is promised to Daeron a maiden and shall stay that way until their married.", he scowled seriously at Aemond.

The One-Eye Prince crossed his arms and frowned, "Fine, your grace. I didn't even want Daeron's seconds anyway." He chuckled, grinning, "Although I'm not sure if our brother will even be up to the task. I think he's liable to take flight at the sight of a nude woman. He's always been a bit squeamish hasn't he?"

Before any could answer, all eyes drifted towards the opening of the heavy chamber doors, and the young dragon prince that now stood before them all. Daeron saw that the meeting had progressed quite a bit, though that was hardly much of a surprise due to his own diversions. He had never been to a meeting of the small council, so this was quite the new experience for the prince, but he didn't show it. He only took his place at Ser Criston's empty seat, though he didn't make any move to grab any wine. He wasn't particularly thirsty. "I saw that Ser Criston still carries the white cloak with as much pride as ever." I'm more surprised that it hasn't been exchanged for a black one yet, Daeron thought to himself.

"It's good to see both of my brothers at long last." Those words weren't as true as he wished them to be, but he already gave up everything else so that he could support his brothers, so it may as well be true. His grandfather and mother both stood and came to embrace Daeron one after the other, Alicent holding her son especially tightly and for a good while before letting him go.

Aegon scowled at Aemond as Daeron entered the chamber, normally he put up with Aemond's japes but this one at the expense of Daeron was too poorly timed. He shook his head and turned to his youngest brother.

"Daeron it has been too long! I apologize for the abruptness of all this... I truly wish I did not have to pull you away from the Hightower and your lessons like this.", he clapped a hand onto his young brothers shoulder and met his eyes.

"Desperate times have forced us into these actions, and it speaks well that you have heeded my call. Before any further... business tell me was your flight without danger? How was Lord Hightower last you saw him?", Aegon was concerned for his young brother, as much as he was for all his siblings. Small council or not he would not simply force his brother to obey without catching up with him.

With the years apart, Daeron wasn't sure how well he would be received by his brothers... and he was relieved that he was being given a noticeably warm reception. From Aegon, at least. He had feared that the years apart would turn them into strangers to him. They would have to get along if they were to weather the storm that was about to sweep over all of them. Bickering would not do, and had to be avoided at all costs. Any division amongst one another could potentially be fatal. "I was fortunate to take the necessary precautions so that there is nothing of interest to say about my journey here." Daeron was still overly stiff in this environment. He was still much more used to serving the wine to men who sat at these kind of tables. He figured that it was still some time before he truly became comfortable at sitting on the small council, if he ever was given a permanent seat. "As for Lord Ormund... he is resolute with the task given to him, though he fears that pacifying the Reach will keep his armies away for some time."

Aemond stood, smiling playfully at his younger brother and grasping an arm around Daeron's other shoulder in a manful gesture, "You've grown Daeron, you're almost a man now. Shouldn't be too long before you're making girls swoon." Aemond's sapphire eye glinted at Daeron, "The three of us together again. If only father had been here to see you now. Helaena will be ecstatic. We have a lot to catch up on little brother. I hope our grim cousin wasn't too much of a disciplinarian." Aemond had at turns teased Daeron endlessly and doted on him as the mood suited him, but at least on the face of it, it seemed as if he were greatly pleased to be reunited with his brother. The three of them stood there for a moment before Aemond withdrew with a slap on Daeron's back, "We have good news for you brother, I hope you brought us some."

Aegon nodded at the good news Daeron had an uneventful journey to Kings Landing, but said nothing instead listening intently. It was good to see Daeron was still the same boy he'd been when he departed for the Hightower some years ago. "Hopefully we will have no need of Lord Ormund's armies. Hopefully our half-sister will not drive us to that. And the Vale? I trust no undue harm came to you... how was Lady Arryn? And what tidings do you bring of her alleigance?", the subject had to be brooched, and Aegon hoped against his better sense perhaps that Daeron had been as succesful as himself and Aemond.

"The Vale belongs to Rhaenyra. It seems that the Knights of the Vale were eager to see the crown removed from you head, brother." Or if Rhaenyra ever got her way, your head from your neck.

There was many whispers and trading of glances around the table, as the counselors processed the ill news that came right on the heels of the prior successes. Ironrod was the most obviously enraged, and the Stormlord ground his teeth as Tyland whispered to his brother and the Grand Maester drank from his previously untouched goblet. Alicent and Otto both traded worried glances. The only one who had no visible reaction was the Clubfoot, who sat silently.

Aemond's mood soured quickly, a reaction Daeron was no doubt accustomed to, and Aemond grimaced, sitting down in his chair and pouring more wine into his glass to take a hearty gulp. He scowled at Daeron and said, "Damn our bloated whore of a sister, and that quim-guzzling cousin of hers. I bet all Rhaenyra had to do was give Jeyne a few licks, and now she has some of the finest cavalry in the kingdom at her beck and call."

His lips curled in a sneer at Daeron, "Mayhaps if you wore your hair longer and pitched your voice higher, we could have yet had the Vale on our side. Or we could have just sent our sister. Instead of sending a boy to speak for us."

Daeron didn't react to Aemond's newfound amiable personality, believing it to be too good to be true, and he was right. It would be a welcome sight for once if one his brothers actually surprised him for once, but they were set in their ways, something that constantly worked against him when he desperately tried to get the Vale knights to see reason. But he was placing too much of the blame unto others; it was still his failure, and something that would haunt him if this turned to war, which seemed to be the only direction that this whole ordeal would be heading towards. And now here he was, amongst his beloved brothers, and he was the only one who didn't succeed on the mission he was tasked with. Only a few weeks ago, he never would of thought he would be in such a position. Maybe he was just more suited to speaking with smallfolk and lower nobility, yet he knew that couldn't be true; he lacked a decent deck to play with, and he paid for it. Would he have faired any better if he spoke nothing but lies and made promises that he couldn't keep? At the very least, he was honest and true to himself, and nothing that Aemond could say would make Daeron believe differently.

The both of them had been close as brothers, though not in a way that would make one think fondly back to cherished memories. It was always Aemond's way to belittle or minimize Daeron the best that he could, but he was ultimately thankful for that. Otherwise, how else could he ever resist the urge to smash a goblet in his brother's face? "Lady Jeyne was worried for her position, and there was nothing I could realistically offer her that she couldn't secure under Rhaenyra. Besides, it was a matter of honor- something that matters to... certain people."

Aemond had been drinking from his goblet as Daeron spoke, and at his brother's last remark he slammed it down roughly on the table, a few drops flying from the goblet as he venemously glared at Daeron. Vindictive, mercurial, and petty the One-Eye Prince might have been but none could accuse him of being a lackwit. His grip on the goblet tightened and Aemond said, "Honor? You think honor gets you anywhere in life little brother? It didn't get me Vhagar, the most powerful dragon alive. It didn't get our ancestor the Iron Throne. No, it takes conviction, Daeron. And the will and strength to follow through. Fire and Blood if necessary, as our words say."

The Sapphire Prince smacked his goblet to the side, narrowly avoiding hitting the Grand Maester in the head, "If we want to win, we must do what is necessary. Anything that is necessary. For the family. It'll be might and daring that will see us through this, brother. Honor is for children, dreamers, and singers. If you want to keep your precious honor, go ahead. But I'll do what I have to. One day you'll be glad you have a brother who's willing to do what you won't." This time it was Alicent who seemed ready to speak her mind, but quieted at a shake of the head from her father.

Daeron winced at Aemond's outburst, but quickly regained his composure. He had no intention to be openly intimidated by his elder brother, especially infront of the assembled small council. As his brother spoke, he only rose to his feet to retrieve the goblet that Aemond had so carelessly smacked away, and almost looked disappointed at the wasted wine on the wall and floor. He quickly found himself next to the Grand Maester, asking if the man was alright, only to receive a mumble in response. The old man seemed to know his place, at least in Aemond's presence. Daeron wasn't absolutely sure how to take that. For all his brother's faults, he certainly could take command of the room, albeit not in the same way Daeron could. As Aemond finished, Daeron only gave him half a smile, casting aside the barbs as Aemond had smacked the goblet across the room.

"Would you rather have men toasting us in their halls, wishing us good health? Or have them conspiring with one another, plotting our deaths? If someone can't trust you, believe that you will honor what you say, you will sooner have a knife in you back than their banner in your armies." He strode over to Aemond and placed the now-empty goblet infront of him, subsequently pouring it to the brim with wine. "We should cherish our differences. I have my strenths, and you have yours." Then he pulled very close to Aemond, so that only he could hear him. "But don't make a fool out of yourself."

Aemond stared right back into his brother's eyes with his own. The prince was unused to Daeron being so sure of himself. When they were boys he had been easily cowed by his older brother. Now all in the room could see that was no longer the case. If it had been any other time, Aemond might have been somewhat proud. At the moment, it just peeved him even further, "Love may be what you prefer Daeron, but fear can be just as effective. Fear that we will burn their houses to ashes if they cross us." He took the goblet and sipped before saying, "By the end of this, we will see who is right. But you are correct on one count. Each of us have our strengths. Evidently, one of yours is pouring drinks."

At that last comment, Aemond's fist curled on the table and he whispered back harshly, "Do not name me fool, Daeron, not when your failure is still fresh. If our mother wasn't here I'd take you outside to the training yard and beat you bloody, just like when we were boys. Edged blade or blunted. This will be the last time you can get away with it." When they were young, Aemond might have hit Daeron right there. His brother no doubt recognized the rage, bridling in in Aemond's gaze. But evidently, even the One-Eye knew such an act would make him look ridiculous in front of the small council. Instead he sat back and sipped some more wine, taking a moment to cool down.

Eventually, Aemond's brow furrowed and he looked at Daeron's hip, noticing the absence of his handsomely made sword. Aemond spoke normally and asked, "Where is your sword? The one father gave you. You didn't lose it on the flight did you?"

It was probably unwise of Daeron to needlessly provoke Aemond if he didn't need to, but what happened in the Eyrie was still gnawing at the back of his head, of what he could have done differently, and Aemond openly mocking it didn't help matters any. Only two years ago, he doubted that he would have had the gull to speak to either of his brothers in such away, but he believed that he was well enough past having to walk on eggshells. It was time to be honest, if they were to survive the next few months. With the Vale against them, things were looking much worse, having lost an edge they could have had against Rhaenyra. If she believed that she has the advantage over them, then she'll be more than eager to go to war, a sentiment that he knew that his brothers would be happy to answer.

"I've had two years to practice," Daeron joked as he ruefully glanced back towards the pitcher that was now halfway filled with wine. Despite everything that had happened so far, he could admit that he still didn't care for the taste. No need to bury his sorrows, fears, and concerns with a glass of wine... so long as he could somehow harness them to win this damned war. Even so, it did make him curious if there was any merit to what Aemond said. They were rapidly running out of friends to win over.

Daeron proceeded to grab the pitcher of wine, taking to the side of the room with the rest of it, seemingly ignoring the rest of Aemond's comments. This was the wrong time to be feuding with either of his brothers, and he knew that they were allowed to think whatever they wanted about him. He didn't exactly give them reason to trust him after losing the Vale. He wouldn't terribly mind heading back to the Reach as soon as he could, but as long as he had obligations here, he had a duty to assist his brothers, even if Aemond ended up mocking him all the way through it.

At Aemond's question over his sword, Daeron pondered for a moment if he should lie or tell the truth. With nothing to be gained in a complete lie, it seemed to be an easy enough answer for him. "I gave it to Rhaenyra as a gift to our nephews. Something for them to remember me by." Well, a half-truth, but Aemond didn't really need to hear how Daeron no longer held any interest in carrying a memento of his father around with him. "Oh, and before I forget, my lords, I did not leave the Vale entirely empty-handed. I gained the support of Ser Rolhs Royce, and all knights and freeriders that he can gather." A poor substitute for the might and power of all the Vale, but something was better than nothing; even his brothers had to understand that much.

Aemond grit his teeth at that, "Our nephew left me something to remember him by," he pointed to his sapphire eye and continued, "I would rather you have left our father's sword buried in our sister's wanton womb instead of handing it over to those bastards of hers, so they could sully a memento of our father with those Strong hands." He looked at Larys and said, "No offense meant, my lord."

Larys shrugged, "None taken, my prince. I have little love for Rhaenyra's get either. Whether they are my brother's children in truth or not."

The One-Eye scoffed, "Mark my words, Daeron. One of those boys will take your gift and try their damndest to strike you down with it. Our father gave you that sword, a token of his love. And you fret it away out of some misplaced feelings of affection. The only gifts my nephews would have of me are their lives if they stand down immediately. Take care you remember who your true family are."

Ser Tyland broke the tense atmosphere and said, "Ser Rohls' joining of our cause is good news, despite everything. I understand his family suffered when your uncle attacked the Vale to try and claim Runestone. I imagined those memories and your words are what swung him. And he's said to be a fine knight. His support would be highly beneficial, even if the rest of the Valemen stay with Jeyne. We should offer him high honors when he comes to the capital, for his loyalty."

"Is there any other news from the Eyrie? Did you happen to catch word of what Rhaenyra offered to the Knights of the Vale, my prince?"

"Promises, titles, rewards... where to even begin? It was quite the compelling speech, in truth. Almost made me want to pledge my sword to her. And perhaps I would have, if she wasn't already swinging around my sword, inducting men into some new knightly order that she had made up on the spot." It was more amusing in his head than when he spoke the words aloud, and the councillors would probably find little to no humor in them. It was tough to swallow, and it was good that he had others to finally join him. It could finally get them to realize what they were heading into, though he doubted that it would end up making much difference, even if he nailed it into their heads. "And I would give Ser Rolhs nothing. If it's recognition that he seeks for his loyalty, he can find it upon the field of battle. If not, then he's better off staying with the rest of the Vale." He may have sounded a bit bitter, as it was clear that he still wasn't entirely happy about the state of affairs.

Ironrod leaned forward and said, "Aye, a new chivalric order would likely be very attractive to the Knights of the Vale. Knighthood is as important to them as it is to the Lords of the Reach. Being part of some shining, glorious order endorsed by a Queen would seem a great honor."

The Grand Maester nodded, "You are correct, my lord. Which makes me believe that perhaps, a similar honor could be brought about to reward those Reach Knights who have sided with us. To gain more prestige in siding with the King."

Otto cleared his throat and said, "There was one such order for the men of the Reach. The Order of the Green Hand. Aegon the First destroyed them. But mayhaps Aegon the Second can bring them back to glory." Alicent and many of the other councillors nodded in approval.

Larys spoke up then, "All well and good. But I've heard it from my men at Harrenhal and other whisperers throughout the Riverlands that after Prince Daeron left, smoke could be seen rising from the Mountains of the Moon for miles around. It rained ashes in Saltpans. The roaring of fire could be heard for days. Do you know what happened, my prince?"

Aemond arched a brow, "Mayhaps my brother has more steel in him than I thought. That wasn't you was it?"

"That would be another dubious honor that must be given to our half-sister... and Syrax, of course. One last parting kiss between her and the mountain clans." Torching men in their homes didn't sit well with him, even if they probably did more than enough to deserve it. He could spend all day trying to justify it, but in the end of the day it'd be a lie if someone said that no women or children were caught in the crossfire. Rhaenyra and Aemond had far more in common than either of them would ever admit, none of which were particularly good qualities. "At any rate, only the snows will serve as obstacle for the armies of the Vale now."

"If we manage to organize a parley with her and her supporters, what then? We have nothing to hold over her, nothing that would make her consider anything else than demand our total and unconditional surrender." His plan, as shortsighted as it was, was to get the Vale out of the war, and the message that would send to the rest of Westeros. Alas, he had failed in that endeavor, and they now had an enemy who was emboldened more than ever. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "If only we had a way to gain some kind of leverage over her..."

Aemond grinned, taking out his dagger and twirling it in his hand, "I think you may have something there brother. Well Rhaenyra is likely already safely back home. So are my uncle and Princess Rhaenys. But, I'm sure her sons are in the field for her. Mayhaps we can pay our nephews a visit on dragon back. It'd be good to see Luke again if the gods will it. One of her bastards would be leverage enough."

The Clubfoot said, "Peasants have reported seeing two dragons in flight over the Westerlands. Most likely on their way to the Iron Islands. And one was sighted flying over the Sisters towards the North, and was recently sighted on the Sisters themselves. Reports are conflicting of course and there are several other sightings, but these are the most common and the ones I deem reliable."

Tyland said, "We'd need to send two or three dragons to subdue two riders, and that would mean an intense fight, with someone likely to die. A lone dragon would be easier, but that beast has likely already had time to return to Dragonstone. The two dragons at the Iron Islands might well have returned already as well. The logistics of such a mission would be difficult to arrange. And might prove costly besides."

Orwyle cleared his throat, "Ser Tyland is right. Trying to capture one of the Princes while they're on dragonback would likely mean the death of one of the King's brothers or of one of Rhaenyra's sons, perhaps both. That would put us beyond the point of no return."

Otto said, "It is simply too dangerous. I would be loathe to put my grandsons and the future of the kingdom in such a position without pursuing any alternatives." Alicent nodded, "We have little chance of success and much to lose with such a plan. I don't want to lose any of you to such a scheme."

Ironrod grumbled, "And yet we must do something, if we want to bring Rhaenyra to the table and have her accept surrender."

Daeron didn't care for the idea... too many things that could potentially go wrong, assuming that they even had a shot at intercepting one of their nephews. But what else did they really have that they could possibly do at this point? It seemed as if they were largely running out of possible options, and even he wouldn't recommend organizing a parley at this point. It'd only likely turn into a rerun of what happened to him at the Vale, but this time armies would begin to form the next day. He sighed. This was far and away from the position that he wished that they would be in, but here they were. Was it so crazy to consider Aemond's idea? So many things could go wrong, sure, yet there was that small chance that they could get the one thing that would truly give them an advantage at this venture: a hostage. No, he didn't like the idea of capturing one of his relatives and holding them against their will, but did Rhaenyra give him much of a choice?

"We'd have to get them off their dragons... or sieze someone who isn't a dragonrider." It was a crazy idea, and not even one that was probably worth pursuing. At best, they would have a single chance at pulling something like this off. He looked at the small council table, along with all who were seated at it. "If any of you have a better idea than my brother, now would be the time to speak your mind." If none of them could come up with anything more sensible, he'd personally speak out against Aemond's suggestion. It was just too risky to try to pull off, and just losing one of their dragonriders would severely damage any chances to win this war. And, if nothing else, this was a war that Daeron was now determined to survive.

The Clubfoot said, "Taking one of the the riders would be too dangerous, with too little a chance of success. And Dragonstone is too stout a fortress to attack. Even with dragons. But mayhaps there is another course."

Aemond grunted, "Which is?"

"Send men, diguised under cover of darkness. Sneak into the castle, and spirit away Rhaenyra's younger children, the boys Aegon and Viserys. Either one would do. Both would be a coup. With that we could bring her to the table."

Ironrod grinned, "Yes. Yes. We should send Ser Arryk. He can pretend to be his twin. Get himself close to the boys, and take them away before anyone is the wiser."

Tyland frowned, "If we are discovered, that will destroy any chance of a peaceful resolution. Rhaenyra will not brook any threat to her children, and being unsuccesful would leave us without collateral to shield us from her wrath."

Aemond scoffed, "We sitll have our dragons. That would be enough."

"Still. It would be a huge risk."

The Clubfoot spoke up again, "Any move is a risk. But we can take steps to mitigate them. We can send Ser Arryk. Or perhaps we can reach out to our friends in Dorne and the Triarchy. Sneak thieves and spies are well known to them. We can ask them to intercede for us when they come to attend us in the city. And if they fail, we will have no official hand in it."

The Hand seemed pensive and he finally said, "It may be our only hope of bringing Rhaenyra to the table and ending this decisively but bloodlessly." Alicent said nothing, brow furrowed in thought.

Aegon had not uttered a word since Daeron had revealed Rhaenyra held the Knights of the Vale. The young King had not even touched his glass since the news had been shared. Whilst the small council conversed and planned and his brothers quarreled like children. It was all so much noise to the brooding king. His eyes were pointed downwards and his hands were laced together in thought. He seemed to glower at his cup, the arbor gold within rippling from the activity around the table, his violet eyes shimmered as he stared into that pool of gold.

... War was inevitable... with the Vale Rhaenyra would press her claim. They had all failed and the Realm would bleed. He had failed... after the relative peace during his fathers reign war would come once more to the realms of the Iron Throne, all to decide who would sit upon it. His thoughts strayed to a few days after his father had died... the day Criston had come to convince him to take the crown. How long had it been now? A month? Less? More? Aegon could no longer tell... that day Cole had come to him and he had been writing. The very paper on which he had scrawled now rested in the very small pouch on his belt. He could feel its weight, he had never completed it... he had thought if that each day.

It seemed like an eternity. To any not caught up in the strategies being discussed it would seem the King could hear nothing. However as the clubfoot revealed his design Aegon raised his hand in a call for silence. A call obeyed, as the table fell quiet, awaiting the monarchs words.

"Daeron. Do not blame yourself for the traitors in the Vale. It was always a difficult task, all are aware of Jeyne's friendship with our half-sister. If she is willing to seat a monster like our uncle on the throne simply because she used to titter with a childhood friend then so be it. She has made her choice and shall receive the fate of all traitors. Ser Rohls has the right of it and after this I'll ensure his loyalty is justly rewarded.", he looked up now, eyes fixing upon the men who sat around the table.

"I shall grant him the heads of his traitor cousins and the Lordship of Runestone. Should he fight valiantly of course.", he reclined back in his chair and let out a loud sigh before continuing. "However, with the Vale, a number more dragons at her side and a conqueror for a husband we can no longer cow her into subbmission by overwhelming strength... all actions we now take must be done with the knowledge that war is inevitable. Unless we do something to stop it.", he turned now to the clubfoot.

"Kidnapping my youngest nephews is... distasteful. But without them we have no baragaining chip. Unlike myself Rhaenyra has no restraint when it comes to spilling blood. She would burn this city down if it meant she could rule over the ashes, no better than Maegor... except perhaps her tits.", he joked dryly.

"I will not however trust in unknown cats paws from across the narrow sea. Rhaenyra and Daemon may have will but they lack for wits I think. Ser Erryk is Rhaenyras sworn shield and has been for some years. His face is a common sight to all. It is unfortunate then he shares his face with another. I trust Arryk and his vows, we will refine this plot and have him carry it out... but that knowledge is never discussed outside of this room.", he stared intently at his small council... and finally exhaled loudly.

"Now, my Lords. I am tired and wish to retire for the day. We shall reconvene in a day, and I shall finally hold court properly. For now, leave me... except for you Daeron.", he turned to his youngest brother as he spoke.

Orwyle looked mightily uncomfortable, "Your grace, such a scheme would be..."

Ironrod glowered, "The only thing we can do to stop a war. Short of murder. It is a dirty thing, but it is better than the alternatives. The Knights of the Vale are one of the finest armies in the kingdoms. The Sea Snake's pockets are almost as deep as ours. And whatever else he may be, the king's uncle is the greatest living general. With her dragons, Rhaenyra will feel emboldened. Not to mention what additional houses will declare for her once they hear of the Vale's support."

Larys nodded, "I agree. But I will continue to explore our options and think on how this plan might be refined. I will have a full report ready for the council within the month."

Tyland cleared his throat, "And I will speak to the merchant guilds. The Sea Snake's blockade of the Gullet has eliminated port custom. We must needs look to other incomes. And I will send you a message on what I think can be done to placate the Lord Commander."

The Grand Maester sighed and nodded, "I will return to tutoring the young princes and princess then."

Ironrod stood, "Let us all to our duties then."

The Hand spoke, "Indeed. I'll call this meeting adjourned. I have much to attend to at any rate. Letters to write to the Reach lords. This alliance with the Dornish will not please many. Including Horn Hill. There is much to do, so let us to it."

The counselors stood, to leave, some of them lingering to chat personally with Daeron before departing, Otto and Alicent in particular.

All save Aemond, who finished sipping from his wine glass before grimacing at King Aegon, "I'm not some servant that can be simply sent away, Aegon. If you discuss some critical matter, I deserve to be present. It is I who has done the most to help you keep that crown, more than any here."

Aegon sighed exasperatedly and turned to Aemond, "Indeed. It is therefore good that I do not seek to talk with Daeron about anything of paramount importance. If I was, I'd ask you to stay as well. But after your... childish spat I feel some short time to calm yourself away from our little brother could be beneficial. Unless the topic of Daerons time at the Hightower is particularly interesting to you Aemond? Surely you'd rather spar with Criston or... oh dip your wick in the brothels one last time? You know, before your betrothed and mistress arrive in Kings Landing. We'd hate for people to spread ugly rumours after all.", his eyes seemed to smirk at his brother as the King spoke.

The One-Eye's face screwed up in annoyance and he rolled his good eye, "Oh very well then. If you want to talk intimately like women I won't stop you." Aemond stood and gestured to Daeron, "I expect to see you at the training yard tomorrow little brother. As for today, well perhaps I'll keep our sister company. She might prefer the presence of a man for once." With that last remark, Aemond slammed the door shut and left Aegon and Daeron alone.

After briefly conversing with the departing lords, Daeron allowed Aemond to have the last word. It was best for all if he kept Aemond's frail ego in check, and it would serve neither of them if they kept butting heads with one another. There was a time long ago that he had once idolized Aemond, and perhaps there was still a part of him that still wanted a close bond with Aemond. However, they had both grown into two, far different individuals, and it had happened so quickly that Daeron wasn't entirely sure how to fully process all of it. He'd best learn how to properly get along with Aemond after all this time apart, before their mother ends up locking them both in a room together.

But now he was alone with Aegon instead, and he was the king. It was such a strange thing to imagine, and he wondered who he should regard him as- brother, king, or both? In truth, the matter of succession had never been a topic that Daeron had ever thought all that heavily about before the recent events. He had always figured that things would just work themselves out as they always had before. With their father dead, how could he have ever been so naive? Their half-sister had a dagger pointed at their throats and the intent to use it. Daeron desperately wished that there could be some other alternative, but he had used that same reasoning when he was in the Vale, and look where that had gotten him.

With Aemond finally gone from the room, Daeron slowly travelled the length of the small council table itself, until he found himself a seat next to Aegon. Was there a distance between him and his brother? Perhaps. It had been a long time since they had seen one another, likely before their father had became sick and couldn't travel away from King's Landing any longer. Now they were practically fighting a whole war to keep him on the throne... and it seemed so queer to Daeron that things could change so swiftly. Before he had went to the Vale, he questioned the reasons why he should truly support his brother's claim to the throne. Now that he was back, all that he knew that it was for the best of the realm to keep Rhaenyra away from the throne for as long as possible.

"Your grace," he bowed his head slightly, offering the respect that a king deserved, before continuing, "there was request that Lady Jeyne made of me, before my departure from the Eyrie. I did not wish to say in the company of our brother." Daeron was sure Aemond would have made a scene over it, no matter how Daeron managed to phrase it. "She would have me ask you to put aside you claim and allow Rhaenyra to ascend."

"At this stage, I don't think it's a sensible request to make, after everything that has happened so far." Daeron had already heard the story of old Lyman Beesbury being slain at the small council table, and Daeron remembered him as a man who had given sweets to him when he was only a small child playing in the halls of the Red Keep. No, things could never go back to what they once were. "It would have been remiss of me if I didn't follow through on my promise, and it shows me that she isn't eager to head into war." Though it was clear she was eager enough to ignore neutrality and side with their sister instead, but Daeron wanted to do his best to make light of the whole situation.

"Rhaenyra desires the crown so much that she would fly all the way from Dragonstone to the Eyrie immediately after a miscarriage. She sees the Iron Throne as her birthright... and hers alone. I only hope that you took the crown for a nobler reason." At that, he averted his gaze to the table below.

Aegon seemed quite relieved as the small council door shut behind Aemond, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly as if some weight had been allowed to roll off of them. Aegon had been King for such a short time now, and already he seemed exhausted. As Daeron made his way up the long council table Aegon poured himself and Daeron another glass of wine, pushing his younger brothers in front of the chair at his side. As Daeron came to sit Aegon regarded his younger brother. He had grown so much since the last time they had met... Daeron was growing into a man and stood on the cusp of Knighthood now, of that Aegon was certain.

It was an odd thing to hear himself addressed as your Grace by Daeron, far stranger than when Aemond said it. Watching Daeron bow his head was stranger still, he had never expected such from anyone in his family and yet here he sat, and there Daeron was. Young and horribly uncertain of all that was happening. Aegon smirked as he realized there was little difference in that regard. He quietly listened whilst Daeron spoke of his promise to the Maiden of the Vale.

He was right of course, although setting aside his crown would save much of the realm it wouldn't save anyone the King cared about. Why couldn't it be simple? Why couldn't their father have settled this war years before it began? Questions that no longer had any bearing at all. Even Daeron knew it was an impossible task now. Aegon could feel the regret in his brothers words, the hope in them... such a tone only one like Daeron could ever hold.

He smirked as Daeron questioned his reasons for taking the crown indirectly, and the question nicely led into Aegon's own, "Why do you think I have taken the crown and challenged our sister?", his tone was not acusatory, but truly curious as he sipped the arbor gold from his glass.

"Tell me honestly Daeron. I won't take issue no matter your answer. Unlike our brother I'll not threaten to... 'beat you bloody' was it? At times I think we'd be better off if I banished him to Essoss, Seven know he'd do less harm in the free cities.", Aegon sighed.

Daeron sat in silence as his brother spoke, lifting his head high enough to look at the glass of wine that Aegon had poured for him, noticing the gold tint that everything became as he looked through it. He had abstained from drinking when everyone else had been in the room, and truth be told, he had been definitely stiff and nervous. Now that he was alone in the room with Aegon, there was no more need to erect any barriers, and so he took a large gulp of wine. The wine took no time to fill most of his body with warmth, and he would have went for more if he didn't wish to have a coherent conversation with his brother. He didn't tend to drink often, so he knew that it wouldn't exactly take much to get himself truly drunk.

He just sat there as Aegon decided to turn his question back on itself. Daeron typically hated when people did that, as it just made him feel like they were treating him like a child. However, that wasn't exactly the impression he was getting from Aegon. He had already been entrusted with a critical mission, and was invited to a meeting of the small council when he wasn't even a member. He only wondered how much of that was Aegon's doing, since he could hardly see Aemond or even the other councillors placing such a vast amount of trust in him. Did his brother see something in him, or was he just reading far too much into it?

Daeron looked up, and his dark violet eyes met with his brother's. It was almost surreal how much Aegon looked like their father. As for Daeron, people had said the same to him, but beyond his silver hair and purple eyes, did he really? It was, perhaps, somewhat more comfortable for him to pretend it was his father that he was sitting next to, engaging in another conversation that they never managed to have. In the end, it was only a fleeting fantasy, and he had a small hope that once they properly held the funeral for their father, the feeling would fade. Deep down, he knew that it wouldn't.

"I know that you did not take the throne because you are a man and Rhaenyra is a woman." Or, that is what Daeron hoped. Rhaenyra and Jeyne may believe as much, along with any other woman who feared that their position was in jeopardy ever since Aegon had become king, but that couldn't possibly been the real reason behind all this... chaos. Burning down so many bridges, tearing a family permanently apart... there was a greater reason behind it all.

"At the Eyrie, I had the opportunity to speak with Rhaenyra at great length. Almost more than I have ever had in my entire life." He almost laughed out loud at his words, with how unbelievable that they sounded. How was such a thing possible? It was a question that would be worth asking if he didn't already know the answer to it, and hated himself for knowing it. "I am now more aware of Rhaenyra's true character. She's stubborn... and doesn't love us as her own brothers, if she ever did." Daeron hoped that somewhere, deep within, she did, buried under all the hatred after losing a child and being denied a crown.

"I feel as if she blames us for her stillborn child, as insane as that may sound." He went for his wine once again, but only sipped some of it, to wet his drying throat. "I never truly concerned myself with the succession when I should have. With what I have seen from our sister, I don't know how secure we would have been while she ruled." The corner of his mouth slowing turned into a half-smile full of melancholy. "I would want to believe that you took the crown from Rhaenyra in an attempt to protect us from any possible harm." Any other reason wasn't an adequate excuse, in Daeron's mind.

"As for Aemond... I was being childish. Besides, I may be the one who ends up beating him bloody instead." It was Daeron's attempt at humor, but he had a more pressing issue that was consuming him. He'd need to find himself a new sword.

Aegon chuckled in spite of himself as Daeron spoke of how he'd been childish, "Daeron you are yet a squire and young, you've time left still to be childish. It's a black mark on our brother that he was so very childish. To think he's so thin skinned that you can rile him up. It's disgraceful of a man as old as he.", he shook his head and took another long drink of wine. He watched as Daeron carefully drank his wine, clealry being careful not to overwhelm himself.

It had been some years since Aegon had been forced to pace himself so. It was frankly funny to the King who smiled at Daeron. He reached down to the pouch on his belt and undid its drawstring. He produced a small piece of parchment, small enough to be carried by raven. He placed it on the table and slid it towards Daeron. "It was a day after father died. Mother and grandfather had already tried to convince me to take the crown. Foolish ambition I thought. I was in my own rooms, writing that when Lord Commander Cole visited me. He was... far more convincing. He informed me of the fear that had been in the back of my head.", Aegon frowned as he spoke, his brow furrowing deeply.

If Daeron took up the letter, he would read as follows.

Rhaenyra,

It has been some time since we spoke, and nearly as long since we wrote. I write now to inform you of our father's death. The time has come for your return to Kings Landing. I would advise you return with some speed, my mother wishes me to take the crown and Ser Cole seeks the same. Lord Beesbur-

The letter was cut off early, Aegon clearly having been interrupted.

"I am not... perhaps a great man. But Cole reminded me of our sisters temperment. I believe you were finally privy to it at the Eyrie? Her rage? Black as Balerion, inherited from our father.", he sneered as he remembered his fathers response when his grandsons parentage and claims were questioned by Vaemond Velaryon, true or not. "If she blames us for her rage killing her child so be it, she will see it as anyones fault but her own and that of nature. Rhaenyra never loved me Daeron. Even when we were but children I'm told we hated each other. It was one of the reasons father didn't have us married to eachother. So, the thought of her pettiness and rage, with her atop the Iron Throne and that... power hungry scoundrel Daemon I was afraid.", he looked Daeron in the eyes solemnly as he spoke.

"I feared for my life, the lives of my children, your's and Aemond's and Helaena's. After her we have the strongest claims, King Viserys true born sons. How long would she and Daemon let such threats live when so many oppose her? A year? Less? Cole reminded me of that. Tell me Daeron, would you have done differently? Now that you've seen what she is?"

Daeron was put to ease when learning of his brother's true intentions, and that it wasn't fueled by ambition and selfishness. As for Ser Criston, his mother, his grandfather... that question would still remain. And he wouldn't go out of his way to find out what that truth happened to be, either. Aegon was king, and if this was what he truly believed, then they were already much better off than they could have been. The crown was heavy, he had often heard, so he wouldn't be so conceited as to believe that he would have come to a decision any easier.

He promptly handed the unfinished letter back to Aegon, already appreciative that Aegon found it fitting enough to share with Daeron. Of course, it could have been a fake that was scrawled up before Daeron's arrival in the city, but to what end would that have served? There was no need to convince Daeron of his motivations or reasonings; besides, he was already dedicated to Aegon's cause ever since he turned his back to Rhaenyra and Jeyne at the Eyrie. It was a courtesy that Aegon even felt the need to speak with Daeron in private, and it was certainly an honor that Daeron personally didn't believe that he deserved.

These last few weeks, Daeron had pondered about the relationships that he held with all his family members. More so than he had ever in his entire life. However, he did not wish to place himself on a pedestal, passing the blame of the divide that had grown between their two sides of the family onto other people. It was just as easily his own failure as well, and he could have done more to attempt to heal the deepening wounds, but did nothing. Then, Aegon wouldn't have felt the need to act upon Ser Criston's advice, and Daeron would have still been in Oldtown, enjoying the last whispers of a departing summer.

And from everything that Daeron had heard from Aegon so far, his brother felt much the same, and even so, he was taken aback when Aegon pressed his final question onto Daeron. He wasn't sure what he would have done differently, or if there was any other sensible choice he could have done that would have altered their course into tamer waters.

"I..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say, or if there existed anything that he could possibly say. He looked at Aegon, as he could find the answer from his subtle body movements if not from the words that he had already spoken. It was all in vain. He couldn't just simply take what his brother would do and apply it for himself. He had to look within and search until he came to the only conclusion that mattered. His own.

"I don't know." It wasn't easy for him to admit that he didn't have a definitive answer to something, nor did he expect Aegon to find it as a suitable answer to his question. He didn't want to fight with his sister, even after all the ill things that he had seen from her at the Eyrie. The only reason that he was here was because he loved his brothers and didn't want to see Rhaenyra as queen, but that didn't mean he wanted to fight her, or his nephews, or his uncle who legitimately frightened him. He didn't want to rain fire from above or kill anyone who ended up fighting for his sister. Daeron just wanted things to return as they once were, but he knew that was an impossibility.

"You're already better suited to be king than I could ever hope to be," Daeron admitted. He was glad that the burden would likely never be his to bear. The path that they were on would only lead to death and misery, all because of misunderstandings and good intentions. He gave a sincere smile to his brother, and for once it wasn't half-heartened. With a fire and intensity that was even new to himself, he looked upon his brother and began to speak again. "A few weeks ago, I supported you only because you were my brother. Now... I can't say the same. I want to be apart of creating a better Westeros." Maybe this was him being naive once again, but this was what he truly believed, and he wasn't about to shy away from it.

"Well, it is good to know you will follow me out of more than brotherly duty!", Aegon smiled half heartedly and sighed, another weight seeming to have been lifted from the young king. Simply knowing he was not forcing Daeron to his side, and into something he was ill prepared for.

Aegon smiled at Daeron then, and sat up straight, "However! Not all is bad my young brother I have good news as well! I have successfully negotiated Dorne's peaceful entry into the Seven kingdoms! I have completed fathers work with my diplomacy.", he lifted his glass in celebration, inviting Daeron to do the same. "It is especially good news for us. After Rhaenyra is a problem no longer Prince Qoren has agreed to join the rest of Westeros. We decided to seal this... momentous occasion with another happy event! Marriage.", he smirked at Daeron.

"Not only shall their lands join us, but their blood as well. Qoren's eldest daughter and heir shall be wed to you brother! One day you shall be Prince Consort of Dorne, and I tell you she is a true Dornish beauty Daeron, you will need to keep her close! When the both of you come of age the wedding shall be a wondrous occasion.", he winked and laughed, downing the rest of his wine in celebration. It was clear Aegon was quite proud of himself, and believed he had done Daeron a great service by betrothing him to a Dornish beauty.

Despite Daeron's glass of wine being more than halfway full, he left it untouched upon hearing the news of his unexpected betrothal leave his brother's lips. Marriage had never been a concern of his throughout his entire life, and especially not during these turbulent last few weeks. To say that he was unaccustomed to the opposite sex would be much of an understatement. He had had his own fair share share of crushes, but all of them had been completely one-sided, and all ended without the girl having a clue that he held an attraction towards them. He was useless around pretty girls, stammering and stuttering to such a degree that he was often better off keeping his mouth shut and staying a comfortable distance away.

He had never been foolish enough to have the impression that he'd be able to choose his own partner, but he had still expected that it was still some time before the matter truly needed to be pursued. Early betrothals wasn't exactly a strange occurrence within Westeros, but it had been placed outside of his mind after he was sent all the way to Oldtown as a squire. If anything, he had expected to be paired with one of Lord Ormund's daughter; all of whom Daeron had trouble socializing with and being around. Now, it seemed as if his life was flashing before his eyes.

He wasn't ready for this, or he didn't feel like he was. What if she didn't like him? He didn't want to end up in a loveless marriage; that had always been his greatest fear before his attention transfered to the civil war that was brewing. More importantly, did he truly want to be the Prince Consort of Dorne? In truth, no. He didn't exactly have his entire life planned out ahead of time, but there were many things he had always wanted to do after receiving his knighthood. Among these was the desire to travel the known world, just him and Tessarion, without a care or concern for anything or anyone else.

Was that selfish of him? He wasn't sure, but he knew that he had a duty. Daeron knew that Dorne had its own axe to grind with his uncle, and therefore a self-interest to ensure that Rhaenyra never got her throne. However, He was aware that his marriage to the heir of Dorne was the only way for Dorne to join the rest of Westeros through diplomacy. He couldn't simply discount it... he needed to do his utmost to make it work so that when the hostilities cease, Westeros may be united once and for all. Still, that didn't stop his hands from tremoring, which also had led him to leave most of his wine untouched.

Daeron quickly rose to his feet, his chair making a deafening screeching sound as it was pushed away from both him and the table. It probably looked quite abrupt from Aegon's point of view. "I... am thrilled at the news. If that's all, may I take my leave?" He had his head turned away from Aegon, as he could already feel his face rapidly reddening, and Daeron really wanted to be alone so that he could think on all that he had just heard on his own. Preferably outside of the Red Keep. He had his eyes on the doors, eager to leave the room before his brother managed to catch on and find Daeron's reaction amusing. He felt more vulnerable than he had at any other time in his life. More than riding a dragon through the skies for the first time, and more than his time at the Eyrie, where he stood before his ruthless elder sister, trying to prevent a civil war. It was then that he came to the realization that he was getting embarrassed and nervous over a girl that he had never seen or met. Still, once he got confirmation from Aegon, he began to make his way out of the room, fully aware that he'd have to think on such matters.