A joint fleet? A fleet of the Seven Kingdoms?

Before the cheers in the banquet hall had completely subsided, King Jaehaerys gently placed his hand on the armrest of the throne.

The movement was very light, yet it was like a boulder being thrown into boiling water, instantly silencing most of the noisy hall—all the lords were familiar with this gesture; it seemed that before quelling the Dorne invasion, the old king had pressed down on the armrest in this way to announce the formation of the Dragonstone Fleet.

Queen Alysanne grasped her husband's wrist, her pale purple eyes sweeping across the room with a silent understanding.

Prince Baelon stepped forward from the edge of the platform, the hem of his deep purple robe sweeping across the steps, his gaze landing on Sir Leonno Strong.

Leonno immediately understood, turned around and took a thick parchment scroll from the servant's hands—a scroll with red gold trim, the top stamped with the gold seal of the Iron Throne, and fresh ink stains on the edges, clearly prepared in advance.

"I heard your cheers," Jaehaerys's voice echoed through the horns, even deeper than when he announced the Dragonfire Guardian. "But cheers cannot protect the docks of Seagard, the merchant ships of Lannisport, or those jackals across the Narrow Sea who are eyeing us."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the still-drunk lords. "The Sand Snakes of Dorne, the Ironborn of the Iron Islands, the pirates of the Triarchy —they are never alone. In the secret letter we intercepted last month, the Ironborn longship captains and the Silksmiths' Guild of Lys had already secretly colluded—they don't want to plunder, they want to cut off the sea routes of our Seven Kingdoms and starve our trade!"

The murmurs below the stage instantly rose, even more urgent than before. Earl Lemon Mellist gripped his silver cup tightly, his knuckles turning white; Earl Farman, meanwhile, lowered his head and whispered to his retainer beside him, his face grave.

Taimond Lannister frowned, looking towards Mathos Tyrell, Reach merchant ships frequented the Reach, clearly having noticed it long ago.

"Therefore," Jaehaerys's voice rose again, drowning out all the murmurs, "I have decided to form Seven Kingdoms Joint Fleet!"

These words struck like a thunderbolt, silencing the entire hall. The lords exchanged bewildered glances, even Borros Baratheon stopped his banter with Brandon Stark, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"The Royal Fleet will no longer be confined to Blackwater Bay," Leonno Strong stepped forward, unfurling a parchment, his deep voice clear and powerful, "It will patrol the entire Westeros coast—from White Harbor in the north to Storm's End in the south, from Lannisport in the west, and protect the Crownlands in the east! Each family must send at least three warships and fifty sailors, with Prince Baelon serving as commander-in-chief, responsible for unified command and training; in peacetime, each family's fleet will still be commanded by its own sons, protecting their own seas, and will enjoy a 30% reduction in trade taxes from the royal family!"

The attendants, carrying copies of the parchment scrolls, hurried to the seats of the various lords.

The parchment in the silver tray gleamed with a creamy white light, the rules written on it were clear and legible, with blank spaces left at the end for signatures, and a quill pen dipped in ink placed beside it.

As the feudal lords looked at the regulations before them, the effects of their drinking gradually faded.

Some glanced down quickly, while others subconsciously looked at their allies, about to whisper amongst themselves, when they met a gaze from the direction of the high platform.

King Jaehaerys's purple eyes were as deep as night, while Queen Alysanne's radiance was gentle yet carried an undeniable majesty.

Prince Baelon stood beside the throne, his hand resting on the dragon-patterned scabbard at his waist, his aura as steady as a mountain.

Daemon held Gael's hand, the Glutton skull design on his shoulder armor gleaming coldly in the candlelight, his purple eyes sweeping across the room with a sharpness beyond his years;

Even Viserys put down Rhaenyra from his arms and looked at the lords with a serious expression. Aemma leaned against him, her light purple eyes full of approval.

Even the free-spirited Daemon Targaryen and the married Rhaenys displayed the majesty befitting their roles as "Rogue Prince" and "The Queen Who Never Was."

Pairs of Targaryen purple eyes, bright as cold stars in the warm candlelight, silently enveloped the entire banquet hall.

Just then, a deep dragon's roar suddenly echoed from the seashore King's Landing —it was Vhagar! Immediately following, the Glutton's howl overwhelmed the Grey Ghost beside him, coming from the direction of the hills. From the direction of the Dragonpit, led by Vermithor and Silverwing, came the clear roar of Dreamfyre, the arrogant howl of Caraxes, and the sharp cry of Meleys—

All the royal dragons seemed to respond, causing the candlelight in the banquet hall to flicker violently and the brocade on the stone walls to tremble slightly.

This dragon's roar was not a threat, but a reminder—a reminder to everyone—that the Targaryen dragons were not merely decorations for celebrations, but also a protective force, a backbone for enforcing the King's decrees.

The feudal lords' hesitation instantly lessened considerably. Before the other lords could react, and after a brief glance at the regulations and declaration, the coastal lords of the first Crownlands to act began to speak—

"I, Crab Island, agree!" Earl Bartimos Celtigar was the first to pick up his quill and sign his name on the parchment scroll, the crab-patterned seal of the Crab Island House Celtigar family stamped beside his signature. "Last year, the pirates of the Triarchy robbed three ships of our silk. This Joint Fleet, I've waited five years for!"

"Stonedance will sign too!" Earl Massey smiled as he took the pen, his fingertip tracing the "trade exemption" clause. "Our merchant ships frequently sail the Narrow Sea, escorted by the royal fleet—we couldn't be happier!"

"Sharp Point House Bar Emmon, agrees!" Earl Bar Emmon's signature was crisp and decisive. "Besides the Triads and the Ironborn, even Dornish boats dare to linger in our Massey's Hook waters. They should be taught a lesson long ago!"

The most noteworthy, of course, is our former Master of Ships, Corlys House Velaryon.

When "Sea Snake" picked up the quill pen, even his wife, Rhaenys, glanced at him subconsciously, her eyes filled with surprise. She had no idea that her husband had been prepared all along.

Corlys merely smiled gently at her, his pen leaving a neat signature on the parchment scroll, the seahorse emblem of Tidehead Island clearly stamped. "The House Velaryon's fleet is at the Crown Prince's command at any time."

The decisive statements of the Crownlands princes were surprising; they clearly knew about the matter earlier than the Little Daemon, as well as members of the royal family such as Rhaenys and Gael.

The subsequent statements from the coastal lords fell like dominoes, leaving the remaining lords with no reason to hesitate.

Mathos Tyrell glanced at the "trade exemption" clause in the ordinance and chuckled as he said to Garlan beside him, "We'll be selling more of our Reach wines across the Narrow Sea."

He picked up a pen and signed his name, the gold rose emblem shining brightly.

Taimond Lannister stared at the words "Lannisport," recalling the blazing fire of that summer. His fingers hesitated for a moment, then he finally signed his name forcefully, the golden lion emblem pressing heavily on his skin. "Our fleet in the Westerlands will certainly not hold you back."

Brandon Stark didn't bother to read the regulations, and immediately picked up his pen. "While the longships of the the North may not be as fast as your warships, I imagine the Manderly family of White Harbor will support us. We men of the the North, stretching from Bay of Ice and Sea Dragon Point to Bay of Brightflame in the west, and from Bay of Seals to Bay of Crabs in the east, will certainly not fear any challenge!"

Boremund Baratheon, Yobert House Royce, Lymond Mallister —the lords signed their names one after another. The rustling of quills across the parchment mingled with the distant roar of dragons and the flickering candlelight, creating the most solemn melody of the banquet.

After receiving Daemon's approval, the Marquess Sunderland and his Three Sisters, Earl Borrell, Longthorpe, Torrent, all took up their pens to sign the document.

Daemon looked at the scene before him and gently squeezed Gael's hand with his fingertips.

He knew that this Joint Fleet was not only for countering the Ironborn and Dorne, but also for the future—to resist the counterattack of the Triarchy, and to prevent the Iron Islands and Dorne from escalating, in order to stabilize the foundation of the Seven Kingdoms.

Gael felt his strength, looked up at him and smiled gently, the golden rose crown on her head glittering in the candlelight.

After the last lord signed his name, Leonno Strong collected all the parchment scrolls and bowed to present them to Jaehaerys.

The old king flipped through a few pages, smiled with satisfaction, and looked up at Baelon: "My son, recite the oath."

Baelon stepped forward, took the parchment, and his deep voice, carrying the majesty of the Prince of Dragonstone, resounded throughout the arena through the horns. "We swear in the name of the Seven Kingdoms and of the Old and New Gods of Westeros— "

All the feudal lords rose to their feet, right hands pressed to their chests, their gazes fixed intently on the high platform. "Joint Fleet, protect our maritime borders!"

"By the Dragonfire, blood and fire share the same origin;"

"We will unite to resist foreign enemies, without distinction between you and me;"

"Peace should be cherished and passed down through generations!"

The sound of the oath made the candlelight flicker, and the roar of a dragon came from outside the city, intertwining with the oath, like a war song that transcends time and space.

King Jaehaerys rose to his feet, raising his silver cup. "To the Joint Fleet! To the peace of the Seven Kingdoms! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" The feudal lords raised their glasses one after another, the clinking of silver cups louder than before. Their laughter carried a more solemn tone, less of the casualness of a banquet. The musicians played even more stirring melodies, and the aroma of roasted meat mingled with the scent of ink, creating an atmosphere unique to this oath.

Daemon and Gael clinked glasses, the sweet aroma of mead spreading across their tongues.

He looked at Jaehaerys on the high platform, at Baelon beside him, and at the lords raising their glasses—this banquet was not the end, but a new beginning.

The banner of the Joint Fleet will eventually fly over every sea in Westeros, and in the future, he and the Glutton may lead this banner with the sharpest swords and the most blazing Dragonfire.

The Black Dragon from a century in the future flapped its wings once more, unleashing Storm that swept across the ancient Westeros.

The endless Blackfyre will eventually spread along this enormous Storm to both sides of the Narrow Sea, forming a raging sea of fire, and finally transforming into a giant dragon, connecting the two continents in a great feat.

As night deepened, the lights of the Red Keep remained bright. The lords' laughter and conversation were filled with discussions about the fleet. Some were debating which warship to send, others were recommending their young talents for positions in the fleet, and even Brandon was arguing with Borros about going to deal with the Ironborn.

Only Daemon noticed that Corlys House Velaryon quietly walked up to Baelon and whispered something to him.

Baelon nodded, a sharp glint in his eyes befitting his status as Hand of the King and Crown Prince "Prince of Prince of Spring Dawn."

Daemon knew that there must be a deeper plan behind this Joint Fleet —perhaps it was aimed at the Triarchy, perhaps at the Dornish and the Iron Islands, or perhaps at trade in the Narrow Sea —but whatever it was, he was prepared.

The dragon's roar outside the window gradually subsided, but the candlelight remained bright. This banquet would ultimately become a mark in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, signifying the official opening of a war to protect peace.