The final war council
The council hall on Bloodstone Island was originally the command center of the Triarchy, but it has now been completely transformed by the Joint Fleet.
The captured Tyrosh tricolor flag and the Triarchy's "Three-Headed Chain" flag were nailed to the crimson rock wall; the corners of the flags were charred black by Dragonfire, and several arrowheads still dangled from their edges.
Those were spoils of war from the interception of the Tyrosh scout ship the day before. The purple poison on the arrowheads had been eroded into dark spots by the sea wind, but it still looked somewhat ferocious.
The long table in the center of the hall was made of hardwood from the Summer Isles. As a trophy, the tabletop still bears several sword marks and crossbow holes, traces left by Redib Interlockos during his struggle when he was captured on his own warship.
The Stepstones chart spread out on the table was marked with the Joint Fleet's deployment in red paint:
Grey Gallows was garrisoned by the Marquess Sunderland, along with Lancel Lannister, Garlan Tyrell, and Horas Tully;
Echo Bay was handed over to Earl Bartimos Celtigar, along with Clymont Celtigar and William Manderly;
Bloodstone Island was left to be guarded by Ser Big Horas Redwyne, his nephew William Redwyne, and the three vassals of the Marquess Sunderland: Borrell, Longthorpe, and Earl Torrent.
Each outpost on the map is marked with a small dragon-shaped symbol, representing the support range of the Dragonknight.
Morning light streamed through the stone window, casting diamond-shaped spots of light on the nautical chart. Mixed with the sulfurous smell wafting from the Dragonpit, this became the unique atmosphere of the pre-battle council meeting.
As attendees entered, the sound of boots clattering over the stone slabs was particularly clear. Prince Baelon wore black armor trimmed with crimson gold, his breastplate adorned with a variant of the three-headed Targaryen resembling Vhagar, fragments of greenish-blue dragon scales embedded in the seams—marks left by the dragon protecting its master during the battle with the Tyrosh mercenaries the previous day.
Corlys House Velaryon's silver hair was tied back with a seahorse-patterned headband, and a brass telescope hung at his waist, its lenses still dusted with red rock powder from Bloodstone Island;
Taimond Lannister's golden lion-patterned robe swept across the ground, his gold ring twirling on his finger, his eyes carrying the cautiousness characteristic of the Westerlands.
Daemon Targaryen, unusually well-behaved, sat upright, his jeweled brooch from the previous days pinned to his collar, while the Dark Sister' jewelry was slung across his waist. Yet, he occasionally kicked the table leg with the tip of his boot, revealing a hint of impatience.
The most eye-catching was Racallio Rendon. This "King of the Narrow Sea" had his chains loosened, bound only by a silver rope. His purple and orange striped beard and hair had been combed, but it still couldn't hide the hunchback of his back. He was seated at the end of the table, toying with a sheep bone he had taken from a mercenary. His eyes were full of complex emotions—although he had previously demonstrated his "loyalty," he still felt the unease of being a "prisoner," yet he also harbored a curiosity about the war.
As Daemon walked in, the Grey Ghost quietly followed behind him. The small, light gray dragon scurried along the wall to his feet, curled up into a ball, and occasionally glanced up at the crowd in the hall, its vertical pupils full of vigilance.
The Glutton's dragon roar echoed from outside the council chamber, and a dark dragon shadow swept across the stone window, instantly dimming the light inside and causing Lancel Lannister, standing beside Taimond, to instinctively tighten his grip on his sword hilt.
"Everyone's here." Baelon's voice broke the silence. He placed his finger on Tyrosh's location on the sea chart, his purple eyes sweeping over the crowd. "I've gathered you all here today for no other reason than—this war surrounding the Stepstones is finally coming to an end."
He paused, his fingertip tracing the Echo Bay mark on the nautical chart. "Remember when our Joint Fleet first arrived at the Stepstones, Redib Interlocks laid an ambush? Lys bastard thought he could trap us with ironclad ships and poison arrows, but what happened? His flagship was burned and sunk by the Glutton, and his head hung on the gallows on Bloodstone Island, becoming food for the seagulls."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall, and William Manderly slammed his hand on the table. "That guy's ironclad ship looks intimidating, but it'll break in a ramming! If it weren't for Your Highness's skillful command, we might have really been stranded in Echo Bay!"
Baelon raised his hand to signal for silence and continued, "Later, we conquered Grey Gallows and wiped out the pirate garrison of the Triarchy —those guys tied their captured people to gallows to feed the seabirds, thinking it would intimidate us. But what happened? We burned their ballistae, destroyed their stronghold, avenged our brothers, and even their gold coins hidden under the reefs became our spoils."
His voice rose, carrying the authority of a seasoned warrior: "Then came Crabfeeder" Crahas, with Myr's repeating crossbows and the Three Cities Fleet, boasting that he would feed us to the crabs. And what was the result? His fleet was sunk by Corlys's silver ships, and he himself was captured alive. Now he's still starving in the Bloodstone Island prison, like a sore loser!
Mentioning Crahas, Racallio suddenly scoffed, dropping the sheep bone in his hand to the ground. "That fool only knows how to show off with Myr broken crossbows! Back when he swept through the pirates of the Stepstones, he relied on the sheer number of men from the Triarchy. If he really encountered Targaryen dragon, he wouldn't even have the courage to draw his sword!"
This remark drew laughter from everyone, and even Taimond managed a rare slight smile.
Baelon ignored the digression and turned his gaze towards the Dornish Sea: "The Dorne Sand Snakes also wanted a piece of the pie. Obara Sand led her fleet to raid the Stormlands, burning our villages and stealing our food. And what was the result? Duke Boremund, along with the lords of the Stormlands, firmly established his presence on the Dornish Marches. My nephew, Little Daemon Younger, led the Glutton to burn down Grey Gallows. That Sand Snakes didn't even touch the edge of the Dragonfire before fleeing back to Dorne with her Sun-Piercing Spear Banner!"
Daemon recalled the smoke of battle at Cape Wrath, the stubbornness of Borros when he was injured, and the way Roland chased after the raiding ships. His fingertips unconsciously caressed the amulet in his pocket.
"As for the King of the Narrow Sea, whom the Tyrosh are so proud of"—"Baelon's gaze fell on Racallio, who immediately stopped smiling and sat up straighter under the dignified gaze of the " Prince of Spring Dawn." " Racallio, tell me, when we captured you alive, how many of your mercenaries were still in combat strength?"
Racallio paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Less than thirty percent. The mercenaries in those Disputed Lands saw the situation was bad and wanted to flee long ago. If I hadn't forced them with gold coins, they wouldn't have dared to even approach Grey Gallows. Your Highness's Dragonfire were too fierce, and your silver ships were too fast. We—we didn't lose unjustly."
"Well said." Belron slammed his hand on the table, his voice suddenly rising. "The Rhys, seeing the Three Cities Alliance suffer repeated defeats, have long since given up on fighting. Their silk merchants are still waiting to trade across the Stone Steps, and the artisans of Myr are afraid we'll cut off their raw material supply; the Dornish Sand Serpents have been severely damaged, and the main force of House Martell is still in the Crimson Mountains, unable to spare any reinforcements; only that new Highlord of Tyrossi is still dreaming of annexing the Stone Steps!"
He raised his fist and slammed it heavily on Tyrosh's position on the sea chart. "He used gold coins to win over the mercenaries of the Disputed Lands, used treasure to bribe the pirates of the Narrow Sea, and used land to lure the Sand Snakes of Dorne —and what was the result? The mercenaries were crushed by us, the pirates became our prisoners, Sand Snakes vanished without a trace! Yesterday we just destroyed the Broken Blade Mercenary Company he recruited from the Disputed Lands," those so-called ace mercenaries couldn't even dodge the Glutton's Dragonfire and became fish food in the sea!
The atmosphere in the hall instantly became lively.
The Marquess Sunderland rose to his feet, and his three Earl, Borrell, Longthorpe, Torrent, echoed him, "Your Highness is right! We no longer need to defend! It's our turn to attack! Burn down the port of Tyrosh and let them know the price of offending Westeros!"
"Burn their port!" Roland and Theogood shouted, and the young men of Stormlands echoed their sentiments. Even Lancel Lannister and Garlan Tyrell, standing beside Taimond, couldn't help but nod in agreement.
Merchant ships from the Westerlands and the Reach have long sought to establish trade routes across the Narrow Sea. If they could defeat the Tyrosh fleet, the House Lannister ' gold mines and the Reach's wines would have another sea route.
Even Racallio joined in the applause, clapping a few times before realizing he was a prisoner and quickly stopping, but Baelon noticed.
The prince smiled faintly. "Racallio, you seem to see things quite clearly."
"I just don't want to see that idiot Tyrosh continue to embarrass himself," Racallio retorted, his neck stiff, but unable to hide the agreement in his tone. "That new Grand Prince couldn't even handle bribery properly; he rose to power entirely by killing his predecessor. His foundation is very weak. If you really attack Tyrosh, his nobles might rebel against him first!"
Baelon didn't reply, but instead surveyed the entire arena, his voice carrying a penetrating power. "Gentlemen, I know you're all exhausted after guarding this for so long. But we're not just defending the Stepstones, we're defending the eastern gate of Westeros! If the Tyrosh take this place, our merchant ships will be burdened with heavy taxes, our fishermen will be plundered, and our children will hear the pirate horns at night! Now, the moment of decisive battle has arrived—"
We must take the initiative and crush Tyrosh's final counterattack in their own harbor! Let the Triarchy, and all the Essos city-states across the Narrow Sea, see that the waters of Westeros are not a place for them to run wild! The dragons of Westeros are not beings they can afford to provoke!
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the Dragonknight in the hall— Daemon, Daemon Targaryen, and Rhaenys, who had already moved behind the curtain—before his voice suddenly became impassioned. "Remember! Dignity resides only on the edge of our swords, and truth only beneath the Dragonfire!"
"Dignity lies on the sword's edge! Truth lies in the Dragonfire!" the crowd shouted in unison, their voices so powerful that the stone windows trembled slightly.
Even Racallio, forgetting his own identity, joined in, swinging his fists, his purple and orange striped hair and beard dancing wildly in the wind;
The Grey Ghost was startled by the commotion, but it still cooperated, letting out a low groan towards the air, as if responding to the shouts of the crowd.
Once the cheers subsided, Corlys House Velaryon stepped forward, placed the brass binoculars at his waist on the nautical chart, and traced the deployment marks of the Joint Fleet with his fingertips. "Now let's settle the score."
The Joint Fleet currently has 120 main large warships at its disposal, 15 of the Royal Fleet, 20 House Velaryon and Celtigar silver ships, 25 Stormlands longships, 10 the North Longships, 10 Westerlands Heavy Ships, 20 Reach and Riverlands fast ships, and 20 ships from the Vale and the Three Sisters.
After deducting the thirty ships currently stationed at Grey Gallows, Echo Bay, and Bloodstone Island, there are still ninety main battleships available for deployment.
He paused, then pointed in the direction of Tyrosh: "According to intelligence, we have also ascertained the remaining forty fast ships that Lord Tyrosh can currently mobilize, most of which were repaired after being damaged by us previously;
There are about two thousand mercenaries left in the Disputed Lands, most of whom are stragglers who have never fought a hard battle;
The pirates of the Narrow Sea numbered around three hundred, living by plundering and completely lacking discipline.
As for his allies, although Governor Lys accepted his gold coins, he only sent five empty ships to deal with them;
The Council of Myr directly refused to send troops, saying they did not want to pay the price for the Tyrosh's ambitions.
The Dornish Sand Serpents are too preoccupied with their own problems to even deliver on their promised support.
Myles Rivers, who was attending the meeting with Daemon, scratched his head and asked, "Lord Corlys, I have a question— Tyrosh is just a city-state of Essos, why is it so determined to fight the Stepstones? Even if we occupy them, will it really have that much of an impact on them?"
"Of course it's big." Corlys picked up his pen and drew a route from Tyrosh to the Disputed Lands on the nautical chart. "Tyrosh's location is special, right at the northeastern tip of the Stepstones. If we completely control the Stepstones, their merchant ships will have to pass through our defenses to enter the Narrow Sea."
Their army has to consider our feelings if they want to expand outwards.
More importantly, the Stepstones are rich in fishery and mineral resources, and Lord Tyrosh has always wanted to make them his outer domain, relying on taxes and plunder to fill the treasury. Now that we have cut off his source of income, he will naturally fight desperately.
He was about to continue explaining when Daemon Targaryen suddenly interrupted, "Lord Corlys is right, but there's one more thing—that new Highlord of Tyrosh is not going to stay in his position at all."
These words drew everyone's attention to him.
Daemon Targaryen adjusted his posture and tapped the brooch on his collar with his fingers. "Two years ago, after my father and Little Daemon helped wipe out the pirates from the three cities of the Stepstones, my grandfather sent me to Tyrosh as an envoy to negotiate an agreement with the former Highlord Erio."
Although the old man was greedy, he was still reasonable. We even drank Arbor wine together, and he gave me a jewel-encrusted sword sheath, which I have kept ever since.
He drew his Dark Sister, the ruby on its scabbard gleaming in the morning light. "But last year, Erio suddenly died unexpectedly." Who would believe it, that he was swept into the sea by a storm before setting sail? Even the Tyrosh themselves are saying that it was the current Great Lord Selos who bribed Erio's guards to push the old man off a cliff!
A low gasp immediately filled the hall.
Racallio nodded repeatedly. "That's right! I heard about it when I was in the Narrow Sea! After Selos came to power, he killed Erio's three sons and confiscated the money of the nobles who supported Erio. Half of it was stolen, and the other half was borrowed!"
"So he can't lose." Daemon Targaryen sheathed his sword, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Their choice of Tyrosh Lord has always prioritized bribery," but Selos couldn't even beat Erio in bribery, rising to power through murder; his foundation is thinner than paper.
If he loses the Stepstones and the war, the nobles he has suppressed will surely seize the opportunity to rebel against him. At that point, he will not only have to step down, but he might not even be able to save his life.
The Tyrosh people are far more ruthless in dealing with the defeated than we are in Westeros; they're said to throw people into the serpent's lair at the Bleeding Tower.
These words caused Taimond's expression to change.
The nobles of the Westerlands valued the stability of their power above all else, and he instantly understood that Selos's madness was not ambition, but a struggle under dire circumstances.
"So, Selos's army, though seemingly numerous, is actually just bluffing?" Marquess Sunderland asked slowly, tracing the harbor of Tyrosh on the nautical chart. "If we attack, his internal situation will likely descend into chaos first?"
"Very likely," Corlys nodded, adding, "I've also received word that the civilians of Tyrosh have been protesting recently because Selos tripled the poll tax to raise funds for the army, to the point that even bakers are struggling to pay it. If we win a battle at the port and send some men into the city to spread the Selos that Theros is going to sell Tyrosh to the Lys and Myr, it won't be long before they themselves descend into chaos."
Belron looked at Damon with expectation in his eyes. "Little Damon, what do you think? You've fought against both the Tyrossi mercenaries and the Dornish Sand Serpents, so you're most familiar with their tactics."
Daemon stood up, walked to the nautical chart, and pointed his finger at the reef area of Tyrosh Harbor: "I think we can proceed in three steps."
The first step was to send House Velaryon silver ships and Stormlands longships to feign a frontal attack, drawing the attention of the Tyrosh fleet;
The second step is to send the longships from the the North and the fastships from the Vale around to the reef area west of the port, where the water is shallow and the heavy ships of Tyrosh cannot enter. We can then use ballistae to shoot at the bottom of their ships.
Thirdly, I will lead Glutton and Grey Ghost, Big Daemon will lead Caraxes, and you, Uncle, will lead Vhagar. We will launch an aerial attack on their command ship. As long as we kill Selos or capture him alive, the Tyrosh fleet will surely be routed.
He paused, then added, "Also, Racallio can come with us—he's influential among the mercenaries and pirates of Tyrosh. If he can persuade them to surrender, it will reduce our casualties."
Racallio looked up abruptly, his eyes wide with surprise. "You really believe me? Aren't you afraid I'll turn around and help the Tyrosh?"
"If you wanted to help him, you would have already instigated a riot among the prisoners in the Bloodstone Island jail." Daemon shook his head with a smile. "You may be crazy, but you're not stupid. Following someone who can win is better than following a real madman who's about to step down and can't see the situation clearly."
Racallio grinned, his purple and orange striped beard trembling. "Alright! I'll help you! Quite a few of those mercenaries owe me favors, I promise I'll make them lay down their weapons! But I have one condition: after we win, you have to give me a small boat so I can go check out the Summer Isles."
"No problem," Baelon readily agreed. "As long as you help us win this battle, I'll give you back not only the small boats, but also your original fleet and men."
At the end of the meeting, everyone agreed on the departure time: three days later at Dawn, to catch the Tyrosh off guard before they could figure out the movements of the Joint Fleet.
Taimond Lannister promised that ten heavy ships in the Westerlands would be responsible for direct containment;
The Marquess Sunderland assured that the sailors of the Three Sisters would know the routes through the reef area;
Corlys was busy allocating food and fresh water to ensure the fleet's resupply at sea.
As the meeting adjourned, Daemon had just stepped out of the council chamber when Rayford Rosby rushed in, carrying a parchment scroll, his face beaming with joy. "Your Highness! A raven from King's Landing's Landing! It's a letter from Princess Gael!"
Daemon quickly took the letter. The parchment still carried the scent of King's Landing's Gael. Garry's handwriting was delicate, and her words were full of concern. "I heard you're going to war again? Be careful."
I had Brienne deliver the honey cakes to Dragonstone; she'll be coming with the Royal Fleet. Oh, and remember to take your amulet with you when you go on your campaign. I embroidered a new one for you and sewed it into the cloth bag containing the honey cakes."
The letter ended with a drawing of a tiny Glutton, followed by Grey Ghost, with a piece of honey cake under its dragon claws. The cute drawing made Daemon laugh.
The Grey Ghost seemed to sense his good mood, nuzzling his hand and making a "purring" sound.
The Glutton descended from the sky and landed beside him, its dark dragon wings gently brushing against his shoulder as if offering comfort.
Daemon touched the Black Dragon's scales, then looked at the letter in his hand, his heart filled with determination. He not only had to win this battle, but also return safely to fulfill his promise to Gael.
On the distant sea, the House Velaryon silver ships were practicing their formations, their sails shimmering like a silver cloud in the morning light;
In the direction of Tyrosh, scattered ship silhouettes could be faintly seen; that was their last line of defense.
Daemon knew that a bloody battle would ensue at Dawn three days later in the Narrow Sea, but as long as he had dragons, brothers, and loved ones by his side, he was fearless.
Meanwhile, on the Bleeding Tower in Tyrosh, Lord Selos roared at the map.
His mercenary commander nervously handed him a report, "My Lord, the Targaryen Joint Fleet is making a move; it seems they're going to—attack our port."
Selos slammed his glass to the ground, spilling wine onto the map and blurring Tyrosh's mark. "Impossible! How dare they launch a preemptive strike? Pass on my orders: all the fast ships are to be deployed to the port! The mercenaries are to hold the reef area! Anyone who retreats is to be thrown into the snake pit!"
Unbeknownst to him, the Joint Fleet's warships had already raised their sails, and the roar of the dragon was echoing across the Narrow Sea. An eastern expedition destined to be recorded in history was about to officially begin at Dawn three days later.