Tyrosh, the Prince's Residence, the Council Chamber.
A vast map of Westeros covered the table, its mountains, rivers, castles, and fortresses traced in meticulous detail.
Candles burned in bronze stands, casting the shadows of those gathered around the table onto the walls as the flames flickered.
Aegon stood at the head of the table, his black Valyrian steel armor gleaming darkly in the candlelight, his Dragonwing Helmet beside his hand.
Behind him, Jon Connington, Luke, Henry, Luciana, Carl, and the others stood solemnly.
The air was heavy with the tension of an approaching storm.
"Let's confirm everything one last time." Aegon's steady voice rang clearly through the silent room.
Jon stepped forward, a list in his hand, his voice firm as stone. "Your Grace, the main force for the western expedition has finished assembling."
"The Golden Company, ten thousand strong, with heavy infantry, spearmen, archers, and war elephant drivers all accounted for. Their arms and armor are excellent, and their morale is sound."
"The Ashen Company, eight thousand fighting men, a mix of light and heavy infantry. Half are equipped with bows or crossbows. They have new armor and blades, and they are fierce and eager to fight."
"The Blood Oath Band, exactly three thousand armored cavalry. Both riders and horses wear heavy armor. Their charge could break a city."
He paused and looked up at Aegon. "That gives us a total of twenty-one thousand elite field troops."
"The Narrow Sea Fleet," he continued, running a finger over the Narrow Sea on the map, "has incorporated every available warship into its battle order, a total of one thousand one hundred and twenty-seven vessels. Sailors, oarsmen, and the main naval force number fifty-three thousand."
"In addition, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr are each providing twenty thousand auxiliary troops to handle transport, camp