In a side chamber of the Red Keep's Throne Room, a council on the reconquest of the Crownlands was drawing to a close.
At the head of the long table, Aegon lightly tapped the unfolded map of the Crownlands.
The ink was still fresh on the dispatch a messenger had just delivered: the Ashen Company had encircled Stokeworth Castle, but its garrison was resisting stubbornly, holding fast within the walls.
The commanders standing on either side wore black armor. Their eyes rested on the mark denoting that formidable castle as they awaited their orders.
The castles of the Crownlands had surrendered or fallen one after another, like leaves swept away by an autumn wind. Only Stokeworth Castle still held out behind its towering walls, hoping to slow the Targaryen advance.
"Your Highness," one commander said with a bow, lowering his voice in consideration, "Stokeworth Castle has high walls and a deep moat, and its defenders are prepared to fight to the death... should you take to the skies on your dragon and force their submission with your dragon aura?"
Aegon raised his eyes, his Violet Eyes as still as a frozen lake in the depths of winter. He withdrew his fingertips from the map and tapped the stone table, his tone indifferent but brooking no argument:
"No need. Give Luke full command. Take it by storm."
He paused, sweeping his gaze over the commanders below him, his voice growing colder:
"If I must personally ride my dragon into battle for even a single castle, what use is the Ashen Company to me? What use is this army?"
The old order would never be brought down through dragonfire alone. He wanted submission forged by swords and military discipline, commanders capable of acting independently-not hollow obedience that relied on a dragon's might