Rhaegar immediately understood.
The Sea Snake had lost his son, and his hatred toward Dorne had reached its peak. The anger in his heart had yet to be fully vented.
Lightly tapping his knife and fork together, Rhaegar murmured thoughtfully, "If the Sea Snake refuses, how much longer can House Velaryon hold out?"
On the eve of the Myr siege, House Velaryon lost half of its fleet.
Then, during the battles at Tyrosh and Lys, another thirty percent of the remaining ships were destroyed.
Currently, the blockade of the Stepstones and the control of the Greenblood River were barely being maintained by the Velaryon fleet, along with the royal forces.
Of course, over the course of these months of war, House Velaryon had also reaped considerable benefits—pillaging Lys and Tyrosh merchants, intercepting merchant ships around the Stepstones, and seizing private property from Plankytown to Sunspear.
When all was accounted for, they had recovered most of their losses.
Moreover, the Three Daughters would lower the port taxes for House Velaryon in the future and even grant them certain rights in Lys.
But after Laenor's murder, any joy those benefits had brought was completely wiped away.
The Sea Snake had lost his most important political asset—his only dragon-riding male heir.
He was over sixty now; how many more years did he have left?
Once the war ended, House Velaryon would immediately be plunged into a succession crisis.
Viserys fell silent after hearing this, contemplating the Sea Snake's current predicament.
Without an heir, threats would only multiply.
Rhaegar weighed his options and mused, "A peace treaty is necessary. It would be best for the realm to return to stability as soon as possible—it all depends on whether both sides can reach satisfactory terms."
Domestically, Daemon had taken Tyrosh, while the Sea Snake would receive a share of Lys's control.
These arrangements were practically set in stone.
Externally, the new Sealord of Braavos seemed sincere, assisting in the restoration of the Three Daughters' maritime trade and allying with Prince Quellon to suppress rebellious ambitions.
But the situation was far more complicated.
Daemon was unlikely to behave, and the Sea Snake would undoubtedly stir up trouble over the matter of succession.
Even within House Targaryen, handling Alicent and Otto Hightower's capture and placating his younger siblings would be a delicate challenge.
As for Braavos, its merchants would never make a deal that left them at a loss.
The negotiations ahead would be lengthy and contentious.
Viserys, filtering out these difficulties, let a smile flicker across his face. "So you agree to the peace terms as well?"
The War of the Narrow Sea had been the root of it all, and now, the disputed lands across the lower half of the Narrow Sea were being incorporated into the Iron Throne's domain.
Dorne's rebellion had endured two rounds of Dragon's Wrath, with countless noble casualties, forcing them into submission.
As a king—his body growing frailer by the day—Viserys sincerely wished for the war to end.
The victories and glories would be recorded in the family annals, securing his reputation as a wise ruler after his passing.
Rhaegar nodded. "Of course. Dorne isn't worth wasting more time on, and the disputed lands contain vast, fertile territories waiting to be developed."
"That's good. You weren't in King's Landing to see it, but countless nobles and commoners have been secretly complaining about the toll of the war."
Viserys felt a weight lift from his heart, his lips curling into a relieved smile.
Endless battles had left both nobles and peasants exhausted—it was difficult to keep them willing participants.
Peace was the foundation of a stable reign.
After some thought, Viserys proposed, "Rhaenys has written to express her support for peace, but Daemon and the Sea Snake's attitudes remain a problem. I plan to summon them back to King's Landing for a family feast."
Everyone would sit at the same table and lay everything out in the open.
"No objections," Rhaegar agreed.
The war was essentially over, with no major surprises left.
The royal army was stationed along the Greenblood, and the Sea Snake's nephews commanded forces in Sunspear—there was no fear of rebellion.
With the speed of dragons, any uprising could be swiftly crushed.
It was time to convene a family council and tear down the fragile veil of uncertainty.
Viserys' smile grew even brighter as he cradled Baelor, kissing him repeatedly. He eagerly devoured a plate of roasted lamb and half a bottle of golden Arbor wine.
Father and son were of the same mind, and the mood at the luncheon reached its peak.
Aegon propped one foot on the floor and the other on his chair, chugging wine straight from the bottle.
Viserys clapped and laughed, proclaiming that the boy had his old spirit.
Rhaenyra sighed in exasperation, bustling around to care for both her father and her children. She found herself missing the days when Alicent had been around—at least then, she hadn't needed to tend to her father.
Rhaegar lounged back in his chair, watching with amusement.
Baelor wriggled out of his grandfather's arms and nestled into his mother's embrace, whining and nuzzling for milk.
With no other choice, Rhaenyra waved the guards away and stepped into a corner to nurse him.
Meanwhile, little Aemond remained at the dining table. Squirming with determination, he wriggled his tiny body closer to a roasted suckling pig that was even bigger than he was.
"Come here, little one, let me hold you," Helaena called, her eyes shining with delight.
Rhaegar glanced at her, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Helaena was still like a child, kneeling on her chair with her whole body sprawled across the table, her other foot playfully kicking in the air.
It was a reflection of both her nature and her gift of prophecy.
Her mind was pure, untouched by Alicent's attempts to mold her into a proper lady.
"Wahh—"
Little Aemond's eyes widened as he clamped his tiny mouth onto the pig's snout. But with no teeth to bite, he only ended up drooling all over it.
Helaena tilted her head, resting her cheek in her hands as she watched her nephew wrestle with the roasted pig.
This was far more entertaining than playing with baby dragons.
At least this one would talk someday.
Rhaegar took a sip of the sweet fruit wine, watching the two children—one older, one younger—with a hint of amusement.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. Had he forgotten someone?
He shifted his gaze slightly.
Aemond sat upright with a rigid posture, his single eye revealing an unreadable emotion as he observed Helaena and little Aegon interacting.
"What are you thinking about?"
Rhaegar broke the silence.
Aemond was momentarily startled, as if he hadn't expected his brother to start a conversation at this moment. However, he quickly regained his composure, turned to meet Rhaegar's gaze, and straightforwardly asked, "Would you grant me Stonehelm?"
"In such a hurry to claim a castle?"
Rhaegar swirled his wine goblet and smiled.
His younger brother had grown more calculating—more perceptive than Aegon, yet not as reserved.
Aemond gave a small nod and stated plainly, "I need my own land, a place where I can stand without relying on anyone else."
Through the trials of war, his mind had become ever clearer.
He could not depend on House Hightower, his mother, or Aegon.
Helaena was a girl. Little Daeron was a younger brother. Neither had the same standing as a prince on the cusp of manhood.
In the vast Targaryen family, Rhaegar could not protect all his kin—conflict was inevitable.
Aemond considered himself a true man, a proud Targaryen warrior.
He could raise his own banner, shielding his mother and Aegon behind him.
Rhaegar studied Aemond for a moment. His expression grew serious, and he adjusted his posture.
Aemond held his head high. His single eye burned with fierce confidence and ambition—nothing about him resembled an eleven-year-old boy.
"You've grown up," Rhaegar murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy and a trace of pride.
The little boy from before had become a man standing tall.
Aemond did not grow complacent. He lowered his gaze in thought and admitted, "My war achievements alone aren't enough to claim a castle. I could patrol Dorne and continue earning merits."
Merits and mistakes—one could balance out the other.
His military accomplishments were not as great as Aegon's or Helaena's. He could not afford to rest on his laurels.
"No need!"
Rhaegar clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled. "The Swann family only has a few distant relatives left. Stonehelm is yours."
"Really?" Aemond's expression shifted.
"A Targaryen's word is law."
Rhaegar clenched his fist and lightly punched Aemond's chest, encouraging him. "Keep training and studying. When Lord Lyonel steps down, I might just make you Hand of the King."
Aemond's eye gleamed with excitement, and he nodded eagerly.
Hand of the King!
Even their esteemed uncle Daemon had only served as Master of Laws in the small council—he had never reached the position of Hand.
Their conversation was not hidden from others.
Aegon, his face flushed from drinking, scoffed and stabbed a piece of beef with his fork, shoving it into his mouth and chewing angrily.
Viserys, however, was pleased. His gaze lingered on his two sons, as if seeing a reflection of his younger self and Daemon.
Ever since Aemond had risked his life to save him, Viserys had paid much closer attention to this son.
Helaena remained slumped over the table, clutching little Aegon's tiny legs with both hands.
She dragged him backward, while little Aegon pulled on a roast suckling pig, which in turn tugged the entire platter along.
The two children, equal in intelligence, played happily.
—
Time passed swiftly. Two weeks later.
King's Landing, Mud Gate.
Commoners crowded the docks, gazing expectantly at the vast expanse of Blackwater Bay.
The latest rumors from Flea Bottom whispered of an impending return—today, the Uncrowned Queen Rhaenys and the Prince of the Capital, Daemon, were marching home in triumph.
The Velaryons of Driftmark, envoys from Sunspear, and honored guests from Braavos were all said to be arriving.
Vendors pushed carts through the bustling streets, ignoring the sweltering heat as they hawked fresh fruit and oysters.
A spectacle like this—rarely seen even once a year—was a golden opportunity for merchants to profit.
"Screeeech!!"
Suddenly, a piercing dragon roar echoed through the sky.
A crimson silhouette flashed past the clouds above Blackwater Bay.
Before the people could get a clear look, the white clouds swirled into disarray, leaving only a gentle breeze in their wake.
"Screeeech…"
Another sharp cry followed, thick with menace and power.
Whoosh—
A massive, serpent-like beast with deep red scales dived down over Mud Gate, sweeping through the air with scorching winds. Its vast, dark crimson wings flapped as it soared toward Rhaenys's Hill.
Two great dragons, appearing in succession, thrilled the gathered crowd.
On the bay, a fleet of over a dozen ships slowly sailed into the harbor—half of them bore the Velaryon sigil: a green sea horse on a field of silver.
On the deck of the lead ship stood Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. His face was grim, his hands gripping the railing tightly.
His gaze flicked toward the ships at the rear of the fleet, where banners of a purple seashell and a sun-piercing spear fluttered.
His expression darkened with icy hostility.
"Damn Braavos. Damn Martells," he muttered under his breath, his knuckles turning white. His eyes locked onto the grand Red Keep towering over the shore.
A family council?
Let's see what comes of it.
—
Red Keep, in front of the Great Sept.
Rhaegar sat on the edge of a flower bed, tilting his head back to watch the two crimson dragons soaring overhead.
"So damn annoying!"
Aegon suddenly stormed out of the sept, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, cursing under his breath.
Rhaegar glanced at him and asked, "What did Alicent say?"
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