The next day.
The morning sunlight spilled into the bedroom, casting dappled patterns of light.
Rhaenyra, dressed in a loose nightgown, sat gracefully on the balcony by the window.
She held a steaming cup of tea in her hands, gazing at the scenery outside.
After a heavy rain, the weather in King's Landing was exceptionally clear.
The weirwood tree in the back garden swayed gently, while birds chirped incessantly.
Turning back, Rhaegar lay sound asleep on the carpet.
A small, fluffy white bundle rested on his chest.
Rhaenyra took a delicate sip of her tea, her eyes filled with warmth as she watched the scene before her.
However, she failed to notice the slight furrow in Rhaegar's brow as he slept.
At that moment, Rhaegar fell into a dream.
In his dream, dark clouds churned, and a storm raged.
Over a vast and boundless ocean, thick clouds obscured the sun, casting the world into chaos.
**"Screech—"**
A sharp dragon's cry pierced the air as a young green-scaled dragon emerged from the rain.
The young dragon flew frantically through the storm, flapping its wings without pause.
A saddle was fastened to its back, and a small figure sat atop it.
It was a young boy, around seven or eight years old.
Rhaegar tried to see the boy's face more clearly, and as if responding to his will, his vision zoomed in.
The boy's appearance came into view.
Short silver-gold hair, light violet eyes, and delicate yet charming features.
Seeing that familiar yet unfamiliar face, Rhaegar's heart trembled.
He knew this face all too well.
If not for some subtle differences in expression, the boy looked almost identical to Rhaegar in his childhood.
Or rather, he was the spitting image of Rhaegar as a boy.
The boy's appearance struck Rhaegar with an overwhelming sense of familiarity, compelling him to find out what was happening.
Riding on the dragon's back, the boy braved the fierce wind and rain.
His short hair was tousled wildly by the wind, his clothes were drenched, and the raindrops striking his face forced him to squint.
**"…Run!"**
The boy wiped the rain from his face and shouted urgently to the young dragon beneath him.
He seemed to call out the dragon's name, but Rhaegar couldn't make it out.
**"Screech—"**
The young dragon let out a panicked cry, desperately soaring through the storm.
**Boom!**
A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.
A massive shadow loomed above them.
The shadow was several times larger than the young dragon, completely enveloping it.
The boy noticed the colossal figure overhead, his face twisting in fear as he urged the young dragon to fly faster.
Suddenly, a cluster of jagged rocks appeared in the sea ahead.
The boy steered the young dragon into the rocky outcrop, attempting to evade their pursuer.
For a moment, the dragon wove through the jagged formations.
Then, at last, they broke free from the rocky labyrinth.
The sky cleared, the wind and rain ceased, and a thin mist drifted lazily.
The young dragon burst through the clouds, finally escaping its pursuer.
The boy let out a breath of relief, his face lighting up with the joy of survival.
Then—
**"Screech!!"**
A deep, menacing dragon's roar echoed.
From beneath the clouds, a massive green dragon shot up.
In one swift motion, it clamped its powerful jaws around the young dragon's neck—**crunch!**—biting it clean off.
The young dragon let out a final, agonized shriek before dying instantly.
Its headless body plummeted from the clouds, hurtling toward the sea below.
A chain was fastened around the boy's waist, dragging him down with the dragon.
**"No!"**
Seeing this, Rhaegar's heart nearly stopped. Instinctively, he shouted.
The moment his voice rang out, the dreamscape began to collapse.
Rhaegar tried to hold onto the dream, but he couldn't.
His **Dream Vision** activated, and his perspective shifted to the massive green dragon.
Its body was powerful and muscular, its scales thick and impenetrable.
On the dragon's back sat a silver-haired man.
Rhaegar couldn't make out his face, but he could hear his wild, triumphant laughter.
Then, the dream shattered.
—
**Reality.**
Rhaegar jolted awake, his eyes snapping open.
"Rhaegar, you're awake?"
Rhaenyra's voice reached him immediately.
"Rhaenyra…"
He turned to look at her, his eyes still filled with lingering fear.
The scene in his dream remained vivid in his mind.
A boy who looked almost exactly like him had met a terrible fate.
"Shh! She's still asleep—don't wake her."
Rhaenyra walked around the foot of the bed and approached him, pointing at his chest.
Rhaegar looked down.
Helena was curled up into a small ball, lying against his chest.
"I had another dream… a terrible one!"
Rhaegar whispered, propping himself up with one hand while gently supporting the sleeping Helena with the other.
Helena nuzzled against him, her small face flushed, mumbling softly in her sleep.
Rhaenyra knelt beside him, concerned. "What kind of dream? You're drenched in cold sweat."
"It was..."
Rhaegar started to speak but hesitated, swallowing his words.
He glanced at Rhaenyra.
Her eyes were filled with warmth as she carefully wiped the sweat from his face.
"It's nothing... just a dream, something like Maegor's kinslaying."
Rhaegar gave a vague response, slowly standing up while holding Helena in his arms.
He didn't want to tell Rhaenyra about such a cruel nightmare.
"Fine. Tell me when you're ready," Rhaenyra said, curling her lips into a small smile, not pressing the matter.
Rhaegar always had nightmares—many of which he kept buried inside.
He gave her an apologetic smile, his heart still pounding.
Placing Helena onto the bed, he carefully covered her with a blanket.
"Let's go. We still need to meet the Dornish envoy today."
Rhaenyra opened the wardrobe and took out one of Rhaegar's usual outfits.
Rhaegar wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Aren't you coming with me?"
"Where?"
Rhaenyra shot him an exasperated look, picking up the torn red off-shoulder dress from the bedside.
Rhaegar offered an awkward yet polite smile.
...
The sun gradually rose.
Just as Rhaegar finished dressing, an urgent knock came from outside.
"Prince, there's been a major incident!"
Ser Erryk's voice rang out urgently. "A raven has arrived—The Stepstones have been taken!"
"What?!"
Rhaegar shouted in shock, rushing to open the door.
Ser Erryk stood at the threshold, delivering the report. "The Stepstones are in chaos. Lord Corlys has been gravely wounded. The King has summoned you to an emergency council meeting."
"Let's go!"
Rhaegar clenched his fists and strode out immediately.
He couldn't believe it.
What was the Sea Snake thinking?
He had only been away for one day and one night, and everything had fallen into disarray.
Hurrying as fast as possible, he arrived at the council chamber.
Ser Erryk pushed the doors open, and Rhaegar stepped inside.
The room was filled with council members.
Viserys, Lyonel, Lyman...
And sitting with perfect poise—Jeyne Arryn.
After a long night, Jeyne had changed into a plain-colored dress. Her chestnut hair was braided neatly, and her face remained as beautiful as ever.
Only her eyes were slightly red and swollen.
Rhaegar had no time to dwell on it and spoke gravely. "My lords, what exactly happened?!"
The war in the Stepstones had lasted for a long time, but it had been stable for a month.
It shouldn't have collapsed so suddenly.
"Rhaegar, sit down first. We are still discussing the situation."
Viserys' expression was heavy as he gripped his cup tightly.
Rhaegar glanced around the room before taking his seat. He grabbed the stone marker from the tray and placed it in front of him.
Jeyne, seated beside him, gave him a composed smile, as if nothing were amiss.
Once everyone was settled, Lyonel was the first to rise, holding a letter in his hands.
"Last night, Lord Daemion Velaryon, along with Vaemond Velaryon, Willam Manderly, and Ser Criston Cole, conspired to launch a surprise attack on the Three Daughters' pirate stronghold."
"But it was a trap. The Three Daughters' pirates ambushed them."
"Lord Corlys, upon hearing the news, rushed to intervene but was too late. He led his fleet to reinforce them."
"In the end..."
Lyonel's face darkened, his voice catching in his throat. "We lost over half our warships. Seven thousand soldiers perished. Willam Manderly was killed, and Lord Corlys was gravely wounded and unconscious."
Beyond that, the Bloodstone stronghold had collapsed, falling prey to the Three Daughters' raiding forces.
Our army had no choice but to retreat to Grey Gallows, barely holding their ground.
A heavy silence filled the chamber.
The loss of ships and soldiers was already devastating.
But the worst part was that with the Sea Snake incapacitated, their remaining naval forces were leaderless.
Viserys slammed his fist onto the table, his voice furious. "What about the dragons? Weren't there two dragons stationed in the Stepstones?"
"Your Grace, please remain calm."
Lyonel referenced the letter and explained, "The night was too dark. The Three Daughters' pirates had prepared an abundance of scorpion bolts. Princess Rhaenys and her son, Ser Laenor, were heavily hindered, and the dragons couldn't be fully utilized."
According to the report, if not for the dragons destroying a dozen pirate ships and creating an opening for the troops to escape, Daemion, Corlys, and the others would have been doomed.
"Utter nonsense! This is sheer stupidity!"
Viserys roared in rage, cursing. "How dare Daemion mobilize the fleet on his own? That's a violation of military law—punishable by death!"
Moving troops without royal authorization was tantamount to rebellion.
And to make matters worse, Vaemond and the others had actually followed Daemion into this disaster.
They had turned a favorable situation into an absolute catastrophe.
Grand Maester Melros spoke slowly, "Your Majesty, the war in the Stepstones is on the brink of disaster. We must consider our countermeasures."
"I know!!"
Viserys screamed hysterically, shouting at Leonor, "Strip Tyland of his title as Master of Ships and have him sent back to King's Landing for trial immediately!"
He loathed that Lannister fool.
He had originally thought Tyland would be wiser than his arrogant and prideful brother.
But who would have expected that he nearly overturned the kingdom's entire foundation?
"Father, please calm down first."
Rhaegar rubbed his face and sighed. "Lord Leonor, how much military strength do we have left?"
The damage was done and could not be undone.
Punishing the guilty could wait—resolving the crisis came first.
Leonor responded, "According to reports, only remnants remain of the fleets from the Crownlands, House Velaryon, and House Manderly of White Harbor."
"The fleets of Oldtown, Greensward, and Gulltown have retained some forces, totaling fifty warships and 3,800 soldiers."
Rhaegar pressed on, "How much supply remains?"
"After the raids by the Three Daughters' pirates… almost none."
Leonor sighed deeply.
Rather than "almost none," it would be more accurate to say there was nothing left.
The pirates of the Three Daughters were like a swarm of locusts, leaving nothing behind.
Upon hearing this, Rhaegar closed his eyes, his mind racing.
Remnant forces still had some combat strength, but supplies were lacking, and the pirates of the Three Daughters were eyeing them hungrily...
A moment later, Rhaegar opened his eyes and declared, "My lords, if our forces are insufficient, we must reinforce them. Supplies must also be transported. We cannot afford to lose the war in the Stepstones!"
As he spoke, he turned to Leonor and asked, "How many more soldiers can be drawn from the Crownlands and the Riverlands?"
These two regions were closest to King's Landing, making troop and supply transportation much faster.
(End of Chapter)