Half a month later, The Summer Sea...
"Roar!"
A naval battle erupted as planned. The old dragon, its moss-colored scales gleaming in the sun, circled the sea and sank numerous warships flying the banner of the Triarchy.
"Attack! Long-range archers, fire!"
On a warship bearing the flag of the Seahorse, Alyn, clad in silver-gray armor, commanded the archers. At his order, a volley of arrows rained down.
In contrast, the Triarchy pirates appeared defenseless. Their wooden ships were no match for the devastating power of the old dragon’s assault.
"Dracarys, Uragax!"
Baelon, seated in his newly crafted green-and-grey saddle, shouted with excitement.
"Roar—"
The old dragon raised its head, roaring as green Dragonfire spilled from its mouth like ink. With a single powerful strike from its hind legs, it tore through the enemy’s sails.At that moment, several other dragons descended into the battle.
"Roar..."
Vhagar arrived first, its massive form blotting out the sky like a mountain. The overwhelming presence shattered the psychological defenses of the Triarchy pirates.
Iragaxys, black and red, followed swiftly. Weaving through the chaos of the ships, its dark Dragonfire exploded in all directions.
"Roar..."
A light grey dragon soared high above, occasionally launching massive fireballs down upon the battlefield before retreating to watch from afar.
The appearance of the dragons turned the tide of the battle in an instant, making the outcome one-sided.
"No, no, no!"
The Triarchy pirates scrambled in vain to operate their scorpion crossbows. Before they could react, a massive fireball engulfed them.
With a sizzling sound, they were reduced to ash, along with the smoldering remains of their ship's deck.
...
An hour later...
The sea was calm, and a dozen warships were burning furiously, gradually sinking into the waves.
"Clean up the battlefield and don't let a single pirate get away," Alyn commanded, his face solemn as he personally led the sailors, ensuring no loose ends were left.
Having spent years at the side of the Sea Snake, he had developed quite the general's bearing.
"Roar!"
...
Several dragons circled the sky, the grey one still holding half a charred corpse in its mouth.
"We won, but it wasn't easy," Baelon muttered, letting out a small gasp before laughing as he rode on the back of the dragon.
He had long since discovered that the pirates of Triarchy wanted to buy goods from Pentos, so he led his fleet to block the sea between Lys and Volantis in advance. A grand naval battle had weakened the enemy's forces.
Just as he was reflecting on the battle, a small dark spot appeared in his line of sight. The sky was a brilliant blue and white, while the sea stretched out, magnificent and endless.
"Roar!"
A young silver-grey dragon flew swiftly, pausing in midair several miles away.
Baelon’s eyes narrowed in surprise. "Maekar?"
The young dragon with the massive head was Tyraxes, and the small figure riding it was his younger brother.
In the distance, Maekar glanced at the battlefield and said quietly, "Let’s go, Tyraxes."
"Roar!" Tyraxes roared in protest but turned its head, flying back the way they had come. The war was over, and there was no more need to unleash Dragonfire.
On the other side, Baelon looked anxious. "Why did he leave?"
He hadn’t seen his younger brother in a long time and missed the little lump. He guessed Maekar had come to help after hearing the commotion. Volantis was not far away, and there were patrol ships offshore.
'That kid...' Baelon thought, feeling a pang of reluctance as he watched the silver-haired figure disappear atop the silver-grey dragon.
As the eldest of his father’s three sons, Baelon had once been close to both Aemon and Maekar. The three brothers had shared a deep bond, capable of doing anything together. But things grew complicated when Aemon began harboring hostility toward Maekar.
Baelon understood what had changed.
Of all his siblings, their father favored the three of them the most. As the eldest son, Baelon naturally received the best treatment, which Aemon accepted and even celebrated. However, their father’s other favorite was Maekar, the youngest.
In Aemon's eyes, affection should flow from eldest to youngest, but being overshadowed by Maekar made him feel secretly aggrieved. Especially since Maekar, with his platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, did not resemble Baelon or their father. Yet their father preferred Maekar, claiming that his quiet and decisive nature reminded him of his own younger self.
Baelon recalled the time he and Aemon had snuck into a corner and overheard their parents talking at night. When their father spoke of Maekar, he described him as easygoing, with no ambition for the throne or worldly matters—much like he had been in his youth.
Their father, who had been weak and sickly as a child, never desired to take over his mother's inheritance. He treated Aemon and Maekar very differently. With Aemon, he was strict, demanding perfection and pushing him to excel in everything. But with Maekar, he was more relaxed, letting him study history, play the harp, and even manage a Free Cities trading port at a young age.
Over time, the gap between the brothers widened.
'Alas, there’s nothing I can do about it,' Baelon thought with a frown, gathering himself as he resumed cleaning up the battlefield. After all, they were brothers, and no knot could not be untangled.
...
Volantis...
Tyraxes flew back within the Black Wall, gliding over the eastern district before landing in the courtyard of the Magister's Palace. As Maekar dismounted, a distant howl immediately reached his ears.
"Prince, you must help me!"
Startled, Maekar turned to see a familiar figure—a neatly combed head of blonde hair approaching quickly.
"Prince, it's too dangerous for you to go out alone," Tyland called out, bowing as he continued his earlier plea. "The slave ships from Slaver's Bay are still running rampant, and my brother, Lord Jason, remains captive in the Great Pyramid."
Desperation clung to Tyland's voice as he vented his frustrations, clearly weighed down by his worries.
Maekar regarded him with a strange expression. "Why not ask the Westerlands to send more gold and ransom your brother back? The old woman didn’t say she wouldn’t release him. The problem is that Jason Lannister refuses to pay."
Tyland’s face twisted slightly, clearly pained by the suggestion. "Prince, my brother is the Lord of a region. It’s undignified to pay ransom," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the notion.
"Being mocked as a miserly 'iron cock' and kept locked in a cage is even more undignified," Maekar replied, his tone practical. "Irina wrote to me recently. She said the slave ships will likely calm down soon and sail toward Sothoryos."
The old woman knew how to handle such matters. King's Landing had expanded her horizons, and she commanded respect with ease.
"Prince, Prince..." Tyland's voice grew more frantic as Maekar walked away, calling out to him with a worried look. He stretched out a hand, but Maekar did not turn back, offering only the sight of his retreating figure, short platinum-blonde hair shining in the sunlight.
Tyland eventually stopped, realizing the prince had no intention of responding. His expression shifted, and he let out a sigh of relief. 'It’s just as well he didn’t agree,' Tyland thought to himself. 'My foolish brother is still too proud to pay, and perhaps a few more years locked up would do him some good.'
Feeling a sense of satisfaction, Tyland crossed his arms and moved on with his day.
However, from the gate of the Magister's residence, a small platinum-blonde head peeked out, observing every move Tyland made.
"Tsk, what a brotherly relationship," Maekar muttered with a smirk, further sharpening his already well-honed instincts as a teacher.
No one can truly teach without everything. He may have studied many books under many Maesters, but it's easy to be fooled when you're far from home.
...
In just a few days, news of the victory from the Summer Sea reached King's Landing. Rumors spread quickly through Flea Bottom and Silk Street, where even the lowest prostitutes and orphans whispered about it. The heir prince was preparing to attack the continent of Sothoryos and burn the remnants of the Triarchy to feed the dragons. Some even claimed that the heir prince was the reincarnation of the brave Baelon, who had tamed the mighty Vhagar in a previous life.
At the same time, in the Red Keep...
Bang—the door to the Small Council chamber slammed shut as the advisers filed out.
Rhaenyra, her face pale, walked alone down the corridor, her long, white legs carrying her with determined grace. In Rhaegar's absence, the advisers no longer took her seriously. They couldn’t agree on how to respond to their eldest son Baelon’s victory in his first battle. Their father, ever the master peacekeeper, had the advisers completely under his thumb, leaving Rhaenyra to bear the weight of the decisions.
The pressure now fell on her, both as Queen and the mother of the heir to the throne. Everyone demanded answers—whether to consider Highgarden’s proposal for an alliance, or how to navigate the chaotic situation at Storm’s End.
'What a joke!' she thought bitterly. She had no say in key decisions, yet all the responsibility was placed squarely on her shoulders.
“Damn it, these shameless bastards,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, growing more and more furious. Her chest heaved with frustration. If only Rhaegar were here, none of them would dare to treat her this way.
...
After some time, she pushed open the door to her chambers with a creak. Removing her earrings and ring, she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders.
"Your Grace," said Mysaria, the White Worm, who was leaning casually against a cabinet with a kind smile.
"Your Grace, Mother..." Rhaenyra was greeted by a number of familiar faces in her chambers—her adopted daughter Rhaena, her second son Aemon, and Daemon’s eldest son Gaemon alongside his younger brother Aenar. The two boys, being close in age, were currently being corralled by the slightly older Visenya, who was busy examining her younger brother Aegor’s diaper with them.
“Look, a wee birdie!” Visenya exclaimed, yanking the diaper off and exposing poor Aegor.
“Cover him,” Gaemon scolded, blushing slightly as he glanced timidly at Rhaenyra and his sister Rhaena.
Gaemon had come with Rhaena, accompanying their grandfather, Lord Corlys. Aenar, meanwhile, tilted his head, watching the scene unfold with a serious expression.
Rhaenyra’s head suddenly throbbed, and she grabbed Visenya by the ear, trying her best to keep her temper in check. “Take the little ones and go outside to play,” she ordered.
“Okay,” Visenya muttered, not daring to argue. She quickly picked up Aegor and ran out of the room, with Gaemon and Aenar following closely behind—Gaemon making sure to grab the discarded diaper on his way out.
Soon, the bedchamber was quiet, with only two adults and the older children remaining.
“I’m exhausted,” Rhaenyra sighed, walking to the table to pour herself a glass of wine. Rhaena approached to help, and Rhaenyra gently took her hand, guiding her into a chair.
“There have been many storms lately,” Mysaria remarked. “The heir prince is very talented, and his first battle was a great victory.”
Over the years, the once-contemptible White Worm had not aged noticeably, but her bearing had become more refined. She had risen to the upper classes, in no small part due to the influence of her being a mother.
Rhaenyra regarded her as a trusted confidante, but even so, she couldn’t help but say, “War is never that simple. There are vultures everywhere, and inside the Red Keep, I’m surrounded by good-for-nothings.”
With Lyonel Strong’s resignation as Hand of the King after his injury, the Small Council had lost half its power. With Rhaegar away in Essos, the rest of the council had crumbled further. Fortunately, the Master of Whisperers and the Grand Maester remained loyal, allowing them to maintain some control.
“War is a disaster,” Mysaria replied, her eyes thoughtful, “but it can also be an opportunity. I’ve heard that Lady Baela and Prince Daeron have earned the king’s trust by quelling the riots in the Golden Plains.”
“I’d prefer they both come home and take care of things here,” Rhaenyra said absently.
Rhaena, seated at the table, remained silent, though a trace of disappointment crossed her face. Her dragon was still too small to be of use in battle. While her sister and her fiancé could achieve great things, she remained in the Red Keep, looking after the children.
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