The Red Keep
The Small Council waited at the entrance of the King's chamber so they could begin today's session.
There was much to discuss within and without the Realm, some concerning the new Lord of the Stepstones. Prince Baelon and Lord Redwyne's brother, Walder Redwyne, have already dug in on Torturer's Deep, Grey Gallows, and Bloodstone, building a small base of operations.
Reports from Martyn Hightower spoke of the Prince claiming one of the few new forts for his base, the larger of which is situated atop a cliff at Bloodstone just three moons after the Triarchy disbanded. Since then, the three free cities have started fighting one another once again.
The doors opened, and the members flooded into the chamber; Harrold Westerling and Otto Hightower stood nearest to the King, who sat up on his bed.
His ailing condition had worsened in the last few years or more. Viserys could not even sit on the Iron Throne and had shunned the throne room altogether to handle business in his chambers, where his healers and Orwyle could attend to him.
"Good morrow, my Lords... " He let out in three breaths. "What matters to be had, today?"
The Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde, cleared his throat and started on his reports, and Viserys quietly listened while glancing at his sons, Aegon and Aemond.
Both boys grew handsome in the years of youthful spirit. Aemond, recently knighted and skilled in sword and their Valyrian language and Aegon, was still as sly as a fox with a bit more to grow than his young brother.
Aegon looked bored, and Aemond paid as much attention to Jasper's talking as his Hand and friend.
Alicent wished them to start attending council sessions so that they could learn and one day serve as able advisors to Rhaenyra, yet he couldn't help but wish his eldest son was home.
Viserys was quite aware of his shortcomings as a father. He often found himself grappling with regret, wishing he had made more efforts and handled situations differently. The delicate state of his House weighed heavily on his mind, making him realize that attempting to alter the past would only serve to disrupt the fragile balance they struggled to maintain.
"What of the Stepstones, Ser Tyland?" he asked, stopping Jasper who was recounting the increase of tax on wool.
The Master of Ship coughed nervously and looked through his books momentarily before finding what he was searching for. "Prince Baelon had been hard at work making the Stepstones as fortified as possible despite sending twenty of the 100 ships he borrowed from Lord Redwyne back to the Arbor."
Viserys remembered laughing when he heard and fighting the urge to curse that they had been dealing with the blasted Triarchy for nearly twenty years.
He was also proud, and his son showed as much bravery as his namesake. "I want twenty of the royal fleet to head to the Stepstones, so ensure my son we support his venture in securing the Narrow Sea." And sheep to feed his dragon, whose terror had earned it its own name.
Mōrī Sȳndor. In the common tongue, it means 'Last Shadow'.
"Of course, my King."
Otto shifted a little, "Are we wise to do so, Your Grace? The Prince and his allies of Lord Leto Tyrell and Lord Dickon Redwyne, including his son, acted needlessly of their own accord, just as Lord Corlys and Prince Daemon when they defied you at the cost of many men and ships."
Viserys smiled and was ready to respond until, "My Brother destroyed the Triarchy, Lord Hand. Daemon merely sent them scurrying then. We may as well credit the war this time as a planned campaign of the Crown." Aemond spoke calmly and poisedly.
Aegon, his second son, smiled. "We should welcome Baelon back to celebrate his victories, Father." It was a grand idea.
"Otto, see to the preparations. Grand Maester, send a ship to this 'Baelonfort' and inform my son of the celebration in his honor and the honor of his men." Orwyle nodded, promising to do so. "Now, is there anything else?"
Lyman spoke at length about the treasury increase for the crown after seizing the Stepstones, noting that even Duskendale had begun to rise in wealth. Viserys hoped the grip on the shipping lanes wasn't too strong that it would make enemies of the other free cities.
After that business was done and his healers helped him get comfortable, he remembered the agreement made with his daughter and brother.
While a ship sailed for Bloodstone, a pair of ravens flew to Dragonstone and Driftmark.
Bloodstone
Archonei flew back to her side of the island, and Baelon watched from one of the towers as she flew away.
His fortress, known as Baelonfort, was an imposing structure with towering, well-manned walls reinforced by skilled defenders. At its heart stood a small yet resilient wooden keep.
As he gazed upon it, he envisioned a future where it would grow in grandeur and strength, perhaps one day rivaling the formidable Red Keep itself in splendor and significance.
The Gateway to the Narrow Sea would be through House Targaryen or not at all.
Although his mind is forever consumed by the prospect of claiming the Iron Throne, he has also started having an idea for elevating the Stepstones into something akin to how Volantis was for Old Valyria.
Thankfully, there are no volcanos on any of the isles.
The rocky islands of the Stepstones, nestled in the Narrow Sea, are not conducive to agriculture. As a result, the inhabitants of these islands rely heavily on trade and the bounty of the surrounding sea to sustain their livelihoods.
The garrisons stationed on the three islands are sustained by a wide variety of marine life, including crabs, fish, squid, and octopus, which provide a crucial source of nourishment in the absence of arable land.
His mind thought of several ports, small and large, inns and fishing villages.
The caves of Bloodstone stunk of the millions of people who might have dwelled within them; perhaps if they dig deeper, they will find iron veins.
Quenton thinks that thought is rubbish, that if there were, then the many pirates and kingdoms that formed from these rocks would have discovered something akin to such materials.
"Prince Baelon, I have returned with some news." Jon Roxton said.
"I know, I saw you riding up." Baelon jested, and both he and the knight embraced in laughter. "So tell me, what was the Archon's response?"
"Archon Lysillos has agreed to a truce, guaranteeing we don't plan to annex them." He assumes Lys and Myr will respond the same when Quenton and Ser Jonothor Flowers (son and bastard brother of Leto Tyrell) return from their missions.
Baelon hummed and raised a brow, "Anything else?"
"Apart from asking not to completely beggar his city, no, nothing else." He wouldn't dream of it. It is better to make use of his foes than give them a reason to band against him.
So be it; he will have his due in tolls, of course, but no more than that. "I'm not a tyrant," he admitted with a smile on his face, but neither will be made a fool of.
He'll give the three squabbling cities peace, but if they tread or worse, anger his peace... He won't just stop at burning their ships and killing their soldiers; he will make another Harrenhal of Lovely Lys, little Tyrosh, and pathetic Myr.
As the two warriors stood for a long moment, looking to the North, Baelon retreated into his thoughts and on the ship that arrived not a fortnight prior.
His father summoned him home to celebrate his deeds and achievements before the royal court and their subjects.
Baelon had been away from home for a few years; he didn't quite know how he would take it as one of his men, after returning from the Red Keep, said that things had changed and that the King now holds Small Council in his bedchamber, unable to sit the throne or make it to the tower of the Hand without a palanquin.
"Ser Jon, can I trust you to hold our ground here for a moon or two?" He asked, and his knight knelt down immediately, unsheathing Orphan-Maker and laying it at his feet.
"Of course, My Prince. I shall do my best to keep the peace... My King." It was a subtle whisper, but proud and a prouder smile on his man's lips.
During the years of war, he had earned many of the soldiers, knights, and Lords that followed him in this hell's respect and adorance. Jon, Quenton, Jonothor Flowers, and Lord Tyrell have all sworn to fight for him when the time comes.
If his father's passing occurs in the next few years, then he will surely have enough time to find more allies outside of Westeros, mercenaries, and he has even contemplated making secret visits to Sunspear though after the last time a Targaryen entered the desert, she and her dragon never returned.
The current Prince of Dorne had died, and his daughter now rules as the Princess of Dorne.
Within the next three days, he prepared for his trip back home; the hour of the wolf loomed close when he returned to his apartments to the pleasure of his paramour lying in bed as naked as the day she was born.
Margaery Flowers had become a pleasant company in his time fighting on this spit of rocks and sand; she would pleasure him for the next fight and help armor him for battle.
"Will I go with you on the morrow, my Prince?"
He smiled and joined her on the bed, kissing her fiercely while another hand was on her swollen stomach.
She had just gotten pregnant shortly after the last battle. He was initially proud and was reminded of the night they first had sex, and he warned her she would be with a child soon.
Fatherhood was something he was new to, of course, he knew how the act was done and that if he fucked enough women, some might bare a boy or girl with his silver hair but as for actually becoming a father... It was strange.
Baelon sighed and parted for a moment, "Sea travel isn't good for the babe, I'm afraid. Sorry." She pouted, and he chuckled, "Perhaps I can rectify this with payment, my Lady?" He said huskily, then proceeded to pepper her lips, cheeks, breasts, and belly with kisses, then spread her legs to pleasure her with his mouth.
Pleased to say, she didn't argue the matter any further.