Some of the issues with the chapters, or rather all of the issues, has to do with the app. It's really bugging out like mad. It's been bad but really bad now. Which is a shame because I do like the app a lot.

Chris-GMP - Yes, the fishing scene does a lot to humanise Aegon, which was important. The guy has built a legend but really, he's just a guy who found himself in a situation where he needs to be someone important to make a place for himself, his family and his people The primitive society and a glimpse of the rest of the world is kind of meant to help set the tone for the sequel (very far off) as I intent to write about the world at large more in that. ;) The lengths of the war do take into account the distances involved and the nature of the enemy. Unfortunately, many of the enemies can't be reasoned with so they need to be dealt with which takes up a lot of manpower and time when distances are involved.

RandoMando47 - Aegon cutting off Bartimos was a hard decision but one he needed to make. He needs his candles for practical things now. And he doesn't want to put his friend in a hard position.

Knighthunter911700 - Welcome aboard. It's been a treat reading your reviews. I'm very happy to see them! I dunno, I kinda like the description, mostly because it's a surprise for anyone who manages to pull through. I think of it as a reward ;). I look forward to more of your reviews!

Seprith Li Castia - another new person! Welcome aboard! Thank your for kind words. I thought having someone who was pretty happy with their life and dumped into a shithole like Planetos was a needed POV. Often times, you get writers who just have their characters fit seamlessly in with the shithole instead of having them go through hard decision points that either leads them into an acceptance of their situation or a rejection and wanting to build something new. Character growth! And I love your comment about Baelon (Aegon's father). He is exactly that. Look forward to your other reviews!

Everyone Else, Thank you for your reviews and comments, I always read them even if I don't respond to them.

As always, please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.

Note: If you would like to read ahead, the next three chapters after this chapter are available on P. .^T.^R.^E.^O.^N./ Boombox117

Late 125 AC

Quentys Lettaeros (Elamaeri Soldier, nine and ten Namedays) POV

Quentys breathed out heavily as he took in the sight of tens of thousands cheering and waving them off, off to war, trying hard to remain fixated on the spot where he knew his mother, his father, his siblings, had all stood and waved him off, a part of the crowd, but he saw them no more, lost as they were in the crowd of people.

"They'll cheer louder when we come back, having won glory and esteem!" He managed to hear from amongst the chattering of the men who stood around him.

"Glory? What glory will yer skinny arse bring t' army?" Laughter rang around before jabs made of words and cuts with slurs were fired across, laughter rising.

Even Quentys couldn't help but find the talk of his comrades amusing though that amusement was cut short by the hand that found itself on his shoulder.

"Hear that Quentys?" Quentys sighed slightly before he looked at his friend Jobin with a look of amused exasperation on his face.

"What? The bells of glory and esteem as Robys claims to hear?" Quentys quipped to his long time friend, a smile tugging at his face. They'd grown up together in Corinth and later here in Elamaerys.

"No, the sounds of merriment that'll die a slow withering death." Jobin said with a laugh but that laugh had some falseness to it, and darkness too.

Jobin had seen the army, particularly the Royal Military Academy, or rather his father did, as a way to further his family's standing, as it had done for many families who had fought with His Grace the Archon years ago.

Jobin's father had been amongst the first men who had set foot on Elamaerys, setting the ground for what Elamaerys was today however Quentys had been around the man long enough to know that there was some yearning to have the same respect as many of the surviving men had gotten over the years. Respect that he didn't quite as much get as a carpenter and woodworker.

And so, Jobin, joined the Royal Military Academy at the age of four and ten, like Quentys did, like so many other sons and brothers did when the Academy opened five years ago, and their year cohort had numbered just shy of five hundred.

Jobin didn't resent his father, as far as Quentys knew, but he did know that Jobin didn't like having the pressure his father was putting on him.

'It's just the nature of the firstborn. It is the way of things. Begrudging it helps none. Not you, not your son to come.' Quentys mused.

Quentys himself was not a firstborn – he was merely an adopted son from the age of four – but he did understand.

As did he understand what Jobin was darkly referring to. The pair of them were amongst the brighter lot of their cohort, after all.

"That's bleak even for you, Joby." Quentys said with raised eyebrows.

Whilst most of the boys in the Second to Fifth Classes waved away the warnings in the lessons their instructors gave them, some, him and Jobin included, had not.

And both of them had poured through Ser Maekar's book, 'Accounts of the War of Liberty and Retribution', a book that had been published for the Royal Military Academy a few years ago, where they learnt harshness of campaigns of war.

Days of chaotic battle where foe and friend fought so closely that one could easily mistake one for the other, weeks of long march in suffocating heat, and moons of travel on treacherous seas.

Seeing friends fall or friends cry because they lost an arm or an leg…

"Eyes open, eh?" Joby said with a light grin that shone away the bleakness and Quentys snorted lightly.

During their worst of training during the Academy and the training at Urran Fort by the Caerlys Hills, their cohort repeated those words – the only words that were repeated half as much were the words what do we do to animals - whenever they'd been hauled out of their beds in the middle of the night to run a seven mile circuit with the other units before being made to drill until sunset, food and drink only consumed in the brief moments of rest they were permitted under the swaps, until the end of day feast that soon sent them all into a deep slumber.

It had taken to mean many things but one of the things it had taken to mean was to see things for what it was.

"Of course." Quentys conceded but as he studied his friend's face, a thought occurred in his mind. "Though I suspect that you have got coin riding on it too."

"I might got a bet on with Emorys." Joby said with a sheepish grin on his face and Quentys shook his head exasperated. If only his friend put his efforts in his learning as much as he did in gambling, then surely he could have made the cut to the First Class.

"Of course." This time, his voice had no concession in it, expressed flatly and his friend laughed as he slapped Quentys' shoulder.

"You ca'"

"Men!" His friend's words were cut off, and so was the chatter all around them, silence falling as swiftly as a sharp blade through a hay stand, and Quentys found himself turning around and standing roughshot straight like the rest of the men, standing at attention at their commanding officer.

He was the man in charge of their unit and has been training with them for the past six moons. If the Unsullied trainers at the Academy had forged their bodies into iron, then this man had sought to forge their will into Elamaeri Steel.

"Yes, Ser Qoñōr!" they addressed in ingrained practiced.

The bulky knight with short hair and a stern look swept his gaze across their faces though if he was pleased, or not, he did not show as he spoke further.

"You know your schedules." There was a sharp change, a hardening, in his expression as he momentarily paused. "You will present yourself, on time and fully dressed in your training wares, within five minutes the bell rings. You will not falter in your training, you will not dither in your reading of your unit instructions." The Knight said, each word sharp and unyielding. "From tomorrow, we shall be honoured to serve Elamaerys and our Archon in ways few will ever be able to in their lifetimes. You will not bring shame to this unit, to this army, to Elamaerys and to the Royal Family. Is that understood, soldiers of Elamaerys?"

"Yes, Ser Qoñōr!" they all said in unison.

They only received a stern nod in acknowledgement. "Good. You are relieved for the rest of this day." Their commanding officer said before he turned on his heels and departed and as soon as the man was out of earshot, did murmurs start, including an audible blow of air through his friend's lips.

"I hope he'll ease up during the journey." His friend murmured with put on misery though Quentys could tell that some of it was real. Quentys glanced at the back of their commanding officer, who began to speak with the captain of the Galleon.

Quentys doubted the man would. Six moons alone with the man, and everything he'd learnt about the man, told Quentys they were shackled to a unmoving man.

Ser Nico Qoñōr (Hard-Arm) was six and twenty, not much older than them, who were youngest of their unit of two hundred, but the way the man carried himself, even in the presence of veteran soldiers who had fought in the Liberty War, made him seem much older.

He knew some of their unit, quietly, at first believed that he was an upstart that had been granted a knighthood and his position as a commanding officer in the army because of his childhood friendship with Their Graces Castorys and Valarr but Quentys believed these opinions were soured by jealously.

Whilst there might be some truth that Ser Qoñōr was perhaps favoured, he also knew that Ser Qoñōr had distinguished himself on the battlefield against the Dothraki under Commander-General Sapner years ago, when he'd been the same age as Quentys had been, having saved the lives of six and ten men from death.

He'd read the Ledger of Meritus Knighthood, kept in the Hall of Heroes, where descriptions of a man's deeds to earn their knighthood was detailed, which corroborated the rumours about the man that was leading them.

So no…Quentys didn't think Ser Nico Qoñōr would ease up on them but Quentys thought it was the better for it. After all, their training was going to be the difference whether or not they'd be able to come home after the war.

Even if he grimaced internally at doing all those weighted push-ups, the sit-ups, the rope pulls, the infernal unit training in full armour and more dreadfully the line runs that grew faster after every bell, each day…every day.

Quentys shook away those thoughts as he glanced wryly at his friend. "You'd better off praying to find a gold mountain underneath your bunk." Quentys mused.

"Although, if you get sick of it, I'm sure Ser Qoñōr will hear you out on it." Quentys added and he laughed when his friend made a show of shuddering in dread.

One of the men, Domys, had the bravery, or rather stupidity, to speak up during one of the training drills at Urran Fort and called for a more traditional means of training, like the ones they had at Corinth, which had been where Domys, and the other men that'd been in the army for the Liberty War, had trained.

Ser Nico Qoñōr had asked who else felt the same and though few had spoken up, that the majority of the veterans had felt the same told him enough.

Ser Qoñōr had thrown blunted swords at their feet and told them to pick it up, his intentions clear, and most had backed off, only a few wanting to escalate to that point. And what followed had made Quentys and all of the rest see Ser Qoñōr in a different. Hard-armed indeed. He'd defeated each of the dissenters swiftly with only a few giving him a few hard times, and unfortunately for the dissenters, the humbling hadn't been where it ended.

For their insubordination, they were reported to the Sub-Commander, Ser Loren, who in turn had called up to the Commander-General, Lord Maerro.

He winced at the remembrance of the harsh punishments the men were given in front of the entire army that had been training on Elamaerys – tied to wooden poles and beaten for their disobedience – and yet it was not the beating that had been the worst, not it had been the words Lord Maerro had uttered.

'This training you all go through, it is not solely for your sake. It is for the sake of your comrade. The man who stands on your right. On your left. Behind you. In front of you. Even the man who is a hundred rows away from you.

We face a rabid enemy, far different than the enemies we have faced on the sea or in Liberty Bay. This is an enemy who deafens the battlefield with their screams and quakes the battlefield with thunderous hooves, charging you with mad abandon.

They are like sharks, a single weakness, a single drop of blood, and they will hound you and tear you apart.

Retreat is not an option.

Breaking will be the death of us all.

And so, we must forge you into something unbreakable. Unwavering.

This training is here to harden your will, your minds, your bodies. To instil within you an unshakeable discipline and trust in your training.

Disobedience cannot be tolerated for it is disobedience and cowardice that would threaten to undo us all.

Even you, men who I have once had pleasure to fight alongside with but now have disappointed the memories of all that we have shared, will not be spared the consequences of disobedience and cowardice.

To be chastised by one of the men you respected the most, a fearsome man, in such a manner that made one beg for forgiveness…

Especially when the words spoken made it clear that all they were doing, all they were getting, was to keep them all alive.

"Trickster." Joby accused. "I shall not fall for it." He said as he pushed Quentys away and Quentys laughed, even as he stumbled down the steps, struggling to keep his balance.

Moons Later…

The Targaryen Islands, Dragongate Port

"DO NOT FALTER! KEEP THE WALL!" Ser Qoñōr bellowed from somewhere on his right as Quentys gritted his teeth, his shield arm shaking from the strain as the broad made battering ram pushed against his and two other's broad shields.

Quentys' feet dug into the sand, slipping all the while, but the push from the men behind him prevented his feet from slipping too far.

"'Spears!" Ser Qoñōr bellowed and, on instinct, his body posture shifted, his hand tightening on the spear, and like one, he and the men beside him jabbed their axe-headed spears like one, at thirty degrees, and right into the painted spots on the ram that signalled killing blows on the horse.

Spears surged from beside their heads and jabbed at the bottom sides of the battering ram, where the enemy would fall, and they surged forward in lockstep as the broad made battering ram was pulled away slightly.

The feeling of the pressure of the rams lessened, and he knew that it was coming, his shoulder dipping ever more and a moment after, arrows from crossbows sailed from over their shoulders and shields, the sounds of them impaling the wooden rams dully thudding.

"SWITCH!"

Quentys stepped back, shield up, and he was replaced in his spot by the man behind him, and Quentys stepped back again to allow the third row to take second before he stepped back one more time to allow fourth to take third whilst he rested in fourth, his shield's bottom end resting against the ground as he took a knee, his breathing slightly heavy.

He clenched his hand on his shield arm before he let the whole arm relax, a furtive glance sent to the rows of archers that stood behind him, their crossbows primed, and he was distracted once more by the clanging sound of the rams hitting the shields rang around him and the shouts of their commander who told them to hold.

Long before he was ready, the call came again to switch and he stepped into third whilst the first stepped into fourth and it wasn't long before he was back into first position, steeling himself amongst the men against the battering ram.

A few days later…

Quentys did not let a drop of the cool ale go undrunk as he tipped the cup totally upside down, the drink doing just enough to let his body find some relief in the drink.

He wasn't the only one that was dead on his feet as Quentys glanced around at the men that were all slumped over in their seats, red and tired of face.

They'd been here for the last twenty days, and nine and ten of those days had been filled with training exercises after the next. Combined training exercises with other units like them and the archers, balls of hays that weight half the size of a horse barrelling down into their lines; battered with rams and battering others with rams; seas of copper tipped arrows hailing down onto them the skies; facing the roars and rows of sword like teeth of the dragon Gaelithox that belonged His Grace Castorys to harden their nerve; mock battles and a slew of more drills and drills.

It was gruelling. Even for him and his year cohort in his unit and in the other units.

They were accustomed to hard physical training but even for them, this was another level and from the sounds of what Ser Qoñōr had said, the first month of when they'd set foot on Liberty Bay was to continue training but this time with the heavy cavalry and the Unsullied, carrying out battle drills and signals until they were 'seared into their minds'…

Low murmurs of cheers from the frontline units rang around when plates filled with fresh cups of ale were brought in by the archers, who had basically been given the task of watering them after each day of gruelling training.

"You're a hero Alysandro. Let none tell you otherwise." Ellos muttered greedily as he took two of the cups and slid one over to Jobin. Quentys rose from his seat and took two cups also before giving one over to Vardys who lay slumped against the wall yet when the cup was in front of him, he magically was full of life again with how snatched at the cup and down half of it in one big gulp.

"Ha!" Alysandro barked as he eyed Ellos intently. "Is that so?" He said drily with little heat in it and Quentys snorted.

"Of course, of course, you know I love ya, you lazing bastard." Ellos said with a grin. "WE ALL LOVE THE ARCHERS, DON'T WE BOYS?!"

"AYE! WE LOVE THE LAZING BASTARDS!" the men bellowed, laughter and cheers ringing around.

The archers, compared to the frontline soldiers and knights, had much lighter training regiment and duty demanded of them. Their goal was to down Dothraki from atop their horses, target them and keep the men at the front safe as much as possible as they absorbed the charges of the Dothraki.

As such, they were not required to physically train themselves into exhaustion, to steel their bodies, but instead, they were required and trained to be able to use both the longbows and the crossbows, with a certain dedication to training themselves to be able to reload their crossbows within half the minute and take a shot in that half minute, again and again.

Of course, the archers were also trained with the sword and shield – not the broad shields, the kind the frontline used to absorb and defend against the charges – and most were able swordsmen and were hard trained to be so like the rest of them were, but generally, it was much easier being an archer than it was to be part of a frontline unit.

Of course, Quentys knew that it wasn't as easy as it sounded. The gaps in the rows and columns of men the archers had to fire their arrows was exceedingly narrow.

The archers were drilled endlessly and Quentys had known men and those from the Academy who had been expelled from the archer units because they simply could not keep to the accuracy needed for the war they were going to wage.

Accuracy that while better than anything Quentys had ever managed during his time at the Academy, that was still prone to errors during the drills, and he couldn't imagine it would improve during actual battle.

There was a reason why the arrow tips were common castle forged steel instead of Elamaeri Steel, which could penetrate their Elamaeri Steel helmets whilst castle forged steel could not, at least not without it having weakened tremendously so.

And all of this was why the archers were made fun off, albeit, of course, with jest and good humour.

After all, despite the fact that they had it 'easy', they would also be the ones who could spell the difference between life and death.

The Dothraki were excellent horsemen who charged again and again using their arakhs, bows and whips and more, an endless assault of waves of attack.

They needed the archers to thin them before any of the proceeding battle tactics were employed…and they needed to make sure none of the Dothraki breached their lines.

"WELL THEN GO GET YOUR OWN ALES, YA BASTARDS! FOR WE LAZING BASTARDS GOTTA LAZE AROUND, DON'T WE!"

"AYE WE DO!" "GET YOUR OWN ALES!"

What followed was laughter and entreaties and apologies, but most of all, it was laughter that rang around, and Quentys laughed too at the sight of it all.

It wasn't long before the ales took effect, with food that was brought over by the cooks of the army assigned to their fleet cheered as if their favourite rugby team had made a goal, and the merriment and laughter that took hold seemed to sweep away the tiredness.

And with it being the day before last they were meant to sail away to Velos, them permitted the last days to do as they please after noon, the merriment continued long into the night.

It was the next day, after their morn training, that Quentys and his unit sat together with all of their Elamaeri armour, helm and breastplate and all, cleaning off the mud and grime before painting it with white paint.

The white paint was meant to help keep their armour as cool as possible, with explanation given that the white of the paint 'reflected' the sun's harshness away from the armour, which was a darker grey night black in colour.

Given that it was Spring, the weather was meant to be killing out in the Dothraki Sea, especially around the east of the Khyzai pass, where the Myrish Cogs, owned by the Liberty Bay city-states leased to them for the duration of the war, would take them as far as they could, which would be somewhere around the ruins of Ghardaq, a ruined Ghiscari city northwest of the Red Waste.

The heat, marching in full armour…

Whilst they were familiar with the warm climate – Elamaerys though shrouded by the mountains, could get uncomfortable and the rest of them, especially if you went south beyond the mountains was uncomfortable all the time – Ser Qoñōr had said that it was a different kind of heat.

A dry heat that was better and worse at the same time than the humid heat they got in Elamaerys.

In any case, they'd march all the way to Vaes Dothrak from Ghardaq in this heat, with cold nights to make it worse, some two hundred and fifty leagues journey.

It was a third less than what the march would have been from Meereen but he doubted it would matter much by the time they were marching.

Two hundred and fifty leagues, perhaps several battles with the Dothraki on their march if they were unlucky…

At the least, he thought they'd take two moons to arrive at Vaes Dothrak, though he suspected it would take them two and a half moons. They could march around five leagues a day – they were trained for it – but with the sheep, goats and supplies, they'd be hard pressed to keep to that march.

The logistics necessitated that they bring all of their supplies with them, at least eight moons worth of it, given that the Dothraki Sea was effectively 'no-man's land', a term that he'd learnt in his lessons at the Academy.

Yes, the Dothraki Sea was not barren. There were large game around and a hundred horses to every man that dwelled in that land, perhaps even wild grain and the like, but the Dothraki khalasars made any foraging a dangerous endeavour

Whilst the Heavy Cavalry included Dothraki Sea bred horses, horses that could live off the grasses that grew in the Dothraki Sea which differed from the Westerosi horses, Western and Northern Essos which all had varied diets and predominantly ate hay, the majority of the horses were not Dothraki horses.

Larger stronger horses that were unfortunately slower than the Dothraki horses. And even if they used exclusively Dothraki horses, he doubted they could outride the Dothraki, who were taught how to ride from the moment they could stand.

So, supplies had to be with the army on the march, meaning their march would have to be well protected from any raiding Dothraki, which meant that they'd have to be slow.

It was why he was sure that they would not be able to march to Vaes Dothrak without being noticed…

"What're you thinking?" Joby asked, breaking Quentys' line of thought and he blinked before he looked at his friend.

He shook his head. "Just thinking about the march." He said with a sigh before he looked at the broken volcano. They were on Visenya Isle, which was about the second largest isle of Targaryen Islands.

Mostly only Aegon and Visenya isle had much buildings on them, with Rhaenys Isle only really having cabins on the beach. There were even forts here now, having built only last year. Forts that overlooked the ports on both Isles.

"Aye, that'll be a pig's tits of a journey." Jobin agreed and Quentys looked at his friend who wore a serious expression. "We won't get our way, I don't think. Probably our commanders don't really want that anyway, given why we're even going out there."

Quentys made an agreeable noise to that.

The Dothraki were becoming a problem and his friend's comment was related how they suspected the commanding officers wanted to get rid of that problem.

He'd heard the stories, of the attacks some Khalasars were doing in Lhazarene lands. Butchering entire villages and towns, not even sparing women and children with the bones that'd been discovered.

It was not the Dothraki, typical Dothraki, way.

From what he'd heard, most of the commanding officers believed that the creation of Liberty Bay has really forced problems to occur with the way of things. Well, not just Liberty Bay, but much of Essos.

The slave trade wasn't so fulfilling anymore with their main supplier of gifts, gone.

Then there is the resistance the Meereenese were offering north of their lands, with the aid of some of their army, which was claimed to have helped kick up their ire.

Ire that had the potential to grow and with how much of a point of pride the liberation of Liberty Bay was to Elamaerys, letting the Dothraki grow and threaten to destroy their pride was not something their people would accept.

He knew some were arguing that it was not their problem, not their war to fight, but those were only some voices, those who were blind to the fact that Liberty Bay was very important to Elamaerys as a whole.

Much of their goods were sold there. The bulk of their iron, their copper and tin, came from there. Whilst they'd found good deposits, it was not a secret that they did not have enough people to mine it, not when they had need of more stone.

Hells, they were taught that in the Academy, and probably in the schools as well. Well, at least some of the schools in the city. Elamaerys' way of life depended on trade and Liberty Bay was going to become their largest trading partner.

It was not just pride that made them seek this war but also necessity.

The Dothraki had to be ruined for a long time and that was what his friend was referring to. They were going to march to Vaes Dothrak for a reason.

It was their holy city, their only city.

It was their treasure, their point of pride.

No Dothraki Khal could live with the city's destruction and it was this that was going to make the problem of the Dothraki fade into the winds. At least for a good few generations.

At least that was the hope…and what he and his friends believed.

They were not exactly sure.

After all, the commanding officers hadn't been explicit about the war aims, only the basics of it, but he knew the Archon, who was already present in the Gulf of Liberty with His Grace Solonys, were all there with their dragons.

Typically, this would probably be a disadvantage against a fast moving enemy like the Dothraki, who could life off the land, who could raid and skirmish and harry, a real nuisance of an enemy, who could try and disband and try to formulate a strategy to attack their army whilst avoiding the dragons.

It would have been hard, Quentys knew, but it was possible to reduce the effectiveness of the dragons even in a terrain like the grasslands, especially if you knew it like the back of your hand.

But the Dothraki were not a smart enemy.

Not until they were forced to be smart.

And they wouldn't be, not when they learn they were marching on Vaes Dothrak.

The Dothraki had the rights to be arrogant. They were, for all intents of purposes, the rulers of Essos. No lands was denied to them. No people did not serve them tribute. And had they but a civilised thought in their savage heads, they might well have ruled an empire that stretched from the bone mountains to the marshes of Braavos.

But they did not. And they would not. And this would be their advantage.

The Dothraki were ruled by a savage mind and a twisted sense of honour that only made sense to themselves, a mad lack of fear that only wounded animals would exhibit, and a pride that their commanding officers would exploit to the fullest.

"What do you mean with why we're even going out there?" Vazeo, the Fourth Class graduate, asked from beside Quentys with a frown.

"Why do you think we're going straight to Vaes Dothrak?" Joby said with a roll of his eyes as he painted the rerebrace piece of his armour.

"To capture it and kill as many Dothraki as we can." Vazeo commented before he stilled with a considering look. "And loot it too. Though how much Dothraki can really have…" Vazeo shrugged.

"At least you're not completely an idiot." Joby muttered, eliciting some laughter from around them.

"Joby…" Quentys warned though he didn't really mean it with how he was avoiding to smile. Vazeo wasn't an idiot…he just didn't use his wits as much as he could.

"Cunt." Vazeo said with a glare but Joby just waved him off with a light grin before it fell off as he begun to speak.

"Your points are correct of course. We've been told as much. But the second point…to kill as many Dothraki as possible…well." Joby shrugged. "We're going to have to lure them to Vaes Dothrak, won't we?"

"Bait…" Haros muttered from across them and more of the men were listening in.

"Not so much." Quentys interjected. "I would say that we're going to be keeping quiet that we're Elamaeri for as long as possible. And that we have dragons."

Some of the men murmured at that and Quentys didn't have to think hard as to why. Dragons were a secret weapon. Weapons that would make entire empires bend. Elamaerys could never lose with dragons on their side…and the only times they could lose was if the other side had dragons.

To not use them, especially against the Dothraki…well that was going to make things a lot harder.

"You really think Their Graces won't use the dragons?" Haros wondered.

"It makes sense not to. At the beginning. If we really want to kill as many Dothraki as possible, we need to make sure as many of them want to kill us but also come to us." Joby explained nonchalantly though he faltered for a moment, looking as if he felt he'd said too much and his follow up was a pace quicker than normal. "The Dothraki are stupid, yes, but aren't completely stupid." Joby added, a look sent Quentys' way, one he understood perhaps they were sharing too much.

"Like when Valyria still existed, they'd hide like rats." Vazeo commented as he rubbed his chin and Quentys nodded slightly. It wasn't exactly the same thing but it was on the right track.

The Dothraki only made themselves aware when the dragons had died out in Essos. That made it clear that even they knew, likely stories told down the generations, that dragons would spell the end of them.

That they rose to prominence and carved out the Dothraki Sea half of Essos told Quentys much that the Dothraki, at least in that era, were smart enough to recognise an opportunity when they saw it.

It only made sense to make sure that the Dothraki were not being allowed to be smart enough to realise the trap they'd be leading them into.

"And when they come in force…" Joby smacked his fist into his palm, a wild grin on his face and the men around them murmured, the daunted look that threatened to pass across their faces faded, and in its stead, there was tangible excitement.

After all..

They'd be witness to a burning not seen since the Turtle Wars.

"Don't tell anyone." Quentys interjected and all eyes went to him, even Jobin's.

He swept his gaze to meet their eyes. "We might be wrong but we could be right and if we are right…we need to be sure our enemies don't hear of the trap." And he didn't want to deal with the commanding officers getting on his back for this. Quentys wanted his plot of land and nothing else. And well, his Elamaeri armour and sword, at the end of his five and ten years service. It'll be an heirloom of his family name, with the armour and sword stamped with his name.

That was enough and the last thing he wanted was getting attention.

After the offended looks Quentys quickly continued. "I'm not saying any of us will be traitors" His expression twisted in a wry smile "but can you really say Laro can keep his mouth shut to a Meerenese whore?"

This lightened things up as he wanted. He'd have to buy Laro some of them fancy Lysene wines they sell in the city.

Any way. He didn't think he and Joby were really right, at least fully, but the plan made sense.

The war wasn't meant to last long. At most, it'd be a year, year and a half long. They were explicitly told that. They wouldn't have lied about that. Of course it could go wrong but he didn't think the Archon, who had planned against pretty much half of the Essosi powers and won, couldn't do the same again.

Besides, the options available weren't that plentiful anyway. The Dothraki Sea was huge. It was near enough a thousand leagues across. And no one really knows how many Dothraki there really is but with what he'd learnt over the past year, he knew that the land was not barren like the Red Waste.

It was enough to sustain hundreds of thousands of Dothraki, perhaps more, who knew the land and lived off of it.

They wouldn't be able to wage an effective war with them. Not with an army.

The dragons could. But not an army. And the fact that they were bringing an army to the Dothraki Sea made Quentys guess that this was more of a punitive war than it was a war to destroy the Dothraki completely.

"Besides, I wouldn't worry." Joby said nonchalantly he shrugged and though he looked uncaring, Quentys could tell his friend had a ploy in mind. "Do you really think Their Graces won't have their dragons watching us from afar?"

Quentys noted the looks of consideration from the men. Everyone knew that the Royal Family could speak to their dragons from afar. Hells, even during the war, the Archon had used Mīsaragorn in exactly in the way that Joby was describing.

"You're right." Haros said with a nod. "They'd sweep in if things looked bad."

"Of course I'm right." Joby said with a roll of the eyes before he grinned at Haros "Though it wouldn't be a good thing if Their Graces have to sweep in with the dragons. Imagine the shame of losing to the Dothraki despite having our special armour! The old bastards wouldn't let us ever die it down." Joby said with a laugh though few shared in the laughter.

'Cunning bastard…' Quentys thought with a little bit of admiration for his friend.

He could guess that his friend clearly felt they'd said too much and his words were meant to ease their hearts in what otherwise could have planted a seed of worry.

And most importantly, the words also served to help them keep their mouths shut.

Whilst Quentys didn't want to spent all of his life in the military, Joby didn't want his father to reap the rewards of Joby's actions, and having himself serve in the army with no real thing to distinguish himself from the others was what drove him more than anything else.

'If only Joby cared more about himself than wanting to spite his father…'

The conversation after that dwindled down and the next day came and went quickly, and soon…soon they were setting sail for Velos where they would then set to sail for Ghrazdaq…and onto war.

Moons Later…

Sailing Upstream of the Khazadhan River

The sight of more than a hundred Myrrish cogs clogging up the narrowing river for days was something else to see.

Yet, Quentys had to admit, once they'd landed and begun sorting the army, seeing the total number of the army, nine thousand Elamaeri foot soldiers archers and knights, five thousand heavy cavalry, and six thousand Unsullied, most wearing all white Elamaeri armour…

It was a sight to behold.

As was the amount of support that accompanied their army.

Twenty thousand Lharazene sheep, five thousand spare horses pulling carts, along with five hundred Elamaeri – healers, blacksmiths, Septons and cooks – four thousand men and women from the Liberty Bay cities and Lhazar. There were dozens of hounds too, there to help keep the sheep under control.

Apparently, many of the Liberty Bay cities were grateful they were marching to war on their behalf, so much so that it was said that His Grace Castorys had to limit the number of volunteers to come with the army.

Their march begun two days after they'd landed, once their formation had been sorted. The bulk of the army, their nine thousand and the six thousand Unsullied, marched ahead of the column though there were columns of the foot soldiery that marched on either side of the supplies carts and the animals, effectively creating a boxed formation. The cavalry were on the outermost side of the army, serving both as the first layer of protection and scouts.

The cavalry also served as the outlets and guards for the horses, letting them feast on the wild grasses around them when they'd set camp, preserving the supplies solely for the sheep and the cavalry horses.

In all honesty, Quentys had to admit that he was also wrapped up in the excitement the army felt as they begun the march. Quentys was not one to be wrapped up in glory and the hunt for it, but he knew that what they'd accomplish was one that he could be proud of.

He felt a knock against his armour and he saw Joby grinning at him, a grin that he kept as he spoke further, in a low murmur so as to not be overheard.

"Eyes open, eh?"

Quentys' eyebrow twitched at that but he nodded anyway, the excitement dulling.

"Eyes open."

Six and ten Days later…

"ENEMY SIGHTED!" rang from ahead of him and soon the words were repeated a hundred times, and he found himself caught up in moving back into position.

By the time he was back into position, in his assigned position, he just about glimpsed the arrows loosened into the Dothraki riders through the two front rows of men, arrows that struck them plenty and dead whilst avoiding Lord Maerro and His Grace Castorys.

"Fuck." Quentys muttered to himself as he realised that the Dothraki riders had been the ones sent to treat or speak with them, with many more Dothraki far behind them into the distance.

"Men! Prepare yourselves! Sound the horn!" Lord Maerro bellowed as he raised his sword and raced across the front line of the army.

Horns blared all around them, horns that he instinctively understood, a sound that meant that a battle was to come and to get into primary position, and Quentys fastened the grip of his broad shield as he moved his feet into position, his heart racing. His eyes flickered around, watching men put their helmets on, tightening the strings, and he saw the fear in their eyes, fear he must have thought probably was on his face too.

A distant sound begun to pervade the battlefield, a dull sound, a dull sound that lost its dull edge as each moment passed and Quentys looked to the front, through the gaps of the rows of men, and he saw that it was screams that he was hearing, screams that grew and grew as dust clouds were kicked up in their wake.

'There must be thousands' Quentys realised with horror yet before he could dwell on it any more, His Grace Castorys rode in front of them, astride his muddy brown armoured steed, cladded in the same undistinguished white armour.

"MEN OF ELAMAERYS!" His Grace Castorys bellowed in half a scream, his sword brandished out of its sheathe, the famous Valyrian sword Sunfyre that possessed a golden sheen, and Quentys found himself captured by the General of their army.

"HEAR ME OVER THE SAVAGES, WHO BRAY LIKE THEIR WOMEN!"

"DO NOT FEAR THEM, MEN OF ELAMAERYS, MEN OF THE UNSULLIED!" His Grace Castorys continued and his voice seemed to quell most of the sounds of the army.

"DO NOT FEAR THEIR BRAYS, DO NOT FEAR THEIR ARAKHS OR THEIR ARROWS.

LET THEM FEAR US!

LET THEM FEAR WHAT MEN CAN DO WHO FIGHT FOR A GREATER PURPOSE.

SHOW THEM THE COURAGE, RESOLVE AND STRENGTH THAT DWELLS IN OUR HEARTS AND BEATS IN OUR SWORDS!"

Quentys could feel the hoofs of thousands of horses strong in his very feet yet as His Grace Castorys addressed them, even at the backdrop of thousands of Dothraki racing towards them, he felt the horror subside and a cool determination set in.

'I will not die this day.' Quentys vowed to himself as he gritted his teeth.

"SHOW THEM THAT THIS DAY IS THE DAY THEY WILL SEE THAT THEY ARE NOTHING COMPARED TO USE FOR WE SHALL NOT BREAK!

THEY WILL FOR THEY WILL BREAK ON OUR SHIELDS, OUR SPEARS, OUR ARROWS, AND OUR SWORDS.

WE SHALL NOT FALTER BUT THEY WILL!

WE WILL BREAK THEM AND MAKE MOUNTS OF THEIR CORPSES!

FOR WE ARE THE GREATEST ARMY THIS WORLD SHALL EVER KNOW!

FOR ELAMAERYS! FOR VICTORY!"

"FOR ELAMAERYS! FOR VICTORY!" Thousands of bellows drowned out the screams of the Dothraki, and it seemed as if the very skies had quavered in the act, and Quentys found himself caught up in the bellows, his throat roar as he prepared himself for the onslaught to come.

It felt like a lifetime, the coming of the Dothraki, barrelling Dothraki that looked like the worst of storms, thousands of arrows fired at them, darkening the heavens, waves upon waves of arrows, yet when it came, it was as if the very world shook.

His ears heard nothing but the stampedes of horses, his body felt nothing but the sheer shock of being smashed into and the shock of being pushed up against by a shield at his back, and for a long moment, it felt as he'd died, such was the disconnect he experienced in the wake of the mad charge into their lines.

"REFORM! REFORM! REFOORRRMMM!" was bellowed around them and the shock of the charge began to wither away as instinct and training settled into his core stance, somehow having kept his hand gripping his spear and Quentys, whose two front rows had collapsed with several others along the front line, stepped up and yelled as he jabbed his spear forward, into the downed Dothraki who had been about to stand up. Moments later, two other spears followed, killing the braying horse, before they were joined with dozens of spears that'd stricken the mad Dothraki.

As if by magic, swift rains of arrows danced between the rows of men, striking down Dothraki.

Quentys stepped forward "BACK TO POSITION! BACK TO POSITION!" he screamed as he climbed over the Dothraki and the horse and speared his spear into the side of the Dothraki who tried to kill one of his comrades who'd fallen down in the charge. The Dothraki was skewered by his spear though he did not die, even if he was a dead man standing, his arakh wildly swunng towards his direction, his hand reaching out and grabbing his spear.

The arahk clanged against his shield and as Quentys tried to get his spear out of the Dothraki's grip, the Dothraki was struck in the throat by another spear, loosening the grip of the Dothraki.

Enemy arrows rained down on them, his shield peltered with them amongst others but Quentys nor his line faltered in their movements.

"REFOOORRRMMM!" was bellowed all around them and Quentys stepped over his fallen comrades, some who looked alive, some not, and formed the first line.

"ARROWS! ARRRCHHEERRRS!"

More arrows flew as they stabilised the front line, dancing between the gaps in their rows, spears jabbing and striking as the Dothraki swung wildly at them.

It must have been an lifetime, it must have been no more than a few moments, Quentys could not tell one way or another, yet the tide began to shift enormously as Dothraki after Dothraki was felled by their spears and their arrows, falling down their horses that were killed mercilessly and who were served no mercy either as they were skewered on the ground, so much so that desperate Dothraki began to be more frequent, Dothraki that threw themselves against their shields.

Quentys faltered slightly as he was struck by a wild swing of the arakh, the weapon doing no more than graze against his armour, though he was saved from acting as a spear from over his shoulder buried itself into the Dothraki's throat.

It became hard to stand, the bodies and the corpses of the horses, blooded and mucked and shit smeared, making it a necessity to watch their steps though never once did they stop their movement and a quick glance over his shoulder proved that the men behind him had not either, keeping as they were to the two feet of distance, their spears primed.

"SWITCH!"

The rows behind him stepped beyond him, the first row, the second row, the fifth row, and Quentys let a shuddering breathe escape his lips as he glanced around. He could see men, the ones who had met the charge, largely on their feet, their armour blooded and dinked quite heavily but they, a large number of them, were alive even if they could not fight no more.

The armour did its job and now it was onto them to finish the battle.

The battle continued, their lines and columns pristine as they marched onwards, meeting the charges, feints and arrow fire in practiced order, and it was if in a blink of an eye that their training seemed to have taking hold of the entire army, the switches occurring with practiced efficiency, the marching, the closing of gaps, the arrows that felled charging Dothraki again and again.

Quentys lost track of time, the only sense he had of it was the number of times he had been brought back into the front line, four times, and it was he was back in the second row, set to take the front line again, that he heard something that was incredibly welcome.

"THE HEAVY CAVALRY ARE SMASHING THEIR LINES!"

Quentys looked around and he could see the heavy cavalry smashing towards the middle from both sides, lances skewering Dothraki after Dothraki and he knew that the battle had been won.

Hours later…

He swept aside the flaps of the large infirmary tent and in a single stride made his way into it. He paused for a moment, the pungent smell of fresh blood hitting his nose and he could see more than a dozen men on hay beds laid out.

Most of them had only broken bones though some were unlucky enough for the bone to have breached flesh and skin, the cause of most the blood loss. The Elamaeri armour they had prevented the most severest of injuries whilst the Elamaeri chainmail they had ensured an additional layer of protection.

From what he'd seen, the only injuries and deaths amongst the Elamaeri were only those of broken bones and broken necks because of the charges.

The ones who had suffered injuries from the Dothraki weapons had only really been the non-Elamaeri Unsullied, who ranked amongst half of the Unsullied in their army.

His eyes swept across and he found whom he'd come to see and he made his way to the man. "Haros. I'm glad to see your ugly face still shows some life." Haros had been directly in the front line when the initial charge had been made.

"Bah! As if some savages can kill me!" Haros laughed as he tried to sit up but he grimaced and fell back on his bed. "Oh, woman, that hurts!"

"Of course it does. You've got three cracked ribs." The aged woman healer tending to one of the other men across the room fired back and chuckles from amongst the men rang around.

Women healers were rare amongst their army and most of them were actually from the Liberty Bay cities, oddly enough.

"If you gave me more of that milk of the poppy, it wouldn't hurt so much!" Haros grumbled as Quentys arrived by the man's side. He was wrapped in strips of cloth across his mid rift and his leg, though it seemed like it was merely precaution instead of a true break as there was no wooden splint there.

"Don't whine. I'm sure if you have real need of it, they'd given it to you." Quentys said as he patted the man on his arm.

Haros gave him a nasty look before he harrumphed. "If only I'd been skewered by an arakh." He muttered.

Quentys snorted at that before he shook his head. "Well, it seems like you're just fine." Quentys said wryly. There are few other injuries in their unit but only one had died, thankfully. Unfortunately, also one of his cohort, a boy of nine and ten named Entaros.

"Entaros is dead." Quentys said sombrely and that halted Haros who seemed to age a bit.

"Poor fucker." Haros mumbled. "How?"

"Broke his neck." Quentys said and Haros grimaced before he nodded.

It was not the greatest way to die. Not that there were many great ways to die.

"How many have died?" One of the men called from the next bed and soon murmurs rang around, murmurs that made it clear that they too were interested to know.

"Not many. We lost six and forty Elamaeri and two and hundred Unsullied. That number might climb a bit however. There are some badly hurt." Quentys told.

In all honesty, the numbers were exceptional and the sole reason for the low deaths were because of their armour. The arakhs and the other curved swords the Dothraki had, could not pierce their armour. Not without repeatedly hitting the same spot again and again for many times. And in the way they fought…they'd never get that opportunity.

And truthfully, the largest number of deaths was predominantly because of the cavalry, whose horses were killed in full flight with the majority of the deaths being because of broken necks.

"How many of the bastards have we killed?" One of the men asked.

"Thousands." Quentys said with some satisfaction in his tone of voice, something that was well reciprocated in the satisfied nature of the men's murmurs.

They'd routed the Dothraki, the few that survived anyway, though from what he heard Lord Maerro had ridden down as many he and his men could, shooting down as many of them as they could with arrows as before they let them go.

And he'd only just heard that they'd captured the Dothraki slave train too though what the commanding officers would do with them, he did not know.

Nor did he know what they'd do with the Dothraki women and children.

"We've also captured dozens of them. Including their Khal." Quentys added.

More than a few of the men spat on the ground, cursing the Dothraki.

"Pity I won't be able to see their execution." Haros grumbled but if he was angry, he buried it since from the look on his face, he could see that the man was satisfied enough in the thought that the Khal would die painfully.

Quentys only smiled as he patted the man's arm. "Heal well. We're soon going to need you, I think." Quentys looked around. "All of you." He said as he rose fully.

"Don't you forget it. Fuckers can try a thousand times but they won't kill me." One of the men jeered and chuckles and murmurs of agreements rang around.

Quentys soon left the infirmary and made way through the camp, towards his unit, though as he neared, he'd overheard something, idle talk, from the men.

When he'd asked a few of them, he'd gotten his answers.

"The dragons. They'd been sighted to have gone the same direction as the routed Dothraki." He'd been told and Quentys thought it was probably true.

He'd seen the two dragons a few times on the march, far in the skies, seen when no clouds provided cover. He knew that they were covering them, as did the rest of the army.

Whilst thousands of the Dothraki had been killed, perhaps hundreds had survived.

Too many.

Whilst he was sure, especially now that no dragons had aided the battle, that some would be left alive, keeping too many alive was probably not for the best.

By now, the army was well aware of the trap they were springing on the Dothraki. It had been said as much by His Grace Castorys, who had ridden with them on the march along side His Grace Solonys, both of whom had fought with them against the Dothraki.

The Archon had come with them to Meereen though he'd not marched with them and Quentys was sure that it was part of the trap, just as His Grace Solonys was.

Ten days later…

They marched again two days after the battle. Tents, and carts and more hauled back into position in the march, the thrill and terror of battle long having abated.

The march to Vaes Dothrak had been slower the first few days though they soon picked up speed again, marching once more at the same pace as before.

The slaves had joined with their army, serving as additional support, though those who wanted to take their chances, were permitted to leave.

The Dothraki women and children however…Their thumbs and large toes had been cut off, women and boys above the age of six alike, before they'd been left behind, tied up and hooded on the eighth day, fate to decide whether they'd live or die.

The removal of the thumbs and large toes made sure that they could not pose a threat in the near future, but it also made them slower to get to another Dothraki khalasar.

He'd known that the Liberty War had been especially brutal in comparison and Quentys hadn't been too happy with the act of barbarity, but he knew that it was the most mercy they could give, mercy that more than a few felt they did not deserve.

On the tenth day after the battle, they did not march at the break of dawn, instead, there was a delay, a delay that Quentys was eager to see for himself.

Quentys made his way through the horde of inquisitive men, trying to get a sight of what was happening.

"- for me." Quentys managed to hear His Grace Castorys say and he finally caught a glimpse of His Grace Castorys through a gap, who stood in front of twenty kneeling Dothraki next to someone, a Liberty Bay man, who seemed to translate His Grace's words.

His eyes fell on the Dothraki, who were all shaven clean, not a spark of black hair on their heads. Their faces were bloodied, their ears, their hands, all brutally cut off, their ends blackly coloured from seared flesh.

The last nine nights had not been pleasant for them.

His Grace Castorys looked imperiously at the Dothraki who were gazing at His Grace with hatred in their eyes.

"We are coming for Vaes Dothrak." His Grace uttered and Quentys thought he could hear the satisfaction in the man's voice.

The man translates and the defeated Dothraki spit and rage and His Grace Solonys stepped forward smacks the sides of the Dothraki heads with the butt of his sword.

His Grace Solonys grabbed hold of one of the Dothraki's heads, and the grin on the royal Targaryen's face was chilling yet the words he spoke further was ever more chilling, and the Dothraki could sense it, even if they understood not.

"We will raze it to the ground, tear down its pathetic walls, its filthy huts, your disgusting temples and all of your horse statues of your savage puny little god."

The translator translated and this time the Dothraki were more aware of the situation, the depth of what was coming for them.

And it seemed like His Grace Castorys wanted to drive into their skulls even more.

"We will piss down in the charred corpses of your holy city like the filth that it is."

The Dothraki raged once more and again His Grace Solonys silenced them as horses were brought to the Dothraki.

"Go tell your fellow unmanly and cowardly beasts that we shall do this." His Grace Castorys said before he stretched out his arms, further antagonising them.

"Let us see if your kind is brave enough to overcome your cowardness and take back your holy city, ruined as it may become. "

The men laughed as the Dothraki tried to take hold of the reins, and the looks of humiliation on the Dothraki was clear to see, but none did anything more than watch them leave.

"Do you think they will go for the trap?" one of the men asks nearby him.

"Some of the Khalasars." Quentys says, unable to help but speak up.

But he had a feeling it might just be more than just some. The Dothraki were savages, true, but they had a strange sense of savage honour.

And since they did not use their dragons…

They might not come to know who it is that is attacking them.

There were many Valyrian looking sellswords after all.

And that, Quentys mused, might be just the reason why they might be able to lure many of the Dothraki to their deaths.

Quentys glanced up, looking towards the skies, hoping to see any of the dragons but he found none.

'I hope the dragons aren't too far away.'

He had a feeling things might not become as easy as the battle they'd fought.

'As the instructors at the Academy pressed into our heads…no plan survives contact with the enemy'

-Break-

A History of Elamaeri Wars

The First Century of Founding

The Elaemari War Campaign against the Dothraki (126 AC)

The First Battle in the War against the Dothraki on the 17th Day of the third Moon of 126 AC, which most acclaimed Historians herald as the practical foundation of the Elamaeri Professional Army, was a resounding success that shattered the invincibility of the Dothraki.

Only two and fifty Elamaeri (eight and hundred Unsullied) died in the ensuing battle, in comparison to the near seven thousand Dothraki led by Khal Okho that had been slain in the battle.

That number would later climb to approximately nine thousand after the war when it became known that Archon Aegon personally hunted down the fleeing Dothraki with Mīsaragorn as part of his support role to the army, which was repeated twice more in the Second and Third Battle in the War against the Dothraki.

Many claim that the resounding victory with such minimal casualties founded at the First Battle, whittled away at the inexperience of the Professional Army, paving the path of similar success at the Second and Third Battle against the Dothraki, 14th Day of the Fourth Moon and the 19th Day of the Fourth Moon respectively, which saw less than three hundred Elamaeri die at a combined Dothraki horde size of five and twenty thousand.

Whilst there is some bias involved in this proclamation, it must be said that the continued success under the leadership of His Grace Castorys – still years away of his ascension to Archon at that point – had created a similar confidence in the heir to the Archon as had been observed in during the Liberty War.

It is also this historian's opinion that the First Archon's actions, the hunting of the routed Dothraki, also ensured that skirmishes and raids of the Dothraki were all but eliminated, aiding the sustaining of the army's confidence in his heir.

This confidence ultimately culminated in the successful deployment of the trap set out by the commanding figures of the Army at the Massacre of Vaes Dothrak, where the willingness of the army to obey commands despite being outnumbered by three Khalasars, a force of five and forty thousand Dothraki led by Khals Jhazavo, Hattazzo, and Mahavo, allowed the trap to be sprung to great success.

Accounts state that the men in the army had been anticipating having to fight without dragon support and it is to the testament to the confidence the soldiers and knights had in His Grace Castorys and their commanding officers that they prepared for battle whilst heavily outnumbered.

However, such preparedness had ultimately not been needed for the horde had been the first to fall to a concentrated army annihilation by dragonfire not seen for many centuries as all three dragons, Stormfyre, Gaelithox and Mīsaragorn, were deployed at the battle.

The dragons up until this point, particularly Stormfyre and Gaelithox, had only been used as scouts, warning Their Graces long before Khalasars were days away from the army's path, using the unique ability – often compared with Skinchanging – the Royals had for the first time in documented history (unconfirmed accounts of the First Archon using this ability during the Liberty War notwithstanding).

The accounts of the Massacre of Vaes Dothrak are wide though all agree that the dragons made the necessity of the army defunct as the dragons swept from above the army and bathed the charging Dothraki with dragonfire long before they broke the army lines.

The subsequent routing that followed, in the end, required only the heavy cavalry to clean up at the fringes of the field of fire though the dragons largely ensured that few Dothraki lived to tell the tale.

Few however, did live to tell the tale, and whilst the news of the use of dragons must have inspired caution in the remaining Dothraki Khals, the wide and total desecration of Vaes Dothrak and the expulsion of the humiliated Dosh Khaleen, who had been stripped naked and forced to walk out of Vaes Dothrak barefooted with the remaining Dothraki into the grasslands of Essos, had completely destroyed any notion of caution of the Dothraki.

Whilst the act of releasing tens of thousands of Dothraki women and children, completely unharmed, was an act of mercy in actuality, the Dothraki would never see it as such.

And so, a crusade had been launched and a force of Dothraki not seen since the Century of Blood gathered to seek revenge.

Khals Dozo, Koqqo, Allo, Ogatto, Zicho and Khobo united their Khalasars, all vowing to fight together to avenge the insult their people and their God had been dealt, culminated in a force of some eighty thousand Dothraki.

In comparison, during the Century of Blood, the Great Khal Mengo had led a force reputed to be a hundred thousand strong, and in this comparison, it must be said that the unification of the Dothraki in this great gathering of the Khals, is a testament to the insult felt by the Dothraki people.

The First Archon and his commanders of the army were long aware of the potential of a great reprisal. It had been the First Archon's responsibility to sweep across the great plains of Essos and keep an account of the general locations of the Dothraki so he was aware of how long it would take for the reprisal to come though they'd planned on using the dragons to cause disarray in their ranks long before they could reach the army.

However, the Dothraki proved to be cunning.

Raiding Dothraki harried the army continuously on their march from Vaes Dothrak, and the dragons were forced to remain close by the army instead of scouring plains.

This strategy proved to be successful for the larger body of the Great Dothraki horde was left untouched when the army neared Vaes Efe, where the Great Dothraki horde assembled themselves.

The plan had been clever and uncharacteristic of the Dothraki.

The plains surrounding the Hills of Vaes Efe had grasses taller than men, and could shroud an entire enemy from direct view.

Unfortunately for the Dothraki, dragons provided a point of view that bypassed the protections provided by the Tall Grass. This might have been a problem but it was not entirely an insurmountable one.

Had circumstances been different, it was possible that the Dothraki could have forced a confrontation where they stood a chance.

Tall Grass burnt easily and it spread fast, and could have caused an uncontrollable wildfire that consumed both Dothraki and the Elamaeri army.

Perhaps the Dothraki even factored that into their choice location of the confrontation however unlikely.

Unfortunately for the Dothraki, the Elamaeri Royal House of Targaryen were unique to their Westerosi Kin, whose dragons might have caused great and terrible bodily harm to their armies had they been in this situation.

For they possessed the command of fire.

The 3rd Day of the Eight Moon of the Year 126 AC would be an unforgettable day and one that was unofficially celebrated throughout Essos for centuries to come.

The Burning Day of the Horselords.

-Break-

Mid to Late 126 AC

Solonys POV

His hand tightened over the reins of his horse, and had he been able to see his eyes, he would have seen the blue flames across the horizon reflected off of his eyes.

Across the horizon, a sea of fire – a sea that stretched nearly the full swivel of the head, such was the vastness of the flames – that burned and burned and danced, the night hollow filled with the distant shrieks of men that one could faintly hear over the crackling roars of the flames, shrieks he saw played out through the eyes of his dragon, who soared over the flames and watched the men burn.

Father had learnt how to concentrate dragonfire like normal fire, compressing it like a wet ball of hay into a much smaller size, with the use of dragonglass, a skill that only his brother Polaerys had learnt how to accomplish in any form, dragonfire that had been fed by Mīsaragorn, Gaelithox and his Stormfyre two days ago.

His father's ridiculous control over fire allowed him to ambush the Dothraki and so…so they burnt. But he'd seen the toll it had taken on his father, and the concerning amount of dragonglass that was being consumed in his control of the fire and he could only hope his father would be fine in the end.

"Father should have let us help him. He didn't need to do this alone." Solonys couldn't help but say to his brother, who rode next to him alongside a few of their guards.

"Aye. He doesn't. But he will anyway." Solonys glanced at his brother whose hands were clenched together. "He would rather his own dreams be haunted than ours, brother. A thousand times over."

"For it isn't merely Dothraki men who burn in those fields, I do not think." Castorys murmured but Solonys heard him well enough and Solonys grimaced.

He'd felt guilty for what they'd done to the Dothraki women and children, mild as it was. Somehow he didn't think it felt anywhere near as bad as he would have felt if he personally slew…

Solonys looked away from Castorys.

Solonys swallowed a little drily as he eyed the flames that rose high into the skies, and he remained silent for the rest of the time the fires burnt, his bond with his Stormfyre keeping him abreast through the eyes of his dragon.

He gently nudged his dragon to look towards the fringes of the flames, where could spot Lord Maerro's cavalry in the distance, carrying out their assigned duty to hunt any escapees and for the rest of the burning, he merely kept his eye out for anything other than the burning of tens of thousands of Dothraki.

It was hours later before the fires died down, Stormfyre and Gaelithox long having descended down and laying beside them, and it was only then that Mīsaragorn flew down towards them, a bright furnace of magic that was akin to a second sun so close to him

Solonys removed himself from his horse and walked up to their father, his eyes accustoming quickly once more to the brightness of Mīsaragorn, and Solonys quickened his pace as his father stumbled when he reached solid ground.

"Father!" Castorys said, quick on Solonys' heels, and Solonys brought his arm underneath his father's arms, bracing him steady, and soon Castorys joined too.

"I'm fine." Their father said with a light smile on his tired face, the heavy ring around his eye apparent to see. Solonys thought his father looked paler than usual and he stepped a little back, his eyes scouring his father's form, his father's halo, to see if he was nearing death. But he saw little difference and he noted that Castorys had done the same.

"I'm merely fatigued, boys. I will be fine by tomorrow morn." Their father assured but Solonys thought he could see his father struggling a fair bit though he made to move to stand on his own two feet and his father swivelled to look around, beyond Mīsaragorn's wing, towards the ashen tall grass that lay in the fields and hills beyond.

"The war is over. We should find no struggle returning to Velos." His father said and there was a note there that he found…disquieting.

"Father…" Castorys began quietly and Solonys turned towards the soldiers gesturing them to fall back and the men did so.

"Are you alright?" Castorys asked and their father turned to look at him, before he looked at Solonys and he smiled as he placed his hand on Castorys' armoured shoulder, and after he'd beckoned Solonys forward, he too placed his hand on Solonys' shoulder.

"I am not, I must admit." Their father said and he looked even more tired than before. "I have killed fifty thousands in less than an hour, by my reckoning. The rest in the trap after." Father smiled wearily. "No man should be alright after this." He said with a heavy sigh and neither he or Castorys had much to say to that.

What could they say?

Solonys knew, now, what it felt like how to kill a man. How to kill a dozen men. His duty in the Heavy Cavalry had seen to that, had seen to his growing to manhood fully in the wake of the dozens he'd killed through the charges and personal combat.

But killing so many like his father did with his dragon…with magic…

He could not know. And Solonys did not want to know, he realised.

"If you never have to do what I have done in your lifetimes, or your children in theirs, I will die happier more than you could ever know." His father said to them and Solonys could feel that his father meant every word he said.

His father shook his head as he tapped them on the shoulder. "Come. Let's head back to the army. We shall march again."

Three weeks later…

He smiled happily as he swept another handful of water over his face, delighting in the feeling of cool fresh water, muddy as it was, covering his body.

Stormfyre growled, purred, as he bathed himself too, though he was covering himself more in the mud than he was covering himself in the water.

"You're going to stink if you don't wash that crap off of you."

Stormfyre stilled a little in his shameless display but only a little before he, his head firmly planted against the muddy riverbank, twisted around and opened his maw, a bit of fire burrowing from through the back of his throat before he closed his maw shut and exhaled a great puff of black smoke that accelerated to him.

"Ah you bastard!" Solonys yelped as the black smoke caked on his naked upper body and he dove into the water where he stayed for a good few seconds before he resurfaced.

And he was greeted back with a satisfied growl from Stormfyre who then continued to purr happily as he rolled around in the mud of the riverbank and Solonys laughed heartily before he let himself fall to the ground, an amused grin on his face as he watched his dragon enjoy himself for the first time since the Targaryen Isles.

He looked away from his dragon and looked upon the city walls of Meereen, which lay in the distance, his amused grin fading away a little and he fell onto his back, watching the clouds above him as he placed his hands behind his head.

The war was over now. At least for them anyway. He doubted the Dothraki would see it that way but they got what they wanted out of it.

"I guess that includes me." He murmured to himself. Father knew him well, too well, really, and knew that Solonys wouldn't accept anything but to be included in the war.

Neither Polaerys or Valarr had fought too hard to be included for neither had much care for matters of war and battle, the only care they had was their guilt and worry, guilt and worry their father, as always, managed to reason away.

Solonys closed his eyes as his mind wandered, thinking back in the battles he'd fought, the battles where he felt like he'd never felt before. He'd felt alive.

So, so alive.

It had been beautiful.

His lance skewering his opponent; his Valyrian sword smacking away arakhs; his sword tip cutting through flesh and skin and bone.

Even the moment when he'd been unhorsed in the second battle, the breath in his throat the last airs remaining for his lungs were emptied as he flew adrift, had been a moment that he…cherished.

Of course, he'd been afraid. But he'd also been so alive.

And he had noticed that he fought harder, better, after each battle, improving in ways that had taken years prior.

He loved it. He loved every moment of each battle he'd fought.

He opened his eyes. But he had not liked the aftermaths.

"Ah…so messy." Solonys murmured before he closed his eyes again, his hands clenching the back hairs of his head.

There was no denying the two went together. The battle and the aftermath.

And Solonys felt perhaps that was why it was that way. To stop those like him who felt more alive in battle than anywhere else, from seeking it everywhere.

He'd not told his brother, and definitely his father, about this about himself.

For all the strange gentleness of his father that was uniquely his, he didn't want to worry his father, and more importantly give the wrong impression of himself…

He dreamt of battles fought and battles he wished he was a part, and soon he drifted off to sleep, drifting off as he lay there on the watery and muddy banks of the river Skahazadhan.

…

…

…

He jolted awake at the sound of the roar, and after blinking a number of times, during which time he felt the earth quake, he turned his head to where he felt the disturbance and he saw the large golden dragon of his brother, a flash of annoyance making its way on his face before he fell back on his back, his eyes closing.

He heard his brother making his way to him and when he felt that his brother was close enough to hear him, he spoke up. "Did you have to be such a bastard?"

"Yes." His brother said simply and Solonys peeked at his brother who eyed him amusedly and Solonys closed his eye fully once more.

After it was clear that Solonys wouldn't answer back, he heard his brother sigh for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're too exposed, little brother. Stormfyre barely noticed our arrival."

"Bah, we're fine." Solonys said a bit dismissively. "We're south of the river Skahazadhan and near the mouth." Solonys opened his eyes as he smirked at his brother. "Dothraki will come here as likely as the dead will rise."

Castorys raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?" he said drily.

"It's a little funny." Solonys said with a grin on his face as he pulled himself up a little, resting on his forearms and despite himself, Castorys did find it funny.

He just wouldn't let himself show it.

"How's Hard-Arm?" Solonys questioned.

His brother had mentioned he'd meet up with Nico and a few other of the men that'd come with the army, men his elder brothers had befriended in their youth.

"He's improved." Castorys said. "A little changed too." Castorys added, a bit of reflection in his tone of his voice. "Command suits him well." Castorys said before he met Solonys' gaze. "He spoke more of his men than he did of himself, especially of some young man named Quentys Lettaeros that impressed him so."

Solonys squinted his eyes. The name was familiar. "Academy?" he asked.

"Yes. Second to Fifth Class. He's from the last cohort approved to join the army." Castorys said and Solonys nodded his understanding. That was why he likely knew the name. He'd probably better remember the face if anything…

"Have you come to collect me?" Solonys questioned curiously as he rounded back to the topic as to why his brother was here.

"No, just checking up on you." Castorys told him and Solonys hummed understandingly before Castorys continued. "Besides, there isn't much for us to do, not really, not since we won't leave until the day after next now."

This surprised Solonys.

Father was rather keen to depart for Velos as soon as possible.

"What's the problem?"

"It seems like the Meereenese had more iron ores and iron ingots than they told us, that's the problem. Part of it." Castorys said a little drily as he looked around the muddy riverbank with a mild look of distaste. Solonys knew that it wasn't the cleanest of water but at least it wasn't downstream.

His brother doth protest too much.

"Father is spending some of our new coin to secure the entire lot." Castorys added.

"How much can they possible have?"

"Of iron ores? Many, many tonnes." Castorys said with a shrug.

"Apparently our constant demand forced them to reopen many of the old mines and it seems like some of them are actually very rich. Father has been negotiating with them on buying the lot in a cheaper lump sum, which has caused the delay. There were a few other things too but that mostly."

Solonys smiled wryly at Castorys. "Only father." He laughed and Castorys rolled at his eyes at him. But he knew his brother probably had similar thoughts.

Only father could go to war and massacre tens of thousands and then go into another type of war…in commerce.

"Hmm. Well. It's not like we can increase how much we get delivered to Elamaerys. I suppose Velos will be stocking a lot of iron ingots for a time." Solonys mused mostly to himself before he reached a train of thought and he looked at Castorys with raised eyebrows. "I wouldn't suppose father is planning on making some special armour?"

The army had consumed a significant portion of their steel…their Elamaeri Steel.

Nearly every man was outfitted with Elamaeri Steel, from boot to helm.

Father had prioritised them instead of casting dragon armour, which was unneeded against savages.

"You know as much as I do." Castorys said with a shrug "but yes, I think he'll want to create some dragon armour the next time we go to war."

"Next time?" Solonys asked, curious and intensely interested. What war could they fight next.

The main reason why they even went to war with the Dothraki was because of all of the advantages that it offered.

Wealth – hundreds of crates of gold, silver, gems, silks and more – training their army against an hardened army, testing out the new command structure, helping their allies in Liberty Bay, an influx of settlers for Velos and Elamaerys, to say the most important reasons.

And of course, an enemy that wouldn't be a problem at all for Elamaerys.

Father had picked the right enemy.

There were none around Essos that matched that. Save for perhaps Volantis. They would have treasures of knowledge too, and a wealth of Valyrian Steel. But with the strange relationship father had with the Red Priests, one father answered in such a way that it was antagonistic as it was allying, and so he doubted they'd be the next target for he did not think father wanted the Red Priests to grow strong.

There was one however…

"We won't fight in Westeros." Solonys denied.

Castorys only shrugged. "Probably not." Castorys said and Solonys narrowed his eyes at his brother's agreement which rang a little hollow.

"Do you know something?"

Castorys looked a little amused at him. "No more than you do. But I wouldn't be surprised if we're forced to intervene."

"Considering father's opinion on kinslaying, and the penalties he imposed on our family, I highly doubt we'd ever do it." Solonys said seriously.

Kinslayers in their family were to be sentenced to the death penalty, with no chance of leniency. It was enshrined in the Articles of their Royal House and it was enshrined in the laws of the Archonate.

With what he'd heard about how bad matters were amongst their kin in Westeros, he doubted father would countenance intervening on any of their behalf should they fall so low to kinslay each other, a depth that seems like they already were at.

Castorys considered that for a long moment before he nodded. "True but father does care for uncle Viserys…" Castorys trailed off before he shook his head.

"Anyway" Castorys began, his tone lighter "Let's go back. I'm sure you want to eat something."

Solonys rose to his feet. "Aye, why not." He said as he stretched himself out and with a push in his bond, he awakened Stormfyre and a thought passed through his mind. "Say Castorys…" he said with a grin on his face and it made his brother a little suspicious.

Where was the damn trust?

He wasn't half as much a troublemaker like what Valarr was.

"What do you say we go travel to that Seal Island off of the coast of Tolos?"

Castorys was surprised. "You mean the one father described with all of those seals?" His brother seemed open to the idea.

"Yes. That is why I named it Seal Island." He said flatly though with a grin.

Castorys gave him a look but it had nothing in it. "Why not. Gaelithox could do with a good meal or ten." Castorys said with a glint in his eyes.

It wasn't that surprising.

When he'd been younger, whenever father had been asked why Mīsaragorn had grown so fast, his answer had been 'a steady diet of seals' with a serious face.

Of course, he knew father was joking.

None of them were dim-witted of course. But still…

It could have helped…

"Even your lazy dragon can catch that many easily."

"Gaelithox isn't lazy. He just knows his worth and that a dragon as beautiful as he deserves his meals brought to him." Castorys retorted and Solonys laughed.

"You should have been born a girl, dear brother." Solonys said with a grin. "Gaelithox would have accompanied you well with a necklace of gold."

Castorys rolled his eyes but he smiling nonetheless. "I think my sword of gold does just fine in replacement."

Solonys had to admit that was fair enough. Gods, he wished his own Valyrian Steel sword – and armour – had a shimmer of a better blue.

Perhaps he could figure out what gave Valyrian Steel their shine…

If he was able to accomplish that that…well, then, a sword that bore the same name, and colouring, as that of his dragon was surely a story that demanded to be told…and it would have to be a story of legend.

And Solonys…

Well…

He rather liked the idea of being that character of that story.

-Break-

A History of Elamaeri Wars

The First Century

The Elaemari Campaign against the Dothraki

The Massacre of Vaes Efe was the last time dragons graced Essos until centuries later, having gone unseen there until only at the very epoch of the War of the Twin Dawns where the Second, Third and Fourth Armies marched with the Libertos Armies to the Gates of the Five Forts after having beaten back the incursions of the dead in Ulthos and breaking through the Strongholds of the Dark Ones in the Shadow Lands (see Chapter 7 for the Elamaeri role in the War of the Twin Dawns).

And though the Massacre, colloquially known as 'the Burning Day of the Horselords', had widespread implications, it did not however culminate in the elimination of the Dothraki problem.

On the contrary, the fewer competing Khals had, over the span of almost two decades, allowed the surviving strongmen Khals to consolidate the surviving Dothraki to marshal into concentrated numbers, tribes, that would pose a continuous threat over the coming centuries to the powers of Essos until the death knell was forced in by the Libertos Armies during and after the War of the Dawn.

There are some who argue that the total destruction of the Dothraki had not been the goal; instead, the vast riches of Vaes Dothrak and the Dothraki Khalasars had been the true targets of the campaign.

There is justification for this opinion.

Records show that the periods of the First Archon's reign and that of Archon Castorys had seen heavy consumption of the Elamaeri treasury that fostered faster development of the virgin lands of Elamaerys along with heavy absorption of costs in order to facilitate greater population growth in the-then sparse Elamaerys.

Some historians pose that this was in line with the modus operandi of the First Archon – whose effects of his policies and establishments are still felt today, whether it is scientifically, historically, socially or religiously – that the First Archon's foresight helped ensure that the immense treasures secured from the Dothraki, which rivalled the total contents taken from the slavers of the former slaver cities, would fuel the widespread and revolutionary thinking he implemented and would eventually result in the Industrial and Cultural Revolution that propelled Elamaerys into the superpower that is today.

Whilst rich silver veins, and gold veins one and ten years later after the Campaign against the Dothraki, were found in the Corra mines, it would be some time before either resources was mined to adequate capacity.

Thus it is the wealth seized from the Dothraki, on top of the wealth from the extinct Ghiscari culture, that ultimately fuelled the early rapid agricultural and urban development whilst also promoting the attractiveness of immigrating to Elamaerys to the Valyrian and Essosi diaspora….

-Break-

Mid to Late 126 AC – Lys

Lysandro Rogare POV

He absentmindedly drank of his Lysene wine, careless in posture even if he listened astutely as the informant gave his report of the accounting of the victory of Aegon Targaryen and his army.

"Thank you, Lysidos. You may leave." Johanna Swann said after the man concluded with his report and the man bowed before them before he was swiftly escorted out by the guards of the Black Swann.

"Well." Drazenko began as he tipped the last of his wine into his mouth, a mocking smile on his face as he levelled his gaze at Lysandro. "Who would have thought savages burn as wonderfully as the grass they so venerate?"

The Dothraki's contempt against civilisation was infamously known, as was their desire to change the entire world into fields of grass.

A desire that was made quite a bit more impossible now that vast numbers of their kind were eliminated by their dear old friend Aegon.

Yet where that desire was swiftly on its deathbed, there were other desires borne from the chasm left behind.

"I had not expected so many of the Dothraki to perish. It will be a problem." Lorassio Dynaar commented as he looked upon Johanna Swann, a contemplative expression on his face as he ignored Drazenko's mocking quip.

Lysandro scoffed.

It would only be a problem if they'd foolishly let it be a problem.

And though his opinions of some in this great hall were low, he did not think them enough of a fool to let this great opportunity go.

"Perhaps in the long term but in the short term, our ambitions with Lynoros and the rest of the Disputed Lands will be realised quicker with the time we have been afforded." Ranarre Konarros, the recently elected First Minister interjected.

"You think enough Dothraki have died to accelerate our expansion?" Johanna asked, her head turned towards Belano and Lysandro was curious enough to want to know the man's opinion.

Whilst Belano had been nothing more than a Qohoric slave soldier before he'd been bought as an enforcer for the Paenaerris family, he did get the training all Qohor slave soldiers got on the Dothraki.

There were few better, as highly placed, as Belano to be able to give them an insight on what the Dothraki might do.

"No one knows how many Dothraki there are." Belano began with a shrug though his expression told them all of the seriousness of the topic. "Often times, the only time we even learn about the Dothraki is when they've gained notoriety under a successful Khal who has set his eyes outward rather than inward." Belano picked up his jug of wine which he made dance in his hand as he continued.

"However, the death of…" Belano paused for a moment before he continued "three and ten Khalasars numbering at the least hundred and fifty thousand is of course no small amount, most of whom were Khals that possessed a large swathe of territory in the Dothraki Sea. Their deaths will have left a chasm in the order of things there." Belano looked at Johanna before he spoke again.

"I think we have a great opportunity to expand, yes. I'd expect there to be severe infighting amongst the Dothraki until a new order has been established, draining at their numbers further. It could be several generations before the horses fuckers are a serious problem again." Belano finished and Johanna nodded, a considering look on her aged face.

"The fading of the Dothraki as an enemy doesn't mean we won't have other enemies that'd fill the void against our ambitions." Dynaar warned before a grimace made an appearance on his face. "Volantis has sorted out their mess in the most inopportune time."

For all that Lorassio was low in his estimations, he was forced to concede that the man had a point there.

Volantis' civil war had, for all practicalities, ended.

A stalemate it may be, a hard fought tenuous return to status quo it was, but ultimately, it was a stability that none of them wanted for Volantis.

Few could have expected the damned Priests to buckle and give in to the re-establishment of the old order in Volantis. All of those assassinations of the Old Blood, the utilisation of the slaves under a mad religious fervour, only to settle for a return to the status quo because their Temple was at risk, of all things!

The Old Blood had taken back control of the Black Walls though beyond those walls, Volantis had firmly been under the control of the Red Priests, beating back every wave of attacks from the armies of the Sister-Cities of Volantis.

Despite the setback, the Red Priests were in a good position to try again. Once the Old Blood had fallen, it would have placed them in a good position to try and take the rest of the cities in Volantis, an endeavour that they guessed could have taken years with the measures the cities had put in place to keep control of their slaves.

Yet they'd buckled when the Old Blood manage to conjure up and emplace long range siege weaponry that directly targeted at their Temple, calling for a cease fire that ultimately culminated in a strained peace that seemed impossible to last that yet still lasted.

Everything East from the Harbour and the Merchant's House now belonged firmly back into Volantis' control with reinforcements from the other cities, along with the population that resided there which had been firmly re-enslaved, with the West of the city under the control of the Red Priests.

A city divided and it was a hotbed for further conflict but much to their dislike, it seemed like both parties were interested in keeping the peace.

"For now." Lysandro commented as he stared at Lorassio. "The uneasy peace won't last. The Old Blood won't forget this. Nor will the Red Priests be ignorant of that. We just have to…help things along when the time comes."

Both sides were entirely there to be exploited.

The Red Priests betrayed their flock in the East whilst they could inspire the same fear in the population in the West, that the Red Priests will betray them in the same way as they'd betrayed their brethren, religion be damned.

From the look Johanna was giving him, he knew the old wily cunt knew that too.

"Whilst my dear brother is right that we shouldn't stay ignorant to take advantage of Volantis' weakness" Drazenko began, a grin on his face. "Considering Volantis as an enemy to be wary of at this time is a fool's errant." Drazenko said sharply as he looked at Lorassio, who reddened at the slight.

Lysandro sighed silently at his brother's antics. It was moments like this that made him regret supporting his brother's political career. But then he always remembered that his brother would succeed Ranarre Konarros as First Minister who would be as beholden to Lysandro as Konarros was to Johanna.

Drazenko ignored the looks he'd gotten as he continued. "They are bloodied. They have no appetite to divert their attentions beyond their city walls, not when they have to worry about the enemy across the river." Drazenko dismissively waved.

"They are not a problem to our expansion. Not yet anyway."

"Whilst Drazenko's initial words leave much to be desired" Johanna said with a note of warning in her tone of voice, to which Drazenko bowed comically as to signal his apologies, which Johanna swiftly ignored as she continued.

"He is right in saying that Volantis does not pose an immediate threat in a similar vein that which the Dothraki are no longer an immediate threat" Johanna paused as she glanced at Belano "provided, of course, that they are going to be infighting."

She looked at the First Minister. "Accelerate our plans for Lynoros. I want us to push as far as we can to the two lakes." The plan for Lynoros predicated that they 'close off' as much of the Disputed lands as possible.

This meant creation of fortresses between the two lakes, permanently staffed by Lysene soldiers, along with fortresses north and west, using liquid stone as the primary material to help speed up the production of the fortresses.

Before Volantis had firmed up their uneasy situation, there had been thousands of Volantene slaves that managed to escape the blockade, and more Volantene before then. Those populations had settled in the Disputed Lands, under their protection, mixing with Lyesene and Myrrish folk who had left Myr in favour of seeking their fortune in the Disputed Lands that was in their control.

It had allowed them to accelerate the plans for their plantations but it also allowed them to hire more hands to help build the forts and fortresses.

And once the bleeding stopped, the bleeding of Lysene leaving for Elamaerys, they'd be able to relocate more of the commonfolk there.

Too many Lysene were leaving when they had uses for them there in Lynoros, and those damned Septons, with their sweet words of poison that even the Red Priests would grow envious of, were making it damn hard to retain the ones the Consulate had approved for migration to Elamaerys.

Ranarre Konarros nodded his acceptance to those words.

"What about Pentos and Qohor?" Adario Hotyrion questioned, the last person in the room to finally having spoken up. He continued. "There is no denying the likes of Qohor and Pentos will be tempted, perhaps even emboldened, to expand their territories at their fringes."

The Dothraki made making use of the vast lands at the fringes of the Free Cities' territory nearly impossible. Few endeavours that profited off of the land lasted more than a generation before they were swept aside by the Dothraki.

Sellswords could only do so much in protecting their lands and over the centuries, their lands had contracted into, real, defensible regions.

"Not just them." Ranarre Konarros said as he looked around. "Everyone is likely to be emboldened, once they realise the opportunity that exists."

"It also means that we can rest more assured that our colony in the Disputed Lands will secure." Johanna interjected. "Those who can expand, will expand. Our advantage is that our neighbours are too broken to be rated amongst those who can actually expand." Johanna stated simply and Lysandro agreed.

Myr was the most unstable of all of the Free Cities, a shadow of what it once was. And the interference of the Braavosi wasn't helping matters, much to Lysandro's satisfaction.

He hated the Braavosi more than anything else, insipid creatures that they were.

Forcing them to exit Myr in order to avoid becoming too great a threat to their banking institutions…

The comfortable position they'd placed themselves in in Liberty Bay did little to assuage that bitterness.

He knew that the bitterness was because he was forced to shy away, like he'd been forced to shy away oft in his youth, a time he hated as much as he hated the Braavosi, a time when he'd been weak and helpless, even if he thought that the removal of the Rogare Bank from Myr and tilted towards Liberty Bay had actually made them more money than not.

It had allowed him to…convince…some of the Regency Councillors to reward themselves and create accounts in their name in the Rogare Bank, an endeavour that saw the number of golden coins in Bank increase by millions.

In contract, Myr's wealth, which had been in its industries, was unlikely to have paid off as immediate as Liberty Bay had, which had most of its iron, copper and tin mines made untouchable by the Regency Councils thanks to the sheer volume that was demanded by Elamaerys, which also fuelled the employ of tens of thousands of their cities, which made even the most corrupt of the Regency Councillors unwilling to upset lest their misdeeds be discovered in full.

"Do you think this cleansing of the savages will affect the opportunities on the horizon?" Lorassio asked after a few moments of silence in the Great Hall.

"You speak of the Sunset Kingdom's looming civil war?" Lysandro questioned and Lorassio nodded almost unperceptively.

"I see no reason why it would. Unless you see something we do not?" Lysandro asked with a raised eyebrow but before Lorassio could answer, Johanna interjected.

"Fortunately I do not see that link. Unless somehow a war between Pentos and Braavosi is instigated."

Tensions between Pentos and Braavos were high, higher than normal at least. It was also quite likely that Pentos was involving itself in Myr too, fanning the hostility the Myrrish had with the Braavosi.

The same as Lys was doing.

"Is there a way to instigate a war between them? It could only help us." Drazenko said with a smirk on his face.

Everyone seemed to consider that.

"We could only so do using Myr. Somehow." Lysandro said contemplatively. "Though how…" Lysandro trailed off and the other could tell where he was going with it.

How they could get Pentos invested in Myr.

"It would be difficult." Johanna commented slowly. "We would have to dissolve our interests in Myr to make the temptation stronger."

"Considering that we have designs on Tyrosh first…" Belano trailed off as his gaze swept across the room.

The Tyroshi were waiting for the right moment to throw off the loosened yoke of the Westerosi. The ones they were supporting, the ones they'd betray, were committed into gaining back full independence. Whilst several factions were competing for greater control, for absolute control, they were at least united in this goal of theirs.

The fact that Tyrosh had been impoverished thanks to the heavy handedness of the Targaryens and the Velaryons had greatly played into the hands of the Tyroshi factions opposed to the Sunset Kingdom's capture of Tyrosh, where even the 'liberated' were growing greatly tired of their worsening economic position.

"Tyrosh remains the priority. That won't change. We may not get a chance to extend our control over another Free City like this again. No, we will focus on Tyrosh and take advantage." Johanna stated firmly.

"I have no doubt that the Hightowers have approached them to dangle the idea of full independence in front of them. If they have asked them the same of us, to use our fleet against the Velaryons, they will be weakened."

"The resentment will be too strong to ignore the temptation." Konarros stated, a glimmer of satisfaction on his face. "The Velaryons have taken too many liberties for that not to happen, as has the Iron Throne."

The Velaryons and the Iron Throne were deliberately sabotaging the Tyroshi economy. They'd be fools not to realise that when they'd introduced tariff free duty on all Westerosi goods supply by the fleets of House Velaryon.

So many of the industries in the city had been undercut by this measure, where Westerosi goods, though inferior, were much cheaper than the Tyroshi counterpart.

Westerosi smallfolk were slaves in all but name so the labour costs were insignificant in comparison to that of the Tyroshi, which was an island nation, and now forced to pay their employees thanks to Westeros.

Fewer coin available to the commonfolk meant less purchasing capability which meant more Westerosi goods were bought than Tyroshi goods, which meant that more shops and factories were lacking in work, which was only compounded by the forced pricings the Tyroshi had to abide by when they were selling their wares to Westeros or Westerosi merchants.

Combined with the lack of purchasing power of Myr and the high import tax of Pentos and Braavos, it meant that Tyrosh had a difficult time in getting true worth of their goods in their neighbourhood.

Lysandro was amazed by the shortsightedness of the Iron Throne. Tyrosh was a goldmine if one knew how to polish it yet all that they were doing was burying it with mud and shit, letting it lose its shine.

He was rather sure that it was, in part, done with deliberateness.

At least by the Velaryons. Perhaps on account of the War in the Stepstones, which saw the Velaryons lose a fortune in men and coin, and given what he knew of the Sea Snake, he didn't think it was so out of sorts for him to have pushed to regain his lost wealth in this manner.

The late Rogue Prince probably helped him do it too.

In any account, it was to Lys' favour.

When the Civil War occurred, and distracted the Sunset Kingdoms, they'd work to gain Tyrosh for themselves. As the emblematic figure of a truly Free City, with a reputation that saw them well thought of amongst the Tyroshi, especially as more and more Tyroshi made to move to Lys that also trickled word back to their folk in the other island city, they had plans in place to take advantage of their reputation.

If not take fully control of Tyrosh, at the very least secure themselves a city deeply tied to Lys.

And, depending on what happened to Myr, they might well gain the opportunity to incorporate Myr into their control…and where before in the Triarchy, the Lys had the least control, Lys instead would be the senior party in the alliance.

An alliance that would finally give them ways to get back at the hated Braavosi.

"That reminds me…shall we tell our dear friend Aegon of the Hightower's plans?" His brother said with a light smirk on his face though Lysandro could see the genuine curiosity there in his eyes.

It wasn't the first time this was brought up. He doubted it would be the last.

"Our treaty with Elamaerys does not necessitate information sharing of this nature." Lorassio stated and Lysandro was amused at that.

Their treaty with Elamaerys was one of a mutual defence treaty though it was also a treaty that expanded far beyond that. In effect, they were allies of the closest nature.

Their people had free reign to migrate to Elamaerys, for the most part; their nobility were sharing blood with the nobility of Elamaerys and their economic ties were greater than Lys has had with any for centuries.

The amount of trade that flowed from Lys to Elamaerys was only second to that that flowed to Westeros. Wines, perfumes, arts, even common goods like ropes, hemp, medicine, all that Lys had to offer were sold in varying amounts to Elamaerys, and more and more each year.

And the trade that flowed from Elamaerys to Lys…fabrics of great quality, silks of all things…

It was a shame his brother and his family had not been able to find out more about these factories of theirs. He mentally shook his head.

In any case, to say that their relationship with Elamaerys stopped at the confines of a treaty…

And everyone knew it.

Just as everyone knew that Aegon would be extremely unhappy if they kept this kind of information from him. Yet they were doing so.

Yet they were planning on keeping on doing so.

At least for now, he mused to himself.

Drazenko laughed at Lorassio's words, making it clear what he thought of it though before he could speak, Johanna did.

"We won't tell him." Johanna said finally as she looked around at their faces, her hands folding in front of her. "Not until we must." Johanna sighed a little as she looked at Konnarris. "Besides, I am quite confident that he already knows of the pending civil war. Telling him one side of his family is seeking allies…"

"If we had seen it coming before the Hightowers had even approached us…" Lysandro said with a shrug, his own way of agreeing to the plain comment of Johanna. "I rather think he knew it was coming for some time. Else why marry his daughter to an unknown Velaryon with no real worth but his blood?" he posed as he looked at his brother who only smirked a little more.

Gaemon Velaryon was unworthy a match. Yet it was made and yet they married.

Despite there being three other Targaryens who could have married his daughter.

Lysandro stood up from his seat, tiring as he was from this conversation. Johanna would continue to do the most unwise course of action, despite having all of the opportunity to gain a favourable position with Aegon.

He was quite satisfied that Johanna was letting personal feelings, feelings of some strange aggrievement, cloud her judgement.

And who was he to get in her way?

If she wanted to provoke a man that Lysandro could admit made his blood chill with all that he heard of the man…well…

So be it.

Let her hang on her folly, just as hard and just as final as she hangs on that strange aggrievement of hers.

-Break-

Early 126 AC – Kings Landing, Small Council Chambers

Rhaenyra POV

The Kingsguard and Lord Commander Rickard Thorne, wheeled her father into the Small Council's Chambers, her steps quiet as she followed from behind.

The chairs around the Small Table scraped against the floor as the Councillors rose from their seat and bowed in front of her father. "Your Grace. Princess." Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin, was first to greet them, the portly man's tone of voice respectful, the only one she could truly stand aside from Daeron.

The other Councillors – Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, Ser Daeron Velaryon, Master of Ships, Grandmaester Orwyle, Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers, and Otto Hightower, Lord Hand – provided their own greetings one after the other though only Daeron had any sincerity behind their greeting.

After her father had been emplaced at the head of the table, and she had taken her seat by his side, he weakly gestured for the Small Council session to commence.

And so it began.

Lord Beesbury had been the first to speak, beginning with the state of the Crown's finances. The tax collected from the first harvest has proven to be in excess of what was expected, an unexpected boon, which meant that the road and bridge maintenances along with new forks of roads and construction of new bridges throughout the Kingdoms was no longer going to be heavily subsided by the Crown's own coffers, which suffered a hit during the winter, even with the coin they received from their share of the profits of the glassmaking in Braavos.

Lord Beesbury continued in his report, seemingly invigorated by the appearance of her father who had not been seen in a Small Council meeting for nearly a year, and he spoke of the finances of the city, which had also been party to the whimsy of her father that'd started eight years ago.

Their House had never seen as much coin as they had in the last ten years, coin that overflowed in the Royal Vaults.

Lord Beesbury and the late Lord Strong had convinced her father that it was time to reinvest that coin into improving Kings Landing, and she was sure that they'd appealed to her father by appealing to the idea of their capital sharing some of the greatness of old Valyria, especially since a number of the buildings that had been built in the city, such as the Magistrates Hall, in all of its marble glory, appeared similar to that buildings she'd seen in her father's city.

And so, one thing led to another, and the greatest works of infrastructure since her father's grandsire had commenced, she thought as she eyed Otto from the corner of her eyes, working hard to not let her displeasure of his presence showing on her face.

That man there…

She'd only been back in the capital for two moons and she knew enough that he was working hard to rollback the investments her father had approved, and though she hated that the Crown was investing too much of their coin into the affair, she would not see him gain another victory for whatever sordid reason he wanted it for.

Beesbury continued, though his earlier excitement faded as he spoke of the increasing costs of maintaining the Gold Cloaks numbers, who, despite not having increased, had instead increased in expense in every which way from what she could tell from his report. From dying their cloaks gold, to maintaining their swords and weapons, to clothing and feeding, even expenses that was dubious in nature, expenses that nearly doubled the pay the gold cloaks received.

It was also the first time she was hearing this and she'd queried, wanting to know where this had originated from.

She got given an answer, an answer she distrusted.

"The investments that the Crown has made into the city necessitate that we keep our interests in the city close at hand. Princess." Every word grated on her ears, the cool manner he spoke with crawled down her spine and she did everything she could not to clench her fists.

The foul man continued. "We employ thousands presently to see to His Grace's redevelopment of Kings Landing as such, we must ensure that order is maintained. The expenses are a small price we pay to insure those interests."

"Rhaenyra." Her father rasped from beside her, forcing her look at him, a light smile on his severely wounded face. His right ear had been cut off three ago, the disease that festered her father so necessitating it to be removed. Other parts of his face too had suffered such butchering intervention from the maesters.

He barely resembled the father he resembled. In body…and as well as spirit, she thought woundedly.

"It is a temporary measure. I am certain that their expenses will return to normal when the city returns back to normal."

"His Grace is correct." Otto, the snake like he is, was quick to agree with her father, in a tone of voice that itched at her temper.

Nonetheless, she kept her opposition quiet, knowing that she would have find out later the true reasons for the increases of expenditure. Reasons she had cause to believe originated at the time of the snake's return to Kings Landing, which also resulted in the appointment of his son as Commander of the Gold Cloaks.

After Beesbury finished, then came the reports of Jasper Wylde, who spoke of the city's crimes and how there was an uptick of crimes committed by foreigners, which was disputed by Daeron and that soon dispelled into a simmering argument about Kings Landing merchants taking advantage against that of the view that it was better for that to happen, and Rhaenyra felt as if a headache would grow unless she stopped it dead here.

"Enough." Rhaenyra said with a firm tone of voice, silencing Daeron, Wylde and Beesbury and she ignored the look of Otto whose placid face she knew belied his true feelings.

"Lord Jasper. I'm sure you have a plan to address this…uptick of crimes?" Rhaenyra posed sharply. She cared not, not truly, but she wanted to take more control of this Small Council. She knew where she stood with them, with all of them.

Her only true ally in this room was Daeron. Not even her father was an ally she could rely on. Matters she would keenly address when she took her throne.

"Yes, Princess." Lord Jasper said cautiously.

"Then do so, Lord Jasper." She said with the thinnest of smiles and Lord Jasper aggravated her when the man looked to Otto first, who gave nothing, before he looked to her father, who simply uncaringly waving him on, and with clear reluctance, the man continued.

He explained about the proposition that he was drafting up to bring to the next Small Council meeting, a proposition that laid down his plans to segregate the ports of Kings Landing into separate quarters that divided the ports of entry and that leveraged more power to the city's merchants and the Small Council with new customs procedures that made it quicker to sift through 'ports of origin' and summarily the imposition of taxation accordingly.

"You interfere with traditional rights of the Master of Ships, Lord Jasper." Daeron said with narrowing eyes. The Master of Ships did more than look after the royal fleet. It was a position that encompassed control over the ports and customs, particularly those in the Crownlands.

"Ser Daeron." Otto intervened with a sharp tone, one that Daeron did not appreciate. Neither man liked the other, and she knew it because Daeron challenged Otto like no other on the Small Council, who had grown to appear as if he was King from what she heard Daeron describe, ever since his appointment back as Hand eight moons ago after Lord Strong perished in that damned fire.

"The matter of which Lord Jasper speaks off is an affair of the law, which, despite having its effect in an area under your remit, is still ultimately his responsibility to see implemented."

Daeron scoffed lightly at that but before he could speak, Rhaenyra interjected.

"Ser Daeron, Lord Jasper, both of you have fair point and it is clear that this is a matter that does not solely lie in a single quarter. As such, if it so pleases you, I will offer mine own assistance in…smoothing out any issues that otherwise might get delayed through misunderstanding." Rhaenyra stated more than suggested, her eyes flickering to each man.

She had no real interest in this matter but she had to force herself back into these affairs, her affairs, if she was ever going to push out the grip the damned Hightowers had in her own ancestral Keep.

"Princess, this matter is beneath you." Otto said as he leaned forward slightly. "As Lord Hand, I am entirely well placed to serve you in this position."

"Thank you, Lord Hand." The words were bitter on her tongue. "However I must decline." She said with a sharper smile than she intended, and she delighted in the light narrowing of the man's eyes.

"Rhaenyra." Her sharp smile faded as she turned to look at her father "Leave the matter to Lord Otto. You have more important matters to attend to." The pointed look at her swollen belly humiliating her in front of these men.

"His Grace is correct, Princess." The smugness in the man's voice was there, Rhaenyra knew, and she could never believe that it is just there in her own mind.

"Father, I would prefer not to leave this in Ser Otto's hands. Consider this as a matter to aid me rule more wisely, father." Rhaenyra said softly to her father as she placed her hand on top of his. "As your heir."

At that, her father crumbled. "Of course, dear daughter." Her father smiled and the look on Otto's face was one she delighted.

"Your Grace." The quiet voice of the new Lord Strong and Master of Whispers drew attention, including Rhaenyra's.

The man was long faced and possessed the same strong brown curls his elder brother Ser Harwin had, and whilst there were other familiarities in the man's face to that of his brothers, that was the only similarity that existed.

Where Ser Harwin Strong had been a burly, strong man, Larys Strong was spindly, a buckle backed man who waddled in his steps thanks to his clubfoot. Where Ser Harwin Strong was handsome, easily one of the more handsome men she'd seen outside of her family, Larys Strong was…plain. Sallow.

Yet that was not the most disturbing about the man.

She'd been back in Kings Landing for two moons, and this was only the third occasion she'd seen the man who had profited from the fire that consumed his father, his brother and his nephews, but she could tell that the man likely had found his calling as Lord Confessor before he ascended to Lord of Whispers.

There was something about the man that deeply disturbed her, in the same way Otto tried but never really managed, and the instance she met the man, the instance she'd heard him speak, she considered that the man may well be as low as a kinslayer, as she and Baelon considered possible with the demise of Lord Strong.

The fact that he'd been placed as Master of Whispers as soon as Darklyn issued his resignation six moons ago…

"My contacts have picked up…concern over the provocations of His Grace's brother has committed in Essos." Larys Strong began and Rhaenyra felt her father pull away his hand from underneath hers and she swiftly removed whilst she kept her gaze on the man.

"Provocations?" Rhaenyra questioned sceptically. "What provocations is there to be with what my uncle and cousins are doing against the savages?"

"Princess." Otto interjected, the veneer of respect peeling off of his tone of voice. "Whilst Aegon the Elder has been permitted to act independently of the Crown, the utilisation of his and his children's dragons in matters of war directly affects us. We must address what His Grace wishes the Crown's response to be should we receive dignitaries who may seek to deliver protestations."

"If these dignitaries" Rhaenyra said with suppressed scorn "do come and grace my father with their protestations, there is only one response that can be given." Rhaenyra leaned forward. "It is not our concern. My uncle's kingdom, archonate, is entirely separate from us."

"Dragons will always be our concern, Princess." Otto said with more of the veneer peeled off. "Aegon the Elder has proven himself to be far too dangerous to be left alone." Was that also a warning for her? Considering the man speaking, she knew it was likely. "To dismiss it to welcome folly." Rhaenyra gritted her teeth at the audacity of this worthless man whose entire status was owed to his daughter whoring herself out to her father.

"Enough!" Her father rasped out in a shout, silencing anything Rhaenyra had to say. Anyone had to say. "I will not hear this. This meeting is over. Ser Thorne. Take me to my solar."

"Your Grace." Otto tried but her father simply waved Otto off as Ser Throne grabbed hold of the handles and pulled her father away from the table.

Rhaenyra stood and followed alongside her father who shakily held onto the reins of his wheelchair, and she studied him for a while.

His grimaced face…

She had been there, when Lords Darklyn and Celtigar and the other lords and nobles had returned from Elamaerys. The meetings had gone on for days at that time, discussing everything and anything of Elamaerys.

The astounding growth in number of peoples, the massive constructions of their city and their farmlands, of factories of fabrics and porcelain and a dozen others, the queer and dangerous ways her uncle had empowered the smallfolk of his city…

It was endless, what the nobles had reported. Small and large, secrets of miraculous manufacturing to secrets of a source of silk that rivalled that of the Yi-Tish silks, and secrets of magic that was 'terrifyingly open' and there to see.

A massive statue of dragonglass that dwarfed even the Hightower, fused dragonstone, an art that was long thought to be last, used to construct the dragonpit by her uncle's palace and used plentifully in the construction of their new Keep.

It was unbelievable and she would have thought to disbelieve it had it not been for the fact that she felt that they were not embellishing a single bit, not even on the magic they had seen taken hold, even if they had not seen it in practice.

Yet the worst of it all, had not been any of the success her uncle was making of his colony, had not even been the magic, but rather the High Valyrian copy of the Seven Pointed Star that bore significant differences that Alicent Hightower had called 'a perversion of the gravest order'.

She'd never been interested in the Faith but she had been made curious when she got her hands on one of the copies the nobles had taken back with them.

Her servants had read and compared the two religious works, and she'd been told that most had stayed the same. The Books and the Chapters, particularly that of the Crone, the Smith, the Stranger and the Maiden, had no differences however there were some changes to the Books and Chapters of the Warrior, the Mother and the Father, which ranged from minute to significant.

For instance, the Book of the Mother had changes introduced, verses, that exemplified mothers in the High Valyrian version, verses such as 'Her Children, plentiful borne of her womb, rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: "Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all' which was a marked difference from that of the Westerosi Seven Pointed Star, which focused more on the protective and loving nature of the Mother and the duty all mothers had in this manner.

The Book of the Father too had such significant changes, which introduced verses that offered more direct approach on how to 'channel' the Father as fathers, which differed significantly from the anecdotes that was parselled throughout the Chapters of the Father.

However, the greatest changes was the one she knew was the source of the ire of her bitch of a step-mother and the rest of her family.

The story of the One who breathed life into the Seven Aspects and the world through his mind and song, and with using Divine Fire, breathed life into the world.

It was an undeniable change in origin story, compared to that of the Westerosi Faith, which claimed the One and the Seven were immutable and inseparable and who had created life and the universe in a single flash of Light.

And to top it off…her uncle had dared to include his side of the family as the 'chosen' family, who had a sliver of this Divine Fire, with wordings that made it clear that he'd usurped the role of the High Septon as the spiritual shepherd.

Combined with her uncle's status as a prophet, the matter of his heresy had the very least made clear that her uncle was as clear an enemy as Rhaenyra and her line were to the Hightowers.

She would have found it humorous had it not been for the fact that the issue severely caused unrest with some of the more pious of the Kingdoms, no more being able to ignore it as they might have several years earlier, forcing her father to publicly decry Aegon and his line to all that would hear, forced to do so lest they invite scrutiny and rebellion neither she nor her father could afford from the Faith and those who still supported them wholeheartedly.

Unfortunately, that also included the Hightowers, which meant that her father couldn't ignore the matter as she knew he would have preferred, not when she was in his bed and in his ear.

Whilst her father cared as much about the Faith as Rhaenyra did, unfortunately, he'd chosen to marry a woman who pretended to be pious, a woman who also belonged to the very nobles who controlled the heart of the Faith.

She and Lady Rhea had spoken since about it, and so she knew that ever since the waning strength of the Faith thanks to great-grandsire Jaehaerys, the Faith was at the weakest it has been for centuries, and the Lords preferred to keep it that way.

Including in the Vale.

The resurgence of the Faith, who derided her uncle as a devil's spawn and a heretic, was not what they wanted, what anyone wanted save for Alicent Hightower, and her father was too weak to return matters back to before.

And she was rather sure that the Hightowers were also using this to shore up their own claims, using the Faith as a weapon against her.

It was a problem that may need her to use her mother as a weapon, as much as she hated doing so. Being descended from the House of Arryn, which was claimed to be descended from Hugor of the Hill, the first King of the Andals in Andolas, was a powerful weapon she would use if she was forced to, but one she must be prepared to make, as her goodmother reminded her.

"Rhaenyra…stay with me." Her father rasped out, breaking her out of her thoughts and she turned to face her father.

She spent more time there than anywhere else. It was the only place her father spent in any amount of time, outside of his room, in his bed, sick and dying.

Two moons she'd been here and half the time she spent awake was in that damned room with that damned toy of her father's. She'd come to hate it near as much as she hated attending the Small Council, where she possessed nearly no power despite being heir to the Throne.

"Of course father." She said with a show of a smile, one that grew even slightly genuine at the happiness he so expressed.

They arrived her father's solar and for the next while, her father spoke many times more than he'd spoken during the Small Council meeting, though unfortunately for her, it was a rehash of what her father had spoken off throughout her stay at her ancestral Keep.

The model of Old Valyria had grown significantly over the years. So much so that it took nearly a third of the solar now. There were taller buildings, buildings that had flat topped roofs that dotted throughout the city, as detailed in the chronicles her father received some years ago.

"I am considering throwing a tourney." Her father's sudden words surprised her and she took a moment to consider that.

"Why?" she asked simply, knowing that the last Tourney had been a total disaster for their family.

"It's been years…I wish to see the realm's knights and Lords. I wish to see…" Her father trailed off and she waited him to continue but he did not.

"The last time father…I would have thought you wished no more tourneys ever again with how uncle Daemon died." The reference to her uncle made her father visibly pained.

"I know. But this way…it's time…" her father shook her head before he looked at her with a faint smile though his eyes were distant. "Would you come? If I was to throw a tourney to celebrate my reign?" there was a strange fragility to her father's tone.

"Baelon would not come." Rhaenyra warned and her father weakly nodded.

"I understand." He said with hope in his eyes. She wondered why he didn't simply order her to be present. He's done it plenty times before.

"I will consider it." Rhaenyra said finally, her hand falling to her stomach.

Her father smiled at that and he asked. "Have you yet decided what name you'll give him? Or her?" the second sudden change of conversation surprised her again. He hadn't asked about names yet before.

"Baelon wants to name him William or Rhea if it is a girl." Rhaenyra said with a light smile on her face.

"William? That's no Targaryen name." Her father said with some distaste in his voice and Rhaenyra laughed.

"He wanted me to consider naming him after his grandsire. Yorbert." Rhaenyra said flatly and the look of disgust made her almost descend into a giggle.

"Why William?" Her father said after a while before he started fiddling with his model again.

"After his cousin William." Rhaenyra said. William and Baelon were close, closer than the rest of the Royces, and Rhaenyra could admit that William was unlikely to ever attempt to usurp Baelon or their son Viserys of the Royce lordship.

"My husband wants at least one of his sons to have a Royce name, and William is good a name as any there is." Rhaenyra said before adding, dryly, "According to Baelon at least."

"William Targaryen." Her father tried out. "I cannot say that I am a most admiring of the name but it is no Yorbert." Her father said in a rasping laugh before he coughed and she quickly placed her hand on his back.

"Father…?"

"I'm fine." Her father rasped and he gave a brave smile before he took hold of her hand, a strange look on his face. "How I wish you would remain here, daughter."

"You and my grandsons and dearest Aemma." Her father choked at the name of her daughter and her heart skipped a beat with sympathy.

Baelon had taken their children to see Rhea Royce, all three of them, with the intent of leaving her boy Viserys behind to foster with his grandmother and the other, leal, Royces.

Baelon had been insistent that they keep to the agreement, that they'd allow Viserys to be raised as a Royce when the time was right, and take up the name Royce when he was of age. Baelon would retain his father's name, but would become Lord Regent of Runestone until Viserys was of age to take up the lordship should Rhea pass before Viserys was of age.

That was the condition Rhea and Baelon had agreed upon after Baelon had told her that he wanted to keep his father's name. The stubborn man wouldn't listen to her, to pay lip service to his mother until she passed.

Rhaenyra smiled at her father, doing her best to keep her irritation…and sadness from showing. Her and Baelon had argued on Viserys, before he departed with their children.

Baelon was insistent that Viserys marry one of the maids of the Vale, to tie their House closer to the lands that Viserys would be a part of. She thought it less of her son, who deserved a proper royal match, not a match that would wildly elevate the girl's family, like it had done with her bitch of a stepmother.

Her preference would have been to marry Viserys to Aemma but with Viserys carrying on the Royce name, and thus no longer a Targaryen in name even if in blood, she knew that she would give the Faith, thus the Hightowers, a weapon to use against her family.

Laena told her once that her mother had admitted that she and Corlys had considered marrying her to her brother, something that made her laugh ceaselessly for a little while. That would have been a match as terrible as the one she would have had with her cousin Laenor. Nevertheless, Laena told her that the real reason that they did not go through with the match was of concern of the Faith.

That had stuck with her.

And truthfully, she might have always kept Aemma for her next son, for she also worried that Viserys was going to be needed to secure loyalties. The Baratheons had plenty daughters and her son would make a fine match.

Her father had let it slip that he'd denied Alicent the approach of the Baratheons for that thief, Aemond, and she knew that Alicent and her father would not stop trying.

Marrying Viserys to some maid in the Vale was not the right political move but Baelon was convinced that it was. That it was important that Viserys be seen as a Royce and not just as a Targaryen, as if his colourings wouldn't tell that anyway, claiming that a marriage would ease the Royce's discomfort and worry of House Targaryen usurping the ancestral Royce seat.

'We have enough enemies, Rhaenyra. I will not have my mother's kin added to that list. Besides, I agree that Runestone should remain to House Royce. It would be wrong for it not to be.'

Her rebuttal about how Storm's End had passed to the Baratheons had not been well received…

Thankfully, it was some time before Viserys would be married, for any betrothal of her son would have to be agreed with her, and sadly…she knew that her father would not have many years left to live.

"I am the Princess of Dragonstone, father." Rhaenyra said, repeating the well-practiced lie as to why she never stayed long in Kings Landing.

"I cannot be away from my royal seat for too long." Rhaenyra said and she couldn't help but add a biting comment. "Besides, you have Otto here now to keep you company."

"Enough Rhaenyra." Viserys said tiredly as he turned away from her, the sympathy she felt dying completely.

To have called Otto back into service, so soon after Lord Strong's suspicious death, without even asking her, his heir, was the latest in a long list of betrayals and slights.

"There was no one else. Otto has served as Hand during my grandsire's last years and has served as my Hand for a decade more. Competently."

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth as she pulled her hand from his embrace, wanting to repeat what she'd said before. "He also yearns for his grandson to succeed you or did he lie to you like he's done for years before he tried to change your mind!"

"Rhaenyra, enough!" Her father rasped as he weakly shook his head. "Otto knows that I am unchanged in the succession. He does not seek to repeat his mistakes."

Rhaenyra wanted to laugh at her father. It would be comical if it wasn't so dangerous. Two moons she'd been here. Two moons. And more than any other time, it has felt nothing like her home, like it used to be.

The Seven Stars, green motives, the servants, the guards…

This was a hostile keep and Rhaenyra felt it. This was no place for her and especially not for her children, her young babes.

There was a reason why she came alone. Why Baelon had taken all of their children with them. Why she'd asked the Velaryons to keep the lines of communication open in case something happens to her.

She looked at her father, who stared at her with some anger. She knew if she ever told him anything like what she felt, he would simply dismiss her concerns.

And bitterly, she knew that he would not do so with Otto.

"There was Baelon." Rhaenyra said lowly. "Or even Corlys, or even a half dozen other Lords throughout the realm. Lord Strong, who had never served as Hand, still served ably as your hand from the day he stepped into his role." At this Viserys grimaced a little at the thought of his old Hand, and dare she think it, perhaps his friend. She knew that Lord Strong would never have been replaced had it not been for his death. And that was likely the very reason why he was murdered.

"And then there was me you could have chosen…your heir." Rhaenyra added, her posture straightening. "You could have appointed me but you did not. Great-grandsire appointed Baelon as his Hand. You could have done the same with me. I am no longer the little girl you still think I am."

"Oh Rhaenyra…" her father whispered, his head shaking as if in denial. "You know why I have not chosen you as my hand, you must do." Viserys said in a raspy, heavy sigh.

He met her gaze as she waited for whatever excuse he had for her.

"Your children need you. My grandchildren." Viserys said emotionally. "You'll be queen but you are a mother first." Rhaenyra couldn't even react at that and her father took that as a signal to continue. "Above all else, I regret not having spent my youth with you and your mother, daughter. I regret spending so much time and effort with matters of the realm when you were, are, the most important thing I have." Her father closed his eyes.

"I am aware how it must sound but it is the truth. I felt that I could not tear them away from you when there is no need." Her father said in a rasp.

Rhaenyra had to work hard to lash out at those words, at those…excuses.

The worst thing about it, she knew that her father likely genuinely, wholeheartedly was doing her this favour.

And no amount of words uttered by her would ever convince him.

"Spend time with your family, Rhaenyra, dearest daughter, cherish them. The Throne, that is yours, will come for you soon enough."

Her irritation boiled over.

"Will it? Father? Will it be mine? Or are you simply saying that?" her words, bitten out, startled her father before he looked at her with some anger and she knew it was because she wouldn't let it go, like he expected her to.

"Are you still so unsecure, Rhaenyra?" The tone was not harsh but it was almost so. "Have I not stood against any who dared protest my will? Have I not denied it always, that anyone but you is my heir?"

"Yet Aemond and Jaehaerys' hands remain free and unattached, still to be offered to whomever seeks to aid them against me." Rhaenyra retorted. She'd once spoken with her father, to get her half-brothers matches that were befitting to them, good marriages with Houses that she knew were firmly loyal to her.

Her father would not hear it.

"Alicent has rejected the matches, fine as they were." Some of that anger of his faded as he shifted somewhat awkwardly in his seat and Rhaenyra's eye twitched.

"Ah, of course." Rhaenyra said with a false step in her tone of voice. "If only you were King and if only you were their father and she only a consort. If only then." Rhaenyra said with forced calm as she tried, really tried to avoid contempt to leak into her tone of voice.

"Rhaenyra! Enough!" Her father barked out before he descended into a cough and Rhaenyra found herself soothing him once more yet despite all of that…

Rhaenyra silently grew despondent.

He always got like this.

Whenever he heard something that disagreed with his worldview.

Denial. Enough is enough.

She often wondered if it was because she was a woman. Especially in her youth. During Council meetings, Viserys never seemed to have minded when she'd been spoken over, his heir.

Lord Strong had oft interceded but her father…her father never did. Instead, at times, he seemed to take delight in the retorts the likes of Jasper Wylde gave at her.

But now…she knew that her father merely hated all kinds of conflict, especially conflicts that battled against what he thought how things should be.

Baelon was right.

He would never change.

For all that he'd put her in this position, as heir to the Iron Throne, he did just as much to endanger her position.

There was nothing truly here for her anymore. Not truly.

It broke her heart to admit that to herself.

"Yes father." Rhaenyra said quietly and Viserys looked to meet her gaze. "I apologise, forgive me."

"Oh Rhaenyra…of course, of course." Viserys sighed heavily. "Get Ser Thorne please…I am tired. I think I must eat before making it to bed. Join me for supp?"

"Of course father." Rhaenyra said, a false smile on her face.