Leaving the upper cabin, Rhaegar made his way down to the cargo bay. As he walked down the narrow corridor, the painful cries of wounded soldiers echoed around him.
The Battle of Bloodstone Island was over, and the Triarchy had been dealt a heavy blow. Rhaegar planned to return to King's Landing to confront the Dornish emissary and send additional troops to bolster the defenses of the Stepstones.
The Triarchy now faced two options: either the three free-trading city-states would abandon their interests, ending the War for the Stepstones, or they would stage a desperate counterattack. In either case, Rhaegar knew the Stepstones needed to be solidly incorporated into the Targaryen Dynasty's territory to prevent future troubles.
Creak...
Rhaegar reached the end of the corridor and pushed open a closed hatch. As the door swung open, dust and the stench of alcohol wafted out. Holding his breath, he opened the door wider to let the smell dissipate.
The cabin was cramped, barely wider than a man's arm span. It was dark and filthy, with no windows or vents. Against one wall was a rough wooden bed, and on its edge sat a scruffy man with curly blond hair.
"Tyland, is there anything you want to say?" Rhaegar asked, his tone firm.
The man didn't respond, his eyes staring blankly at the stained floorboards. This was Tyland Lannister, the disgraced commander of the Battle of Bloodstone Island.
Rhaegar's gaze lingered on Tyland, filled with a mixture of pity and frustration. The once-handsome man, known for his well-kept curly blonde hair and extraordinary looks, was now a shadow of his former self. His hair was a tangled mess, his bloodstained clothes unchanged, and he reeked of decay.
The stench in the cabin had almost dissipated when Rhaegar stepped inside. "Lift your head and look at me," he commanded, his voice resolute.
Tyland's body trembled at the sound. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes still glazed over.
Splat—
Rhaegar's hand connected with Tyland's face, the slap echoing in the small cabin. "Snap out of it," Rhaegar chided. "It's not time to hang you yet."
"Prince..." Tyland muttered, the pain bringing a flicker of awareness back to his eyes. He recognized Rhaegar, his expression a mix of fear and shame.
Rhaegar spoke faintly, "Good. It seems you have not been broken yet."
Tyland opened his mouth, his dry throat burning, and swallowed to moisten it. After coughing for a moment, he finally said, "Prince, what brings you here?"
He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Rhaegar's. His decisions had led to thousands of troops being lost at sea and the once secure Bloodstone Island falling to the enemy. Though he survived under the protection of his soldiers, his spirit was broken that night. Guilt, self-reproach, and a deep sense of failure weighed heavily on him.
Seeing Tyland's defeated expression, Rhaegar frowned. "Do you want to die or live?"
Tyland froze for a moment, then smiled bitterly. "Who wants to die when they can live?"
He had misplayed his hand and now faced dismissal and trial upon his return to King's Landing. The best he could hope for was banishment to the Night's Watch.
Swish—
Rhaegar drew his sword, the tip pressing against Tyland's throat. "If you want to die, throw yourself on the sword," he said coldly. "I'll assume you were too afraid to commit suicide."
His voice then shifted to a scolding tone. "If you want to live, regain your composure. Stop acting like a scorned woman."
Tyland looked down at the cold blade and felt a chill run through him. He was still afraid of death.
"Prince, I've lost my standing as a royal advisor. I'm of no more value than before," Tyland said, his voice small. "But if you could plead with His Grace, perhaps I could avoid a worse fate."
Despite his earlier despair, Tyland wasn't ready to die. He was still young, unmarried, and without children. Given a chance, he wanted to live.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "What would you do in King's Landing? Who there could tolerate you?"
Tyland was the main culprit behind the defeat at Bloodstone Island. Even if he escaped death, his life in King's Landing would be unbearable. The Lannister brothers were despised; Jason Lannister for his arrogance, and Tyland for his recent failure.
Tyland's eyes filled with confusion. "If not King's Landing, where should I go?"
He couldn't return to Casterly Rock. That was his brother's domain, and he had no place there.
"To the Stormlands, to my Prince's Palace," Rhaegar declared, sheathing his sword. "The palace is under construction. Go there to oversee the work and establish connections with Highgarden and Blackhaven along the way."
Tyland hesitated, then asked in a shocked voice, "Is the kingdom preparing for war with Dorne?"
Rhaegar's Prince's Palace was in the Stormlands, north of Blackhaven. A steep mountain road from there led to Dorne—the Boneway. Sending Tyland to the Prince's Palace to liaise with the Tyrells of Highgarden and House Dondarrion of Blackhaven was a clear prelude to war with Dorne.
Rhaegar sighed, "Clever, you understand the situation well."
"But whether or not there will be war remains uncertain. Strengthening our defenses is prudent regardless."
Tyland had served as the Master of Ships for many years. He was astute enough to grasp the broader strategy with just a few clues.
Tyland rubbed his face and pushed back his messy hair. With newfound determination, he said, "If you can save my life, I am willing to go to the Prince's Palace and prepare for the possibility of war."
Though he might not be a warrior, his expertise in logistics and resource management was invaluable.
Seeing Tyland's willingness, Rhaegar was pleased. He said solemnly, "Perform well, and you'll secure your place in the future."
Tyland was not just any man; he had been a key advisor. Having him on their side was a significant political asset. It would be wasteful to see him executed or exiled to the Wall.
"Yes, Prince!" Tyland nodded vigorously, a renewed sense of purpose in his eyes.
With the conversation over, Rhaegar turned and left without a backward glance. The stench in the cabin was overwhelming, and he had endured it long enough.
...
Meanwhile, in King's Landing, within the Red Keep's Council Chamber, King Viserys sat in the main seat, flanked by his advisors Lyonel and Otto.
In the center of the hall, the Dornish emissary, Setyl Dayne, stood straight and respectfully inquired, "Your Grace, I wonder how you are considering the marriage proposal?"
After a few days, Setyl had returned to press for an answer.
Viserys glanced at his two advisors, hesitating. "It is a matter of great importance, and I will need more time to consider it."
Setyl persisted, "How much longer, exactly?"
"Watch your tone, Emissary of Dorne!" Lyonel's expression darkened as he rebuked Setyl. As the Hand of the King, he felt compelled to defend the King's dignity.
Unfazed, Setyl calmly responded, "I am merely requesting an update, Lord Hand of the King. There is no need for agitation."
"The matter of marriage is not one to be decided hastily," Lyonel countered. "The King will inform you once a decision is made."
Otto interjected diplomatically, "Envoy of Dorne, please be patient. His Grace is a benevolent ruler who wishes for peace."
Lyonel shot Otto a sidelong glance, his annoyance evident. The marriage had not yet been decided, and Otto's comment seemed premature.
Viserys knocked on the table to end the debate. "Enough. That will be all for today. The emissary from Dorne may leave."
He didn't want to prolong the argument. He hadn't yet made up his mind and had been troubled by the matter for days. Alicent had been pleading with him against the marriage of Helaena, while Rhaenyra had avoided him, expressing her strong opposition. Both his wife and daughter were against the idea, leaving him conflicted.
As the King spoke, Setyl had no choice but to comply and exited the hall.
Once he was gone, Lyonel spoke up immediately, "Your Grace, the Dornish are ambitious and even participated in the Battle of the Stepstones not long ago. Marrying into their ranks is not wise."
Lyonel was a firm man. He believed that the long-standing feud between the Kingdom and Dorne could not be resolved through marriage.
Otto, lowering his head, countered softly, "You can't say that. The front lines are strained. An alliance with Dorne through marriage would not only eliminate an enemy but also allow us to request Prince Qoren's support against the Triarchy."
"Prince Qoren has attacked the Kingdom in two consecutive Battles of the Stepstones. How can we rely on him?" Lyonel's anger was palpable, and he retorted loudly.
"The situation is changing," Otto argued. "The kingdom's forces have suffered defeats, and Qoren's marriage proposal is an opportunity to shift the balance."
Lyonel stood, his face red with fury. If they weren't in the presence of the King, he might have physically confronted Otto.
What a foolish notion. The losses are their own doing. Qoren's proposal is opportunistic, exploiting their current weakness. Agreeing to it would cost the support and respect of many.
"Alright, calm down!" Viserys interjected, seeing that his advisors were on the verge of a heated argument. He rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated.
Otto pulled a letter from his pocket, diverting the conversation. "Your Grace, this is a letter from the Stepstones. Please read it."
Viserys took the letter, opened it, and began to read. Normally, letters from the Ravens were delivered by Grand Maester Mellos, but Mellos' advanced age often resulted in Otto, who had a personal connection with him, handling the deliveries.
As Viserys read, his expression shifted from curiosity to excitement. His eyebrows lifted higher with each line.
"Your Grace, is there good news from the front?" Lyonel asked, noticing the King's sudden exuberance.
Viserys burst into laughter, handing the letter to Lyonel. "Yes, excellent news! My son devised a plan to lure the main forces of the Triarchy to Bloodstone Island, and with the help of four dragons, they burned it to the ground."
Lyonel scanned the letter quickly, his eyes widening. "Incredible! Bloodstone Island has been recaptured, and the Triarchy has been devastated!"
He slapped the letter onto the table in front of Otto, his chin lifted triumphantly. "Rhaegar has turned the tide. He's a true Targaryen genius!"
Viserys beamed with pride. Rhaegar has indeed proven himself. The last time had seen such a capable Targaryen was his stupid brother, Daemon.
(Word count: 1,761)