Braavos, The Sea Lord's Soler
"Ah, Prince Aegon," the Sea Lord greeted warmly, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he regarded the tall, horned figure before him. "You know I cherish your visits, but since you've brought the princess along, I suspect there's more to this meeting than mere friendship."
Aegon smiled, a glint of mischief in his golden eyes as he walked through the soler, admiring the Sea Lord's collection of artifacts. His clawed fingers traced the edge of a Dothraki arakh mounted on the wall, its braid clearly belonging to a khal or a bloodrider. "Must there always be a reason to visit a friend?" he replied with feigned innocence. "But, since you've brought it up, tell me—what news have you heard? I've been far too occupied training my growing fleet for my future advance on the bastard daughters of velaria to track every whisper."
The Sea Lord poured two glasses of wine, offering one to his guest. "Word has reached me of another Great Council being proposed, though the Hightowers seem keen to prevent it. They started this chaos, but ever since your... colorful threat, they've shifted to preaching that 'royal business is royal business.' Many lords think your silence means you were all talk. They're enchanted by the idea of choosing a king."
Aegon chuckled, taking the glass and sipping thoughtfully. "Fools. If I march to Westeros and fulfill my threat, it will consume years of my life and time I won't spend here, building my own empire. Better to let my uncle die and let those fools gather for their idiocy. Then, deal with decenters then and excuse my self from westerosie politics."
The Sea Lord frowned, concern etching lines across his face. "You think the lords will see it that way? They may perceive you as a threat to your namesake's claim."
At that, Aegon threw his head back in laughter, startling the Sea Lord. "Who do they think sent Helaena to me? My friend, I made you a promise. Braavos is yours, but power requires alliances. My cousin is a man of vices. The moment I turn east, he'll follow me, dragging his brother along. Daeron will step up to protect the royal family alongside my father and Lucerys. Dragons will stand against men, not dragons against dragons. I need your help to ensure this vision—send my cousin a gift he'll know its from me."
The Sea Lord regarded him carefully, his worry evident. "You're certain this is the right move? With your ships and your dragon, you have strength, but this... strategy is bold."
"Keep your ear to the ground, my friend," Aegon said with a devilish grin. "And watch me."
The Sea Lord's Hall
The hall was alive with music, laughter, and feasting. At its heart sat two women of contrasting beauty, commanding the attention of all:
Princess Helaena, the Dragon Pearl, seemed ethereal—a creature of light and delicate grace, as if a single harsh word could shatter her. Beside her sat Adeola Zoha, the Onyx Paramour, a striking figure of exotic allure. Her dark skin, darker than most Summer Islanders, was a canvas of strength and confidence. While Helaena's beauty inspired reverence, Adeola's demanded attention.
Men whispered of Adeola's untouchable status, for none had claimed her. Suitors were often cut down by her fierce guard, Rami Kho, or by Adeola herself. Others paid simply for the privilege of her presence, intoxicated by the dangerous allure she carried.
"So, you are Princess Helaena," Adeola said, her deep voice resonant. "The one I've been charged to protect. It's amusing. I too am a princess—but of a fallen people. My home was taken, my tribe decimated."
Helaena turned her gaze upward, her expression warm and sincere. "The River Dragon. Your beauty is as dazzling as the tales suggest. You will find many sisters in my family."
Adeola was taken aback. The Targaryen princess spoke without condescension or pity. She saw not a rival or subordinate but an equal.
"Do you know his plans?" Adeola asked, her curiosity tinged with skepticism.
"No," Helaena admitted, "but I know my future lies with him, and with my sisters."
"Sisters?" Adeola repeated, the word sounded oddly unlike a familial bond the way Halaena said it.
"Dragons need space to grow, and Westeros has grown crowded," Helaena said, her voice steady and fervent. "He sees this. Families branch out to prevent in-fighting, yet the Targaryens have clung to one throne, weakening ourselves in the process. he sees our potential. He believes our true thrones are on the backs of our dragons, not the tarnished seat of knives."
Adeola studied her, the fire in her words igniting something within. "I see," she said simply, though her mind raced with possibilities.
King's Landing, Lannister Manse
Two golden-haired brothers spoke in calm yet measured tones.
"Brother, are you sure about this?" Ser Tyland Lannister asked, his brow furrowed with worry. "Even Otto, that ambitious snake, is pulling back. What does that tell you?"
Jason Lannister scoffed, swirling his wine. "It tells me Otto is a coward. Even with grandchildren who ride dragons, he trembles. The boy's largest dragon hasn't flown in months, and the stories of his sea serpent are exaggerated. This Great Council was Otto's idea. Let him choke on it."
Tyland sighed. "You truly believe the lords will choose Alicent's Aegon over the Rogue Prince's son?"
Jason smirked. "They'll have no choice the lords will suffer a woman on the throne."
The Red Keep
"Daughter, how fares the king?" Otto Hightower asked Alicent, his concern genuine despite his calculating nature.
"He sleeps fitfully, plagued by deliria," Alicent replied, her voice subdued.
Otto sighed. "Send for Rhaenyra and Daemon. I'll call the small council. I've tried to stop what I set in motion, but I failed. If my life must be forfeited, at least let me draw everyone into one place."
"My sons are leaving for the Blood Fort once Rhaenyra is crowned," Alicent said absently.
Otto's gaze snapped to her. "Why would they leave you?"
"They've been summoned by the Dragonlord of the Blood Fort," she replied. "But mark my words, he'll arrive here soon. When he does, we'll be burying lords."
A one-handed figure watched over the queen, listening intently to the conversation. His stump burned with phantom pain as they spoke of him. Criston Cole had recovered from the humiliation, even managing to win a tournament with a single arm, but the memory of what the boy had done to him remained fresh. He had not forgotten, nor forgiven.
Every story that reached his ears from the islands told of a warrior with a great sword or axe, capturing ships and reveling in feasts across Essos. It was now a well-known secret: the boy had stolen Helaena from his cousin. That same cousin had been seen in the company of a famed courtesan from Braavos, a woman known as the Moon Fairy. She had once been destined to become the Sea Lord's mistress, but instead, she was sent to Aegon, along with gifts of fine swords, rich wines, luxurious clothing, and delicate perfumes.
The prince paraded himself in exotic apparel, his every movement steeped in grandeur. To the uninformed, these lavish offerings appeared to be the Sea Lord currying favor with the future king. But to those who understood the game, the truth was clear—this was gift from one prince another for what was perceived to be a slight against his pride, a message of appreciation delivered in silk and steel some may say.