Inside the Dragon Palace's war chamber, Viserys stood before a large map, explaining the campaign that would decide the fate of his kingdom.
Not only were his ministers present, but in this hour of House Targaryen's greatest peril, Queen Dowager Rhaella, Aemon, and Aegon had also joined the council.
The meeting centered on a single issue.
How to deal with the combined fleets of Volantis and Braavos.
In the end, everything depended upon those fleets.
Without them, Gohor's chances of victory would increase by at least thirty percent.
But the enemy armada was unprecedented in scale.
Even by conservative estimates, the combined war fleet numbered more than a thousand ships.
If their merchant vessels were included, the total would be even greater.
Naval warfare was, in most cases, little more than a contest of numbers.
On open water, victories by vastly outnumbered forces were almost unheard of.
If Viserys possessed a dragon the size of the Black Dread, things would be different.
He did not.
If he wanted to win, surprise would have to be his greatest weapon.
"My plan is to construct chain towers along the lower reaches of both the Upper Rhoyne and the Little Rhoyne."
He pointed to the map.
"Each tower will hold massive iron chains. The enemy fleet will be allowed to sail upriver without interference.
But the moment they pass... We raise the chains.
At the same time, fast boats loaded with wildfire will descend from upstream.
They'll drift with the current straight into the trapped fleet.
Then we ignite everything."
The plan was, in essence, a recreation of the Battle of the Blackwater.
When Stannis had attacked King's Landing, his two hundred warships had entered the Blackwater Rush.
Tyrion had anticipated the assault and answered with chain towers and wildfire.
Viserys intended to repeat that victory.
Twice.
Once on each river.
That was precisely why he had summoned Tyrion to the Dragon Palace.
Viserys could provide the overall strategy he had borrowed from history. The details, however, required capable minds.
"I believe His Majesty's plan is excellent."
As Hand of the King, Clinton was the first to voice his approval.
"If the chains halt their advance, they'll be forced to watch helplessly as their ships burn.
Once their fleet is destroyed, we'll be able to concentrate far more troops on land against Robert."
In truth, Clinton supported the proposal largely because no better alternative existed.
There was, however, one serious obstacle.
Wildfire.
Only wildfire possessed the explosive power necessary to engulf an entire river full of ships within moments.
Gohor simply did not possess enough of it.
Viserys knew how to manufacture wildfire himself.
But asking one man—even the king—to produce enough wildfire to destroy a thousand warships...
No sensible Hand would ever suggest such a thing.
More importantly... There wasn't enough time.
"Perhaps we could mix wildfire with lamp oil or rendered fat?" Oswell suggested.
"I used wildfire while defending castles years ago. It was devastating. Maybe combining it with ordinary fuel would be sufficient."
"No."
Melisandre answered immediately.
Her appearance had recovered considerably since abandoning R'hllor.
The crimson robes she once wore had been replaced by deep blue.
The ruby choker around her neck was gone.
In its place rested a blue circlet.
"Wildfire is extremely unstable. Mixing it with ordinary oils would make its behavior impossible to predict."
"You don't need to worry about the wildfire." Viserys spoke calmly. "I already possess enough wildfire to burn King's Landing to the ground."
As he said those words, he turned toward Davos.
It was, in a sense...
Aerys's final legacy.
Years ago, the Mad King had intended to destroy King's Landing along with Lord Tywin Lannister's invading army.
His orders had never been carried out.
Although Jaime had uncovered some of the hidden wildfire afterward, it had only been a fraction of the total cache.
The moment Viserys learned from the captured red priests that R'hllor had effectively linked his followers through instantaneous communication, he had begun thinking about that forgotten stockpile.
A month earlier, the hidden wildfire had already been secretly moved.
He had dispatched Davos's two eldest sons to transport it across the Narrow Sea to Essos.
If everything stayed on schedule...
The wildfire would arrive before the war began.
"Your Grace, there's one more matter we need to consider."
A high-pitched voice drew everyone's attention.
Tyrion.
When Viserys had first captured him, the poison he had offered had been fake.
A living Tyrion was worth far more than a dead one.
At the very least, he could be exchanged for a handsome ransom from Tywin Lannister.
Killing him immediately would have been a waste.
What Viserys had not expected was how profoundly the truth about Tysha had changed Tyrion.
The dwarf had openly declared his willingness to serve House Targaryen. He asked only one thing in return.
One day, he wished to inherit Casterly Rock.
Viserys had refused.
"You aren't worth Casterly Rock."
That had been his answer.
Instead, he made a different promise.
If Tysha could be found... Tyrion would be allowed to preserve the Lannister name.
On those terms, they had reached an agreement.
"Go ahead," Viserys said.
Receiving permission, Tyrion waddled toward the great map.
Then he stopped.
His arms were too short to reach it.
Several young officers couldn't suppress quiet laughter.
Arthur rose to his feet and fixed them with an icy stare.
The laughter died instantly. Even Aegon, who had almost laughed himself, hurriedly composed his face.
"It's all right," Tyrion said with a grin.
"I only wish you'd underestimate our enemies the same way you underestimate dwarfs."
His self-deprecating joke dissolved the awkwardness in the room.
Several officers looked at him with newfound respect.
At Viserys's command, a servant brought over a stool. Standing upon it, Tyrion finally reached the map.
"The enemy has more than a thousand warships.
Even if they're evenly divided, that's still five hundred ships on the Upper Rhoyne and another five hundred on the Little Rhoyne.
We've never faced anything remotely this large."
He tapped the river crossings.
"His Majesty's chain towers are the key to maximizing the effectiveness of the fire attack.
I recommend building as many as possible. At least several dozen chains.
Otherwise the leading ships may simply force their way through."
His observation immediately caught everyone's attention. No one saw merely a dwarf anymore.
"There is another issue.
We'll need a force willing to die protecting those chain towers.
The moment the enemy discovers them, they'll attack without hesitation.
Since the towers must remain concealed, we won't be able to surround them with proper fortifications.
The soldiers stationed there will have to withstand wave after wave of assaults with nothing but their own bodies.
The men defending those towers... Will determine whether the entire plan succeeds."
Tyrion was still Tyrion.
No one capable of serving as Hand of the King was ever ordinary.
Even Aemon found himself admiring the little man.
Rhaella likewise regarded him with approval. At the same time, she could not help glancing proudly at her son.
He had an extraordinary gift for discovering talented people.
When Tyrion finished speaking, silence settled over the chamber.
He understood why.
Protecting the chain towers meant certain death.
Not only would countless soldiers be required... Capable commanders would have to stand beside them and die as well.
Many of those present still possessed the option of surrendering if they truly wished.
Yet before the silence could linger, someone stood.
"Let me do it, Your Grace!"
"No."
"I'll go!"
The first volunteers were young officers.
Ten years earlier, they had been nothing more than boys from Crackclaw Point.
"I'll go!"
Aegon sprang to his feet.
"No... Uncle—Your Grace! Send me instead!"
Aemon immediately stepped forward to make the same request.
Arthur placed a firm hand on each nephew's shoulder and pushed them gently back into their seats.
Then he looked directly at Viserys.
"Your Grace."
"Entrust this task to me."
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