Daemon looked at Corlys and asked, "What about Volantis?"
"Didn't Eluna Lanser promise troops?"
"A promise is only a promise." Corlys gave a wry smile. "Volantis has only just taken Myr."
"Lys is still there."
"And now that Driftmark has been lost, Dragonstone will likely fall soon as well. All our footholds in Westeros are gone."
He looked toward Rhaenyra and said earnestly, "We need a victory—no matter how small."
"We must prove to everyone that the Blacks have not yet lost. Rhaenyra, that you still have a chance to turn the tide."
"Otherwise, before the Greens even march against us, we will collapse from within."
Rhaenyra looked toward her husband. "Daemon, do you have a plan?"
Prince Daemon fell silent for a moment before replying. "Two paths."
"The first: we march back at once."
"We gather every force we have—every dragon, every ship—and strike straight at King's Landing."
"While Aemond's dragon is still recovering, while the Greens have only just taken Driftmark and have yet to secure their footing. We catch them off guard, retake Dragonstone, retake Driftmark, and finally bring our army before the gates of King's Landing."
"And the chances?" Corlys asked.
"Half," Daemon said, turning to face them. "We still have four sound dragons: Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys."
"On the Green side, Vhagar is wounded, Sunfyre is gravely injured. Only Dreamfyre remains whole, perhaps with a few smaller dragons."
"But in number, we hold the advantage."
"Yet the Greens hold King's Landing and the advantage of home ground."
He paused, then added, "We could leave one or two dragons behind in Tyrosh, let those bastards keep the Tyroshi in check, and allow the wounded Vermithor to continue recovering."
"We would still return with three dragons—still an advantage."
Rhaenyra and Corlys exchanged a glance.
The plan sounded feasible, but the risk was enormous.
"And the second path?" Rhaenyra asked.
"To hold fast," Daemon said calmly. "Abandon Westeros entirely and turn east."
"Make Tyrosh our foundation. Join with Volantis, swallow Lys and Myr, and rebuild a new Valyria."
"Ten years, twenty years—build strength, forge a fleet, train an army, and then—"
"Then my sons died for nothing," Rhaenyra cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade. "Jacaerys. Joffrey. Their blood would have been spilled in vain."
"And all those who died for the Blacks would have died for nothing."
She walked to the window and stood beside Daemon, gazing out at the night-lit city of Tyrosh.
"I cannot accept that, Daemon. I cannot accept that the price of my children's lives is becoming a petty queen in some eastern city."
"I will return to Westeros. I will take back the Iron Throne. I will make the Greens pay."
Daemon looked at her but said nothing.
The hall once again fell into dead silence.
Corlys listened to Daemon's plans. Suddenly he laughed, breaking the quiet. Daemon frowned and looked toward him.
Corlys seemed to have thought of something. "In truth… we still have a perfect third path."
Everyone turned to look at him.
The Sea Snake leaned upon his staff and slowly walked to the center of the hall. Candlelight cast deep and shallow shadows across his face.
"We can retake Driftmark and Dragonstone—and go even further."
"How so?" Daemon narrowed his eyes.
"What does Aemond need most right now? Time," Corlys said, his voice steady as an old sailor steering through a storm. "Vhagar needs time to heal. Sunfyre as well."
"The Greens are now on the defensive. They can only cling to King's Landing and dare not strike lightly."
"And what we lack most right now is also time. The army's morale is unsteady—we need a victory to unite them."
He paused, tapping his staff lightly against the floor, as though setting the rhythm for what followed.
"So we do not attack King's Landing."
"But there is another place of great strategic value—and the people there are our most loyal supporters."
Daemon understood at once, a sharp light flashing in his eyes.
"You mean Storm's End?"
"Boremund Baratheon," Corlys nodded. "He is your staunch supporter, Rhaenyra."
"The Stormlands have always stood with the Blacks. Now that Driftmark and Dragonstone have fallen, they may begin to waver."
"But if we can land at Storm's End and join with Boremund, the entire Stormlands will turn back to us."
Rhaenyra listened carefully, then nodded.
After all, Boremund Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, was the uncle of Princess Rhaenys. At the Great Council years ago, the Baratheons had firmly supported Rhaenys.
"And Storm's End lies neither too near nor too far from King's Landing," Daemon continued, his thoughts racing.
"The Greens cannot act for the moment. Their dragons are still wounded. Once we secure our footing at Storm's End, the entire Stormlands becomes our base."
"Then we send ravens to the three northern regions—the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands."
"Persuade them. Pressure them. Promise them."
Rhaenyra asked, "Can we truly convince them?"
Daemon considered for a moment. A calculating smile flickered in his eyes.
"As long as we can meet Boremund at Storm's End."
"The three northern regions were already your supporters."
"Do not forget—your mother, Aemma Arryn, is the elder sister of Lady Jeyne of the Vale."
"The Vale commands the bravest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. They will fight for you."
He continued his analysis.
"The Riverlands are also largely your supporters. They merely hesitate for now because the Greens appear stronger."
"And the North…" Daemon paused. "Cregan Stark is a pragmatic man. If we can show him the promise of victory, the Starks will stand with us."
A smile returned to Rhaenyra's face.
"We can make Storm's End our pivot and surround King's Landing by sea and by land."
Hope rekindled in her eyes—the first time in years.
"So long as we successfully land at Storm's End, the victory is ours," Corlys concluded.
"Whether by land or sea, King's Landing will be trapped."
"The armies of the Westerlands and the Reach that support the Greens—we can hold them off with the Stormlands' terrain."
"Then when the armies of the three northern regions gather and march south, we strike from Storm's End."
"At that point, King's Landing will be a dead city."
Rhaenyra suddenly asked, "And Tyrosh?"
"If our main force leaves, will the Tyroshi nobles rebel?"
"Leave Lucerys, young Aegon, and Viserys here in the rear," Daemon replied at once. "Two thousand soldiers as well, and the two bastard dragonriders—Saera and Nettles."
"The Tyroshi nobles will not rebel. They know that if they do, they will burn beneath dragonfire. Clever men know which choice to make."
Rhaenyra fell silent.
She could not remain here forever.
Seated upon that splendid throne, listening to hollow flattery, ruling over a single city—her heart would die before her kingdom did.
She had to return.
She had to reclaim everything that was hers and avenge her slain sons.
"Summon the commanders," Rhaenyra said, straightening her posture. She wiped the last traces of tears from her face, and her voice regained its usual authority.
"Tomorrow, I want to see a complete plan."
She looked to Corlys.
"Send someone to contact Boremund Baratheon. The fastest ship. The most reliable man."
Corlys nodded solemnly.
"I will arrange it myself."
"Send messengers as well—to the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North," Rhaenyra continued.
"They will carry my own letters. Tell them the Blacks will regroup at Storm's End."
"When this war ends, I will remember every man's choice."
At last she turned to Daemon.
"Will you go to the North yourself?"
Daemon nodded.
"I will personally persuade Cregan Stark."
"As for the lords of the Riverlands—they were once Blacks already. So long as they see hope of victory, they will serve you again."
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---