"I believe in Braavos' sincerity, Your Highness the Sea Lord," Prince Aegon said with a bright smile. "After all, I trust that Braavos would never allow a slaver stronghold like the Disputed Lands to remain unchecked."
"What? There are still slavers in the Disputed Lands?" the Sea Lord exclaimed in apparent shock.
Prince Aegon inwardly scoffed at the Sea Lord's act. As if this man didn't know that the warlords and mercenary companies in the Disputed Lands all practiced slavery. Some of the larger warlords even bought entire regiments of slave soldiers from Slaver's Bay. The Dothraki often sold a portion of their plundered slaves to these warlords to help train their private armies.
But where did the money come from?
Naturally, from the Iron Bank.
Prince Aegon immediately slipped into his well-practiced performance. "Yes, Your Highness, and that's why we've mobilized our troops—to pursue the noble cause of liberating the enslaved. You're unaware, but the noble who appealed to us for aid... his wife and children were captured and sold into slavery by those damned maggots, those vile demons of the Disputed Lands. That's what enraged His Majesty the King. He has no patience to waste time on meaningless matters, so our army is already prepared to act."
The handsome prince suddenly smiled, took a goblet from a nearby servant's tray, and stood to toast the Sea Lord. "His Majesty's request is simple: he wishes to know where Braavos stands. We seek a loan from Braavos, and support from your navy."
"Your Highness, you know as well as I do—Braavos is not ruled by my word alone. His Majesty's request must still go before the council," the Sea Lord replied with a sigh. "The loan must be approved by the Keyholders. While I command the navy, I still require the council's assent."
"Prince Draezell has already agreed to send the Silver Fleet to support us," Aegon announced, dropping a bombshell without hesitation.
The Sea Lord's expression changed at once.
But nothing changed in the end. The fact that House Vaelarys' Silver Fleet was willing to support the Targaryen war effort already said a great deal. The Sea Lord could easily surmise that Westeros' naval power would be fully mobilized for this war.
Braavos' navy was formidable, yes, but it was still the fleet of a single city-state. The Silver Fleet alone could tie it down—and with the aid of dragons, could very well wipe out Braavos' Purple Fleet entirely.
The Sea Lord sighed inwardly. "Prince Aegon, there's no need to press me further. As I've said, in Braavos—unlike Lys or Westeros—major decisions require the council's consent. But rest assured, personally, I support the crusade against all who dare to traffic in slaves."
Nice words, Aegon thought cynically.
The Sea Lord noticed the flicker in Aegon's eyes. As the figure pushed forward by the Keyholders and Governors, the Sea Lord was either an incompetent puppet or a razor-sharp player.
He was the latter. And he knew exactly what Aegon was thinking.
Hmph, the Sea Lord inwardly responded to Aegon's silent reproach. The Iron Bank had major business interests in those chaotic territories—they would not easily accept the loss of a long-standing source of income. Even before Prince Aegon arrived, the Keyholders and bankers had pressured the Sea Lord to either stall for time or secure more favorable terms for them.
All the Sea Lord could think was:
If you think you can do better, go ahead.
Aegon had dragons—over thirty of them behind him. Two full-grown dragons were enough to annihilate the entire Purple Fleet, and just one more could turn the Secret City to a hellscape of fire.
Where did they get the confidence to think the Targaryens would bow and beg?
But he had no choice—he could not openly defy those who held the real power in Braavos. The old men were always overconfident, and the young ones never knew their place. Perhaps only when dragonfire came crashing down on them would they understand why the Secret City remained hidden for so many years, and why the Dragonlords always viewed this "bastard child" with such contempt.
In the end, the slippery Sea Lord gave Aegon nothing of what he wanted.
"Your Highness, this is as much as I can tell you," the Sea Lord said, raising his goblet and clinking it with Aegon's from afar. "I will call an emergency council and do my best to get you an answer as quickly as possible. I've had a room prepared for you here in the Sea Lord's Palace. Please wait patiently."
Aegon tilted his head indifferently. The Iron Throne had never truly expected Braavos to decisively support its war effort. Though Daeron's intelligence network was incomplete, his instincts were razor-sharp—he did not trust the Braavosi bankers. Nor did he place full faith in the intelligence they had gathered.
Braavos truly lived up to its reputation—even a restored King's Landing felt like a humble rural village in comparison. And the Sea Lord's Palace outshone even the Black Keep beyond the capital's outskirts.
The quarters prepared for Aegon were second only to the Sea Lord's own residence. Fully equipped with every amenity, the palace even featured a steaming hot spring within, prepared for the prince's personal use.
Naturally, there were women too.
Aegon looked on with a touch of helplessness at the girls sprawled across the bed, lounging in the spring, or standing along the sides of the palace hall.
The moment he entered, two silver-haired, violet-eyed girls stepped forward to undress him, gently guiding him into the steaming waters.
The prince gazed with amusement at the girls surrounding him. They were all beautiful, without exception. Aegon could see the diversity of the world in their features—dusky-skinned women from the Summer Isles, olive-skinned Myrish, pale-skinned Norvoshi, Ghiscari, and Dothraki with almond-shaped eyes. He even spotted silver-haired, violet-eyed Valyrians and familiar-looking Andal girls.
Pity that the moon tea had completely killed his interest.
"That's enough, all of you," Prince Aegon said as he slid deeper into the spring, letting the girls touch and caress him as they pleased. But it didn't take long for these Braavosi women—experts in the arts of pleasure—to sense something was wrong.
Yet none of them dared say a word.
"Get some rest, all of you," Prince Aegon said casually, pulling the two girls soaking in the bath into his arms, one on each side. "Tell whoever sent you there's no need for all this. I only came to Braavos to understand its position."
His hands were anything but idle, wandering over the girls' smooth, alabaster-like skin, yet his body remained perfectly still—without the slightest reaction.
The girls realized their task was likely to fail. In silence, they completed Aegon's bath and helped him into the bedroom before quietly dispersing.
The girl assigned to warm his bed also noticed the prince's lack of interest, but said nothing.
She merely left the bed silently after Aegon had fallen asleep and joined her companions as they exited the prince's chambers.
"The girls have confirmed it."
In truth, after Prince Aegon's meeting with the Sea Lord, Braavos's true powerbrokers—the Keyholders, bankers, wealthy merchants, agents of the House of Black and White, ship captains, and governors—had convened. They continued discussing the disputed lands while waiting for news from Aegon's palace.
At last, the leader of the girls arrived to report.
The most senior of the Keyholders let out a disappointed sigh. "Prince Aegon does not match the intelligence reports."
He gently spun the rusty iron key on his desk, letting it twirl rapidly on the smooth glass surface. "He's not the ravenous creature the reports described. In fact, he was quite composed. I'd wager he took something like moon-sugar before arriving in Braavos."
"We should punish the intelligence officer," grumbled a silver-haired, blue-eyed governor. "Faulty intel made us waste far too many resources."
"Not that many," replied the Sea Lord's fleet commander calmly. "At the very least, treating Prince Aegon well sends a signal to the Iron Throne that we don't wish to get too deeply involved." He sighed. As a military man, he understood all too well the terrifying power of dragons. The Purple Fleet might be formidable, but against dragons it was like paper. Without a navy, Braavos was nothing but a speck before Westerosi knights in steel.
Especially when dragons were involved.
"But the disputed lands..." a banker protested. "The gold we draw from them each year is enough to underwrite millions of iron coins. Even if we extend credit to the Iron Throne—have you forgotten the Targaryens' greed and short-sightedness? Besides Aegon II, not a single king ever repaid us on time. Have you forgotten the damned Septon and his sophistry?"
"And Rogare," another banker added, turning toward the House of Black and White's agent. "When will you finally deal with that damned despot? He's thrown a quarter of our markets into chaos."
"Soon. Don't be hasty," replied the agent this time, a pale eunuch with a gaunt, bony face. "But let us not forget—the Rogares are backed by the Targaryens. We'll only succeed through disorder."
"Do it soon," the elder said grimly, pressing down on the spinning key. "Lysandro has lived too long. If he shows his face again, the Iron Bank's credibility will suffer like never before. As for the Rogare Bank..." His tone dimmed. "It enjoys Westerosi protection. We must proceed slowly."
The Iron Bank's main partner in Westeros was House Vaelarys. But neither Draezell nor Rhaegor were willing to turn against the Targaryens, and the other, more temperamental siblings deeply revered their elder brothers. Braavosi envoys had been unable to truly sway this dragonlord house.
Without the backing of House Vaelarys, the Rogare Bank—deeply rooted in King's Landing and Oldtown and sheltered by the dragonlords—could not be threatened through financial means alone. Especially not during Westeros's long summer and abundant harvests, which kept Rogare Bank's coffers well supplied.
"What about our people in the disputed lands?" the same banker asked again. "Do we just abandon them? Let the dragonlords retake Essos? What if they go mad and try to revive Valyria?"
The banker stood up, not bothering to disguise his anger. "Let me speak plainly: it was you—yes, all of you and your fathers—who secretly funded Prince Draezell and his kin to reach Westeros in the first place. You know what happens if the dragonlords return to Essos. The disputed lands may be war-torn, but they're still the most fertile coastal region in the east. You all know what will happen if the Targaryens claim it."
"Enough, enough, calm down," the elder waved his hand, gesturing for him to sit. "No one is saying we're giving up the disputed lands." A glint of cunning flashed in the old man's eye. "You all know the story of Aegon's Conquest—three dragons brought a continent to heel. Very legendary, yes? But what happened next? Aegon could suppress Westeros's old lords while he lived, but once he died, chaos reigned. My friends, dragons can conquer, but they cannot govern. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
A mysterious smile spread across the elder's face.
The same smile crept across the faces of several other council members.
Only the Sea Lord looked deeply troubled, lost in thought.
"Your Grace, we must ask you to soothe Prince Aegon's concerns a little longer," the elder said with a smile. "Let him know we're already discussing arrangements for the Iron Throne's loans."
The Sea Lord gave a long sigh in his heart and nodded. "I will abide by the council's decision."
From the start, Daeron had never thought highly of Braavos.
And that was understandable—after all, with a dragon at his command, every other faction seemed like weaklings. But he wasn't blindly arrogant either. Blessed with a natural sense for strategy and military matters, he had prepared with surprising thoroughness.
Grain had already been diverted from the Riverlands and the Reach to several designated ports, and the armies gathered in each region were beginning to assemble near their assigned harbors.
Mountains of grain were already piled high at the ports of High Tide, King's Landing, Gulltown, Silvercrown city, and Sunspear. For months, the armies had been gathering, polishing their armor, honing their swords.
They were ready to march into the distance.
High Tide.
It had been decades—no, not since the Dance of the Dragons had there been so many ships moored at its harbor. The entire royal fleet, three hundred longships from the Iron Fleet, and a full Redwyne fleet were raising sail across Blackwater Bay, waiting for the signal.
Dragons soared over High Tide.
To safeguard the king, Lord Joffrey Velaryon had decided to ride into war atop his dragon. His Tyraxes would become the newest dragon among the host.
Originally, Daeron had planned to set sail from Silvercrown City, but Viserys had dissuaded him. Although it would have saved time, Silvercrown City was, in Viserys's eyes, territory of House Vaelarys. A royal expedition should launch from lands directly held by the Crown, or at least unmistakably loyal to it—only then would the realm properly attribute the glory to the king.
Daeron didn't quite understand Viserys's reasoning; his military instincts told him his uncle was spouting nonsense. But for the sake of the family's reputation, Daeron compromised—though not entirely.
Jacaerys and Dan would lead the vanguard forces of the Borderlands, Dorne, the Reach, and the Stormlands from Silvercrown City. They would rendezvous with Daeron at the Stepstones before pressing on into the Disputed Lands.
The vanguard numbered only five thousand, but each soldier bore gleaming armor and a sturdy warhorse. These younger sons and second sons of noble houses longed to carve their names into legend.
They yearned for blood.
In the second moon of 169 AC, the Great Expedition began beneath the roars of Dreamfyre, Seasmoke, Vermax, Hornstorm, and Tyraxes.
But the peoples of the Disputed Lands had yet to unite.
And when the first ship sailing from the Disputed Lands was sunk—
War had begun.