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Chapter 86: Fire Before the Storm
The morning sun filtered through the high, narrow windows of Castle Stokeworth's solar, catching the edges of a map spread wide across the table. Daeron Targaryen sat at the head, his jaw set, grey eyes fixed on the siege map of King's Landing. Around him stood Lord Eddard Stark, Robb Stark, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Brynden Tully—the war council that had guided his campaign from its first strike in the Riverlands to the current standoff outside the capital.
Ned pointed to a drawn line along the bay. "Lord Monford Velaryon's fleet has established a blockade at the mouth of Blackwater Bay. With the Redwyne fleet held in check, Renly cannot expect naval support from the Reach."
"That is a comfort," Ser Brynden added, stroking his beard. "but even without the fleet, Renly commands a host of a hundred thousand men encamped outside King's Landing."
Robb leaned forward, his fingers trailing over the roads snaking from the south. "Feeding such a massive army is no small feat. If we disrupt their supply lines from the Reach, we could weaken them significantly."
Daeron shook his head. "I could send Lyrax to burn their supply lines, that would be simple enough, but the first to suffer would be the people of King's Landing. Starving the city would take months, and the smallfolk would bear the brunt of it."
The room fell quiet at that. Each man in the room knew the horrors that would follow a long siege. Starving mothers, dead children, desperate men turned to monsters within the walls of a city left to rot.
Robb exhaled slowly. "So, a siege is out of the question. That leaves open battle. Can Lyrax withstand the scorpions mounted on the city walls?"
Daeron nodded. "Lyrax has spent most of her life in the skies. Those scorpions are mere annoyances to her."
Ned's voice was grave. "We know the devastation Lyrax can bring. But against such a vast host, even a dragon's fire won't scatter them as it did the Lannister forces."
Ser Arthur, silent until now, spoke. "You could shatter their center, cut the head off their command. That would still leave tens of thousands, but without leadership…"
Daeron ran a hand through his hair. His stomach churned—not with fear, but something darker. "That would mean burning thousands alive."
No one spoke.
He leaned back in the chair, looking past the stone ceiling as if he could see Lyrax circling the skies beyond the walls. Is this how my reign begins? he thought. With fire and death? By unleashing fire upon thousands? With screams echoing off the stones of the city I mean to rule? He wondered if his Targaryen ancestors ever hesitated before letting their dragons loose.
He looked up, determination hardening his features. "We have no other choice. I've sent multiple requests for parley to Renly, all refused. We cannot allow him to continue his charade as king."
The others nodded, understanding the necessity.
Robb's face hardened. "Because he knows if he accepts your terms, he gives up his crown."
Ser Brynden sighed. "And that's something no man with a crown gives up easily."
Daeron's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. "Then we end this."
The others nodded, grim but resolved.
Before anyone could speak again, there was a knock on the solar door.
A guard entered the solar, bowing low. "Your Grace, Ser Barristan Selmy requests an audience."
Daeron eyes widened, he exchanged glances with his council. "Show him in."
As the guard departed, Daeron stood, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. The path to the Iron Throne was paved with fire and blood, and there was no turning back.
The door opened, and in stepped a tall, white-haired man in plain traveler's leathers—his bearing regal despite his modest appearance. The years had lined his face and silvered his hair, but his back was still straight, his blue eyes calm and clear. He carried his helm under one arm, and at his hip hung a longsword, simple but worn with care.
The room fell into silence as the knight dropped to one knee before Daeron.
"I, Barristan Selmy," he said, voice steady. "Once Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I come to swear myself to Your Grace , Daeron Targaryen. My sword, my shield, my life. In service of the rightful king."
For a moment, no one moved. Then Daeron stepped forward, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. He extended his hand, placing it gently on the old knight's shoulder.
"Rise, Ser Barristan," he said. "Your service is accepted, and your honor is known across the realm. It will be my honor to have you among my Kingsguard."
Barristan stood, his expression unreadable, but his eyes shone faintly.
Daeron turned to the others in the room. "There is no need for words as everyone here knows Ser Barristan."
Ser Arthur gave a nod of respect, and even Ned Stark dipped his head.
Daeron looked back at the knight. "We hadn't heard from you since Joffrey dismissed you. Where were you all this time?"
"I returned to my family's lands to settle my affairs," Barristan said. "I was preparing to leave Westeros in search of your kin. I had not yet heard that Rhaella, Viserys, and Daenerys had already returned. By the time I boarded a ship across the Narrow Sea, word reached us halfway to Pentos—word that the dragons had returned with the wolves of the North."
Daeron smiled faintly. "You've been on quite a journey then. But you made it, somehow. And I am glad for it. To have a knight such as you in my Kingsguard…" He nodded. "It means more than you know."
The fire crackled in the hearth, and outside, the wind rustled the banners of the Direwolf and the Dragon.