The Red Dragon
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24. The War Council
🕑 Added 2025-05-30 16:29:24 +0000 UTCDragon’s Lair, Stepstones
“With two dragons, there is a possibility they will change their tactics,” Daemon said. The lords, knights, and commanders gathered inside the tent seemed to agree, if their nods were any indication. Laenor looked around the war council, filled with silver- and silver-gold-haired men of Valyrian descent—except for a few, like Lord Swann’s brother and several second sons of Reach lords who had managed to survive thus far. And, of course, the Velaryons.
The council had been going on for nearly an hour, and Laenor had begun to get a sense of how far the conquest of the Stepstones had progressed. Which, in truth, was not much—beyond Caraxes burning ships and the Velaryon treasury emptying at a pace matched only by the growth of Laena and Laenor’s dragons.
The Triarchy, flush with wealth, kept hiring more and more sellswords and sellsails. Laenor’s father was losing men every time Caraxes was baited into a trap—and if they ignored the bait, those ships would strike nearby islands the Velaryons had already taken, doing as much damage as possible before going down. It seemed the Triarchy had no intention of giving up the Stepstones, considering the sheer amount of gold they had already poured into these barren rocks. Their men hid in caves and launched surprise attacks at night, destroying supplies and killing soldiers—soldiers the Velaryons couldn’t afford to lose.
House Velaryon could field more than five thousand men if it came to it, but Corlys had held back, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hold the Stepstones for long or gain much by committing all of their forces to the war. He had sent just enough to show that House Velaryon would retaliate if provoked. But between his father’s caution and the Crown’s indecision, the war had become a prolonged stalemate, one where both sides bled—Triarchy in gold, ships, and men; the Velaryons in gold from their own treasury and the Crown’s, ships, and lives. But the Triarchy consisted of three wealthy cities and could afford to throw endless coin at the cause. They were fully committed to taking control of these barren isles. And then there was Dorne, watching from the shadows—offering quiet aid to the Triarchy while pretending to sit the conflict out, though it was unfolding dangerously close to their own shores.
“… So what do you propose then, Lord Corlys?” asked Donnel Swann, frowning. His father had said Donnel joined the war effort hoping to rescue his daughter. But with every word from Lys concerning her, the man had grown more bitter, more angry—his grief twisting slowly into vengeance against the only child he had.
Laenor shook himself from his thoughts, lest he end up having to ask his father or uncle what the council had decided despite sitting through the entire meeting.
“I propose we strike for Bloodstone now—now that we have two dragons, and with the help of the blessing my son has received. We take Bloodstone and Grey Gallows, and begin construction there. Fortifications, watch posts—structures that will allow us to hold them with minimal losses. With each dragon protecting one island, we may hold them long enough to make real progress—long enough to protect ourselves from surprise attacks launched by men hiding in caves.” His father placed a dragon token and a seahorse on both Bloodstone and Grey Gallows on the map.
“And then what?” Donnel Swann challenged. “The Triarchy will simply send a large force to the other islands, bringing supplies and men to hide in caves again. We’ll be attacked from both sides—by sea and from within. Caraxes may hold off a seaborne assault, but even he would struggle under scorpion bolts and arrows. How would your son’s young dragon do the same without getting himself killed—and leaving the men on the islands exposed?”
Laenor raised an eyebrow and grinned at Donnel Swann. If he could convince his father, perhaps he could convince this man as well—and send him somewhere useful.
“Are you deaf, Ser Donnel?” Corlys asked sharply. “Did you not hear what was said about my son’s capabilities? Even if Embaryx is young, he is large—and quick for his size. If death frightens you so, say the word. I’ll see you stationed on Bloodstone, where Prince Daemon and Caraxes can protect you from all harm.”
The words struck a nerve. Ser Donnel unsheathed his sword, his temper finally snapping. But he forgot that he was surrounded—Velaryons on every side. He raised the blade, intending to strike their lord, but before he could lift it high, several swords were already pointed at his throat. One wrong word and his head would roll before he could even say “pardon.”
“Lower your sword, Ser Donnel,” Daemon said lazily, “lest you ruin this map I spent hours drawing—meticulously and painstakingly. Corlys, call off your brood as well. We don’t want Lord Swann swindling gold from my brother for the death of his brother.”
Laenor saw the corner of his father’s mouth twitch upward. When Donnel Swann slowly lowered his sword, Corlys gave the signal, and the Velaryons followed suit. Still, the knight’s face twisted with rage and humiliation—making him look even uglier than he was.
“Now, since we have resolved the inner conflict among us,” Daemon said dryly, and Laenor, along with several others, shook their heads at his words.
“I back Lord Corlys’s plan,” Daemon continued. “Taking Bloodstone and Grey Gallows, building fortifications on those islands, and launching our conquest of the Stepstones from them. But before that, we must cull the rats hiding in caves and attacking us by night. How do you propose we do that, Lord Corlys?”
“We lay siege, Prince Daemon. A siege of the caves on both islands—we would be the first to attempt such a thing,” Lord Corlys replied. “The difference now is that Triarchy men won’t be able to evade two dragons, engage our forces, and still supply those hiding within the caves. By the time we’ve finished building the fortifications, our men on land won’t be troubled by surprise attacks or the theft of supplies. Once that’s done, you and Caraxes have but one task: burn every ship not flying the Velaryon banner that dares approach Bloodstone.”
It was a sound plan—at the very least, better than being attacked from all sides, as they had been until now.
“It is a good plan, my lord. But how will it help end the war?” Vaemond Velaryon asked, voicing the concern on many minds. “I loathe to admit it, but we don’t have the manpower to build fortifications on every island in the Stepstones, let alone maintain them. Either we must raise more men or relinquish some of the islands.”
“Before I answer Vaemond’s question, I’d like to ask everyone here—what could we do to make the Triarchy abandon their campaign to claim the Stepstones?” Lord Corlys asked, glancing around.
“Keep in mind,” he added, “we cannot attack the Triarchy directly. That would go against the Crown’s orders and could lead to war between the Seven Kingdoms and the Triarchy—perhaps even a broader war between Westeros and Essos, if things worsen.”
His words silenced those who had opened their mouths to speak of crushing the Triarchy outright.
Everyone began to think—Laenor could see it on their faces. He too pondered the question, but it was Ser Manfryd Redwyne who broke the silence first.
“We could kill Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder. If Commander Cunning—as they call him—were put to death, the Triarchy might realize the folly of this war and admit defeat by ceasing to send troops here.”
Ser Manfryd was a second son of Lord Redwyne, ten-and-nine, a man grown with freckles, light brown hair, and eyes of the same hue.
“Ser Manfryd,” Corlys said, “the Triarchy has no shortage of capable admirals to replace the Crabfeeder should he fall. Unlike Westeros, Essosi wars are fought primarily at sea. And the Triarchy has only just emerged from war with Volantis—these men we face are no green boys, but blooded warriors, some more than once.”
Ser Manfryd sighed, retreating back into thought.
“The Triarchy will only stop pouring gold and men into the Stepstones when their homes are attacked, or when inner conflicts and the alliances they forged through blood and war begin to fracture,” said Prince Daemon. “No single Free City can hold the Stepstones alone. There would be too many pirates and rivals to contend with. Those Magisters are merchants through and through—they will never commit to a cause destined for loss.”
All eyes turned to Corlys to see if Daemon had struck upon the truth.
“While it’s true that an attack on their homeland or a broken alliance would end this war, neither is possible now,” Lord Corlys said grimly. “We are under orders not to attack, and with Volantis licking its wounds and Braavos having no interest in the Triarchy, they are secure at home. And as for the chances of their alliance fracturing—better not to even speak of it.”
Grunts and sighs filled the tent as wine cups were refilled and men glared at the map as if it might offer an answer.
“So does that mean we’re bound to lose?” asked Ser Donnel Swann, draining his wine in a single gulp. “Or be satisfied with two or three barren islands?”
“As Prince Daemon said, the Magisters of the Free Cities are merchants,” Laenor began. “They will only cease their efforts when they see undeniable losses. So we must show them the cost of trying to win the Stepstones. We fortify the islands. We take the caves and use them as our own, just as the Essosi did. We advance slowly, keeping our losses low, and unleash both dragons to wreak as much destruction as possible. It may take years for the Triarchy to realize the waste of gold and lives they’re pouring into this campaign—but that is how we win this war.”
The look of pride on Lord Corlys’s face was answer enough for the rest of the council.
