"This is only natural. With war on the horizon, we must secure allies."
Rhaegar wasn't surprised.
Rhaenyra's eyes flickered as she spoke mysteriously. "I just heard some new information—Otto is returning to King's Landing."
"That's not news. We've known that for a while."
Rhaegar looked puzzled.
"No, besides Otto, the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven is accompanying him."
Rhaenyra continued seriously, "More and more people in Flea Bottom are becoming followers of the Seven. Rumors about the war are spreading like wildfire, and there are signs that the people are beginning to reject House Velaryon."
"Otto is colluding with the Faith of the Seven to stir up the public?"
Rhaegar frowned, scoffing at such petty tricks.
"I have to admit, it's an effective move."
Rhaenyra sighed in frustration. "The Faith of the Seven has always been skilled at creating trouble for the royal family. Public opinion can be extremely influential."
"Don't worry—I'll make them shut up."
Rhaegar pondered briefly before deciding how to handle the situation.
War was coming.
He needed to stabilize things internally first—he couldn't afford to have anyone dragging them down.
After some thought, Rhaegar set down his greatsword, stood up, and said as he walked, "I'm heading out for a bit. You should rest."
"Where are you going?"
Rhaenyra was stunned to see him leaving.
"To find a good ally."
Rhaegar left those words behind and walked away with Ser Erryk, the guard at the door.
---
In the grand banquet hall, music and dance filled the air as nobles paired off and waltzed elegantly.
In stark contrast, the dungeons of the Red Keep were dark, damp, and crawling with vermin.
"Your Highness, there's no need for you to come personally."
Dressed in a black robe, Ser Erryk tried to dissuade Rhaegar as they entered the prison.
Rhaegar, also clad in black, ignored him and silently observed his surroundings as he walked deeper inside.
Ser Erryk dismissed the guards and hurried to catch up.
Before long, they reached the depths of the dungeon.
*Clank... Clank...*
The sound of chains rattling echoed through the dim, narrow corridor.
Rhaegar stopped in front of a solitary cell, his gaze searching for the prisoner within.
"Your Highness, I never expected you to visit me in person."
Sitting on the wooden bed, Xyrios looked genuinely surprised to see Rhaegar.
From what he remembered, this prince had never cared about whether he lived or died.
During training, they would occasionally let him out for some fresh air, but most of the time, he was left to rot in his cell, ignored.
Rhaegar glanced around the room, then at Xyrios himself.
The cell wasn't bad—it was dry and relatively clean, even furnished with bedding.
Far better than the common dungeon cells.
Xyrios still looked the same—messy brown curls, an unkempt beard, and a perpetual smirk on his face.
"You've atoned for your crimes. I've decided to release you."
Rhaegar smiled.
"Oh? And might I ask if there's a place for my services?"
Xyrios was quick-witted and eager to ask.
After being locked up for years, he was more than ready to leave.
"I need you to build an intelligence network—and train some assassins while you're at it."
Rhaegar stated his intentions bluntly.
Xyrios was from Braavos, a renowned Water Dancer.
For men like him, combat and assassination were second nature.
Rhaegar intended to put his skills to use.
"Thank you for your trust, Your Highness. I won't let you down."
Xyrios agreed without hesitation, raising his shackled hands.
Rhaegar gave Ser Erryk a glance, signaling him to unlock the restraints.
Ser Erryk nodded and took out a key he had prepared in advance.
While they worked on that, Rhaegar wandered deeper into the dungeon and spotted another familiar face in the corner.
"Uncle, are you getting used to life down here?"
In another solitary cell, Daemon lay on the bed, both hands and feet bound in chains.
Rhaegar surveyed the cell.
There was a chair, a chamber pot, and thick blankets—it seemed someone had sent him supplies.
Daemon turned over, facing away from Rhaegar, silent.
On his first day in the dungeon, his brother, Viserys, had come to see him.
Viserys had cursed him from head to toe, calling him worse than filth—and had nearly taken his head off.
Let him rot and stink in the dungeon.
"Forget it, you definitely don't want to see me."
Ser Criston was released, but Rhaegar had no desire to mock anyone. He led his men out of the dungeon.
He still had things to do—let Daemon endure his time in the dungeon.
After escorting Ser Criston to the dragonpit, Rhaegar returned to his chambers.
Pushing open the door, he found the candles had long since burned out.
After a long day, Rhaegar felt exhausted. He took off his shirt and slipped under the covers.
The bed was warm.
Surrounded by the soft, fragrant sheets, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.
…
Early the next morning.
Ser Cole knocked on the door, informing the prince that the king had summoned a council meeting.
Still drowsy, Rhaegar hurriedly ate a quick breakfast before heading to the meeting.
"Straighten your collar a bit. Today's meeting is important."
Rhaenyra, now dressed in a black gown, fussed over his wrinkled attire.
Rhaegar let her adjust it as he silently chewed on his bread.
"I must have owed you in a past life," he muttered.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in exasperation, letting out a huff.
Although she secretly enjoyed it, this should have been Alicent's duty.
At the entrance to the council chamber.
Even through the thick wooden doors, they could hear Tyland's report.
"Your Grace, the Stepstones are a land of constant war. The costs of battle, fortress construction, and compensation will be astronomical."
The siblings exchanged glances, each seeing the helplessness in the other's eyes.
War wasn't just about the bravery of soldiers—the most critical factor was logistics.
Once war broke out, spending would be like water pouring through one's fingers.
"Prince, Princess."
Ser Steffon, the Kingsguard stationed at the door, greeted them and personally pushed open the heavy doors.
The voices inside the chamber immediately fell silent.
Rhaegar stepped into the hall, scanning the familiar faces.
The usual council members were present, along with his father, King Viserys.
One detail caught his attention—three new chairs had been added to the council table.
Aside from the one he had secured for Rhaenyra, the other two were likely for the Velaryon couple.
Taking his seat, Rhaegar glanced at Tyland, who stood at the table, and asked, "I arrived before Lord Corlys?"
"The Lord of the Tides was summoned just moments ago—he is on his way."
Tyland answered honestly.
Rhaegar wasn't surprised. Last night's feast had gone on quite late, and waking up early was undoubtedly difficult for an older man.
"Since Lord Corlys isn't here yet, let's go over the urgent matters first."
Considering the war's potential impact, it was best to discuss it sooner rather than later.
As he spoke, he picked up his council stone and idly rolled it in his palm.
"Prince, this is my estimate of the war's expenditures."
Tyland was a man of action—he had already prepared a detailed list and now handed it over.
Rhaegar accepted it politely.
Viserys, looking exhausted, leaned back in his chair and sighed, "Lord Lyonel, you go first."
The mere thought of an impending war had robbed him of sleep.
Lyonel stood and began his analysis. "Your Grace, in response to the Triarchy's aggression, we must rally as many of the realm's lords as possible for military support."
"The Stormlands are closest to the Stepstones—Duke Boremund Baratheon will surely offer his full support."
"Boremund is Rhaenys's uncle. He has always been a steadfast supporter of the crown," Viserys agreed.
"Additionally, we can summon forces from the Riverlands, the Reach, the Vale, and the Westerlands to bolster our army."
Lyonel continued with his suggestions.
Boremund was the current Lord of Storm's End—the same bearded noble who arranged Rhaenyra's suitors in the show.
His son, Borros, would later support the Greens and offer his daughter's hand to Aemond.
(End of Chapter)