"From just one day of observation, I believe Her Majesty the Queen, though compassionate to the point of seeming almost saintly, possesses both fine character and great wisdom. She would never joke about the White Walkers.
Besides, we all know that Maester Aemon was previously at the Wall. Now that he's come to Tideshead Isle, it means Her Majesty must have visited the Wall. And with Ser Barristan's integrity, he would never lie," the old crab said thoughtfully.
"If the White Walkers are real, then why didn't you urge Her Majesty to seize King's Landing? Instead, you praised the decision that 'whoever ends the Long Night shall be king, and there will be no western campaign before summer.'
You should understand the mindset of the people in King's Landing. Even with that vow dangling in front of them, it's unlikely to appeal to Cersei or the Tyrells.
After all, the Iron Throne already belongs to them. As long as they eliminate the last Targaryen, even the White Walkers can't shake their hold on power," said the second son of the crab family with suspicion.
"Ah, of course I understand," the old crab sighed helplessly. "Her Majesty isn't exactly a qualified player in the game of thrones. Her concept of kingship is very different from ours.
For centuries, a king has simply been a king—born into it. As long as they have the support of the nobility, they remain king, regardless of how the common people feel.
Because the king represents and leads the nobles; it has nothing to do with the commoners. A king answers only to the nobility.
But perhaps because she was raised among commoners, Queen Daenerys has redefined what it means to be a monarch. She believes a queen should care for the livelihood of her people and pays little attention to the nobles."
"Then all the more reason for you to correct her mistake!" the second son said, still perplexed.
A glint of light flashed in the old crab's eyes, and he smiled faintly. "Yes, I should have corrected her. But then she mentioned something that made me change my mind."
"What was it?"
The old crab smiled proudly and said, "We've been so focused on Westeros that we forgot about the Dragon Queen's immense reputation on the continent of Essos.
She is the Queen of Slaver's Bay, and in time, she will surely defeat the anti-Dragon Queen alliance and become the queen—empress even—of Volantis, Qarth, Lys, and perhaps most of Essos.
Her understanding of monarchy might not suit Westeros, or the free-trade city-states built on slavery, but as a liberator of slaves, she is deeply loved by them.
To the Dragon Queen, the world lies beneath her feet. The Iron Throne might just be a dispensable burden.
There's no need for her to jump into the mud and wrestle with the likes of King's Landing, getting herself filthy in the process."
"But that's the Iron Throne! The pride of House Targaryen for generations—you make it sound so worthless," the second son muttered.
The old crab sighed and said, "Son, you've inherited about seventy percent of my cunning and craftiness—which is good. Only knaves can survive in Westeros.
But that doesn't mean you should always look at things from a knave's perspective.
The Queen is upright and kind, and Stannis is stubborn but responsible. They're not like Cersei and her ilk, and they think differently. You must treat them accordingly."
The elder son, visibly uncomfortable, flushed red. "Father, how can you speak of yourself like that..."
The old crab shot him a glare and snapped, "If I weren't cunning, I'd have ended up like the Onion Knight, and both you and your brother would be buried in the Blackwater Rush.
If I weren't crafty, that vile old lion Tywin would've taken my head or forced me to take the black.
And if I weren't a knave, I'd still be in King's Landing, pledging loyalty to the Lannisters—dragging the Setigar family to ruin."
The elder son lowered his head, unsure whether he was ashamed for his father or for himself.
In contrast, the second son felt no shame whatsoever and instead reflected deeply on his father's words.
After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully and said, "Father's right. People are different. I must treat them accordingly. But what about the Setigar family? Our foundation is here in Westeros."
"No, the foundation of House Setigar and House Velaryon lies with the Targaryens. Four hundred years ago, our ancestors still lived in Valyria. As long as the Targaryens have dragons, wherever they go, we follow," the old crab replied with a smile.
"Don't forget your mission!" he added, his tone growing firm and his expression full of expectation.
"Our mission..." The elder son blushed again. "But... she doesn't seem to see me any differently."
The second son cast a jealous glance at his brother. Being the eldest certainly had its perks.
His brother might be a fool, but the title of Lord of Claw Isle was his, and the position of the Dragon Queen's consort might be his as well.
As the second son, his task was to become a Kingsguard first, then—once Barristan passed away—succeed him as Lord Commander and protect both his brother and the Queen.
"Which is why you have to work hard!" the old crab patted his son's shoulder, speaking earnestly. "The Queen is young and beautiful, and she built her empire with her own two hands. Her standards must be as high as her achievements.
There's no man alive worthy of her—by looks, birth, or talent.
But she must marry eventually. Even the legendary Nymeria married four times.
For the sake of a Targaryen empire, she needs an heir—you both heard her say it herself: she needs at least one descendant to inherit the Duchy of Dragonstone or even the Iron Throne."
At this, the old crab grew excited again. He stood up, rubbing his hands, and paced back and forth by the fireplace as he spoke:
"By bloodline, House Velaryon is closer to the Targaryens.
But now, little Montely is just a child—even younger than Tommen. He has no hope.
That means it's up to us, House Setigar, to shoulder the burden of continuing the Targaryen line!
In fact, back in Valyria, the Targaryens, Velaryons, and Setigars had intermarried for generations.
Aelys, you are the firstborn—honest and upright by nature. In terms of status, temperament, and ability, you are a perfect match for a strong Targaryen Queen."
"If big brother doesn't want to, I'm happy to step in," the second son said, eyeing his silent older brother.
But before the elder could respond, the old crab's face darkened and he snapped, "Rhaegar, you're the second son. A second son marrying the Queen? That would be an insult to Her Majesty!
Besides, your personality isn't one she would like. From now on, don't ever bring this up again."
Rhaegar Celtigar lowered his head, his eyes gleaming with unwillingness and resentment.
Dragonstone Island was no longer than five kilometers, and its widest point was less than two. It was a rocky island formed by an undersea volcanic eruption.
On this narrow and barren land stood only a castle and a small fishing village.
The castle was built from Valyrian black stone and shaped like a dragon lying flat on the ground. Most of its architectural features were dragon-themed.
Smaller dragons adorned the archways; dragon claws protruding from the walls served as torch holders; massive stone wings housed the smithy and armory; and the dragon's tail formed archways, bridges, and outdoor staircases.
The castle complex included the main stronghold, Stone Drum Tower, Aegon's Garden behind it, and the Dragon Tower and Sea Dragon Tower on either side.
The Sea Dragon Tower had been converted into a rookery after House Velaryon moved in with their entire family four hundred years ago.
Only the Dragon Tower, which looked down upon all surrounding buildings, still served as the launching and landing point for dragons.
Morning.
The sky was gray.
Light rain.
Dragonstone Island, atop the Dragon Tower.
Over thirty scorpion ballistae were arrayed around the tower's summit, with more than fifty archers standing in formation, ready for combat.
Acting castellan Lucion Lannister stood at the edge of the tower, gazing at the distant fleet. His mood churned like the rain-soaked sea—turbulent, dark, and cold.
The misty rain enveloped him, soaking his golden lion-cloaked mantle, draining warmth and courage from his body.
His father, Damian Lannister, was a cousin of Tywin and now the acting Lord of Casterly Rock. Their family was a principal branch of House Lannister.
Thus, the important responsibility of guarding Dragonstone fell to him. In the future, perhaps a Lannister would become the Duke of Dragonstone—or be downgraded to Count of Dragonstone?
But yesterday morning, a terrifying message arrived from neighboring Tideshore Island: the Dragon Queen had arrived riding a dragon.
Without a doubt, she would attack Dragonstone.
Just as, if a Stark were still alive, they would surely reclaim Winterfell.
Since noon yesterday, after sending a letter to King's Landing, Ser Lucion began organizing the island's defenses.
Roland Storm, once loyal to Stannis, led a force of fewer than a hundred men and managed to delay over ten thousand soldiers from House Lannister and House Redwyne for months—causing over a thousand elite casualties.
Now, Lucion had four hundred guards and reinforcements from King's Landing. But how long could he hold off the Dragon Queen?How much damage could they inflict on her?She had dragons.
Lucion was deeply worried, uncertain of the outcome.
Thump thump thump — a gold-armored soldier wearing a lion-helmet quickly ascended the stairs, panting as he reached the top of the tower. He handed Lucion a scroll of sheepskin and said, "Ser, the Dragon Queen has sent a message."
Lucion pressed his lips together, took the scroll, and read it briefly before handing it to a black-armored knight near the scorpions. He frowned and said, "She's demanding we surrender—lay down our weapons, leave the castle, and she'll allow us to return to King's Landing."
After a moment's thought, he turned to the young maester beside him. "Maester Pyros, what do you think?"
Pyros was twenty-five years old, his neck draped with more than twenty chain links. Though still young, he carried himself with the solemnity of a sixty-year-old man.
Hearing the question, he composed himself and respectfully asked, "Ser, are you asking whether the message is trustworthy, or how we should respond?"
Lucion, his thoughts muddled, nodded vaguely. "Both—say it all."
"The Dragon Queen has dragons. She has sixteen ships. At least a thousand soldiers have landed in the fishing village. She holds the advantage—there's no need for her to ruin her credibility with lies.
And because she has dragons, you have no chance of victory. It would be wiser to accept her offer, go to King's Landing first, and then—"
Smack!
The black-armored knight, whose chest bore a sigil with three black towers on an orange background, crumpled the scroll and tossed it off the sea cliff, then slapped the young maester hard, knocking him to the wet, cold stone floor.
"Pah! Lannisters never surrender to a usurper!"
He spat on the maester's messy brown hair, then loudly declared to the other soldiers on the tower, "At dawn today, we received a raven from King's Landing. King Tommen has ordered us to hold out for at least two days until Ser Meryn Trant arrives with reinforcements. Ideally, kill that woman. At the very least—take down a dragon."
Lucion only glanced at the maester's swollen cheek and bleeding lip before turning his focus back to the knight. He frowned and said, "Ser Peck, we scoured the entire storeroom and found only thirty old scorpions. They're all here. If Daenerys attacks from another direction, our chances are slim."
The black-armored knight waved dismissively, full of confidence. "This is a fortress built from unyielding stone—strong enough to withstand dragonfire.
We'll use a Targaryen castle to fight a Targaryen dragon.
Hahaha! Maybe we really will become the ones to slay a dragon!"
Skreeee—
Boom!
From within storm clouds crackling with blue lightning, a terrifying black monster burst forth, diving straight toward the Dragon Tower.
"A dragon… It's really a dragon…"The black-armored knight's eyes widened. His courage collapsed as he screamed in terror.
(End of Chapter)
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