I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 84: The Council of Doubt
The midday sun burned bright through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep's small council chamber, bathing the long oak table in fractured colors. King Renly Baratheon sat at the head of the table, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest of his ornate chair, the golden stag on his chest catching glints of the light.
Around him sat his council—Ser Loras Tyrell, his beloved and brother-in-law; Lord Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden; Lord Randyll Tarly, a seasoned commander; Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger; and Ser Jacelyn Bywater, the commander of the City Watch.
Renly's fingers drummed on the table as he surveyed the map spread before them. The Northern and Riverlands army, under the command of Daeron Targaryen, had set camp at Castle Stokeworth. The threat loomed large, especially with the knowledge that Daeron possessed a fully grown dragon.
"I say we strike now," said Loras, leaning forward with the eager intensity of a knight desperate for action. "We've wasted enough time watching them sit comfortably in the fields of Stokeworth. The dragon's gone. The so-called King of the North flew off like a shadow. This is our moment."
"Spoken like a man who's never fought a battle," Randyll Tarly replied coolly, arms folded across his broad chest. "You want to lead a hundred thousand men into an open field while the real threat can return from the skies at any moment?"
"The dragon's gone," Loras insisted again. "We've confirmed it. Daeron Targaryen is in the North, even his dragon fly fast enough to get here in time.
"He doesn't have to be that fast," Randyll snapped. "He just needs to arrive when we're outside the safety of these walls. You know what a single pass from a dragon's flame does to an army caught in the open?"
Ser Jacelyn Bywater cleared his throat. "We've started mounting scorpions on the walls, per your orders, Your Grace," he said to Renly. "Thirty-five of them so far, and more being made in the smithies."
Renly steepled his fingers, thoughtful. He had read every raven-sent record he could get from the Citadel on dragons. When he summoned the maesters, he had hoped for a secret. Some ancient weapon, or hidden truth that could give him an edge.
What he got was dust, ink, and disappointment.
"They all say the same thing," Renly muttered aloud. "The only thing that can stop a fully grown dragon is another bigger full-grown dragon. The scorpions might help, but it would take a near-impossible shot to bring one down."
The room fell quiet.
"They are not invincible," Loras said, quieter this time. "Dragons have died before. Even Balerion."
Renly nodded. "But not to swords and spears. And not to scorpions made in the rush of desperation." He turned his gaze to Littlefinger, lounging as usual with a smirk playing on his lips. "What of our spies, Petyr? What does your network whisper about our noble guests camped outside the gates?"
Littlefinger shrugged. "My whores have plenty to say about the Northern and Riverlands lords, but it appears that Daeron's most trusted commanders don't indulge in the pleasures of the flesh. Robb Stark and Ser Brynden Tully are stubborn. Ned Stark even more so. Pure as septons claim to be, the lot of them."
Renly arched a brow. "None of them indulge?"
"Edmure Tully does," Littlefinger said with a laugh. "He's very fond of good wine and soft company. But Daeron doesn't trust him. He shares nothing of value, not even with his own kin. A wise choice, it seems."
Randyll Tarly snorted. "Then what use are your whores, Baelish, if they can't uncover real secrets?"
Littlefinger didn't flinch. "It was my network that first learned of the Ironborn attacking the North. And more importantly—of Moat Cailin. That's why the dragon and its master are gone."
"Gone for now," Randyll replied. "And could return tomorrow."
Renly raised his hand to stop the back-and-forth. The silence that followed was thick with tension.
He sat back, fingers tapping again against the wood. Their strength inside King's Landing was impressive. One hundred thousand men, most of them from the fertile lands of the Reach and the Stormlands. Enough food to last the year. Gold, weapons, walls—everything a king could want to defend his city.
And yet… one dragon was enough to unravel it all.
"My lords," Renly said finally, "I called this meeting for your advice. I appreciate your boldness, Ser Loras, and your caution, Lord Randyll. But we must not let fear paralyze us."
"What will you do, Your Grace?" asked Ser Jacelyn.
"We will wait," Renly said. "Not out of cowardice, but out of strategy. Let see how long it takes for Daeron to return. Let them show their hand. Perhaps the North will stretch Daeron too thin. Perhaps the people of this city will see their dragonlord as more threat than savior."
"And if he does return soon?" Mace Tyrell asked, looking more worried than usual.
"Then we will greet him with fire and steel," Renly replied. "The scorpions may not kill a dragon, but they may keep it from flying too low. And if Daeron wishes to burn his way into the city, he'll do it while standing on the bones of his own countrymen."
Silence followed.
Renly stood slowly. "This council is done. You are dismissed."
The men filed out one by one. Randyll Tarly and Mace Tyrell exchanged stiff bows. Jacelyn Bywater nodded, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders. Littlefinger gave a mocking half-bow and vanished like a shadow.
Only Loras remained, crossing his arms as he stared at Renly.
"You're afraid," he said quietly.
Renly looked at him. "Of dragons? Aye. I'd be a fool not to be."
Loras stepped closer. "Then let me lead a raid. A fast strike—torch their supplies, disrupt their command. If they scatter, the dragon's return won't matter."
Renly considered it. "Not yet," he said. "Let's wait for for now."
Loras didn't look happy, but he nodded.
Renly leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "This war is not going as planned."
Loras approached, placing a reassuring hand on Renly's shoulder. "We'll find a way. Together."
Renly looked up, meeting Loras's gaze. "I hope you're right."