Chapter 179: Summon the Wolf
Chapter 179: Chapter 176: Summon the Wolf
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Viserys had just finished with the Braavosi envoy. They’d struck a peace deal that bought him some breathing room.
But it was only temporary. A new Century of Blood was already taking shape.
This quiet stretch was the perfect window to prepare.
Viserys had studied the Free Cities’ weaknesses. Their high walls and deep towers made them hard to storm head-on.
Yet their estates, mines, and orchards sat exposed across the open land — immovable targets that couldn’t run.
“So once we finish the customs house on Bloodstone?” Morosh asked.
The Three Daughters had two permanent powder kegs between them: the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones.
The Stepstones were mostly rock and wind, but their position was everything. Control those islands and you controlled the Narrow Sea’s trade lanes.
Pirates, exiles, wreckers, and smugglers had always haunted them, tied tight to the Daughters.
With the customs post built, the real question was money or power. Forts and fleets weren’t charity work.
“I’ve poured everything into turning that island into a real stronghold,” Viserys said. “Safe passage for every ship that sails through. A fair toll isn’t greedy. Keep the fees reasonable. Don’t repeat the Three Daughters’ mistake and piss off the whole damn world.”
Years ago, Myr’s admiral Craghas Drahar had led the Triarchy fleet to clear the Stepstones of pirates and secure the trade routes.
The Seven Kingdoms had looked the other way at first. Then Craghas and his men got greedy, jacking up tolls and seizing women, girls, and pretty boys for their beds.
“As you command, Your Grace,” Morosh nodded.
“If that’s the case, our next war will break out on the islands or in the Disputed Lands,” Agos said, eyes on the map.
“We won’t start it,” Viserys replied. “But we’ll be ready when it comes.”
The room understood exactly what he meant.
“We need eyes on every army movement — Lys, Myr, Volantis, Braavos, and the Westerosi realms. Especially the Lyseni and Myrmen.”
“Waterfront taverns are gold for intel,” Morosh offered.
“Guildhalls and inns too,” Thomas added.
“Don’t forget the freedmen,” Jalaka said. Slaves made up the bulk of the population in the Three Daughters and Volantis. They heard things.
Viserys knew their intelligence network had real teeth. It wasn’t just coin. Escaped slaves and those still in chains were eager to feed information to Andalos.
He already had the perfect man to run it: his squire Crabb. The boy wasn’t much of a fighter, but his head was sharp. Perfect fit.
“Holding Tyrosh and Bloodstone won’t be enough,” Viserys said, tapping the map. “I need another stronghold. Somewhere the freedmen of the Disputed Lands can rally.”
“Any ideas, Your Grace?” Agos asked.
“Crown Town,” Viserys answered. “The same spot the Ninepenny Kings once used as their base. Right in the heart of the Disputed Lands.”
Viserys had his strategy locked. When the next war started, they’d hit one enemy hard and fast — no two-front nightmare like Volantis had tried.
He was leaning toward Lys and Myr first.
They were closest, most exposed, and their magisters were full of arrogant fools.
Both cities depended on sea trade and their estates in the Disputed Lands. Viserys threatened both. They’d be the loudest.
Braavos would take time to mobilize its war machine, even with the Sealord’s prestige.
Westeros needed even longer to call banners and muster levies.
Braavos’s last big fight had been against Pentos — mostly naval. No one had ever breached the Titan’s defenses.
In King’s Landing, inside the throne room, Robert Baratheon hurled a priceless jeweled goblet to the stone floor.
The dragon skulls that once lined the walls had been hauled to the cellars. Myr hunting tapestries now hung in their place.
“Goddamn it! Are the Tyroshi a bunch of fucking cowards? They folded like wet paper. And the Lyseni, the Myrmen — every last one of them is useless!” Robert roared like an enraged stag.
The burly king stood on the dais beside the Iron Throne, two silent Kingsguard knights flanking him.
No one dared check his fury. Robert had been a legendary warrior in his youth — strength and temper both.
With Andalos’s name growing louder every day, Robert had been dragged from his feasts and hunts to deal with war — the only thing that mattered now.
The Iron Throne loomed behind him, a twisted mass of spikes and jagged metal. No one sat comfortably on that thing.
Below the dais, Jon Arryn — Hand of the King in his blue robes and badge — watched the shattered goblet with a calm face.
“I want to march east right now and crush that Targaryen bastard once and for all! I swore I’d kill every last dragon. I’ve killed Rhaegar a thousand times in my dreams.” Robert declared.
For a moment the fat melted away. Jon saw the young, handsome warrior-king again — fearless on the battlefield.
Jon shook his head. “Not yet, Your Grace. We need ships. Supplies. The support of every lord in the realm. Viserys commands a strong army in Andalos now — and he’s got the Golden Company and the Tyroshi backing him.”
“Damn it, I already sent word to Ned. But the ravens are too fucking slow. Maybe I should ride north myself and drag him here.” Robert muttered.
Even now, his first thought was his brother in all but blood — Eddard Stark.
This new dynasty had been built on alliances and marriages. Ned’s place in it was crucial.
Ned, Jon, and Robert were the founders. Ned was Jon’s foster son, Robert’s brother, and Hoster Tully’s goodson.
The best part? Ned had zero interest in southern power games. He’d never meddled in Robert’s court.
Mentioning Ned brought a rare smile to Jon Arryn’s face.
Ned was the perfect partner for Robert — fire and ice, passion and patience. They worked like a well-oiled machine.
The coming war would need both of them.
Just like the Usurper’s War and Balon’s rebellion — they’d crushed every challenge together.
This fight against the last Targaryen whelp would be no different.
“Absolutely not, Your Grace,” Jon said at once. “Viserys Targaryen’s reputation is soaring. If you leave King’s Landing now, it could spark chaos. You need to hold the capital.”
Robert took a breath, anger cooling slightly. “You’re right. But I can’t just sit on my ass doing nothing…”
King’s Landing was Aegon’s city. Targaryen loyalists had deep roots here. Now the dragonspawn was rising again across the Narrow Sea.
Leaving the capital could be dangerous.
“We wait for Ned’s reply,” Jon explained. “The North is cold and harsh. It takes time to gather his banners.”
“I know,” Robert growled. “I just want that stubborn bastard here yesterday.”
He clenched his fists. “Last time we fought side by side was against the ironborn. I can’t wait to see him again.”
“We prepare on two fronts,” Jon continued. “First, send trusted men across the Narrow Sea. Find allies among the Free Cities willing to help us. A cross-sea war goes smoother with local support.”
“You have anyone in mind?” Robert asked.
“Littlefinger?” Jon hesitated. “The Small Council is thin on talent these days. Petyr’s silver tongue could work. He understands Narrow Sea merchants.”
The current council was old men — Jon, Pycelle, Barristan — and Stannis wasn’t exactly charming. No one else fit.
“He’s decent, but I still need him counting coppers. Renly could do it too. We’ll think on it.”
“Second, we start quietly calling the banners here at home. Knights, trained smallfolk, merchants — everyone. I’ve already set my steward to work in secret.”
“Good. Do it,” Robert said, slamming his fist into his palm. “Winterfell. The Eyrie. Casterly Rock. Riverrun. Storm’s End. Highgarden. I will declare war on the dragons again.”
Jon kept his thoughts to himself. Highgarden’s attitude had grown… complicated lately.
But the Tyrells had too many knights and too much grain. Now wasn’t the time to break that alliance.
“Father,” Robert said, “this war across the sea is too important. My son was just born. I think it’s best if Ned and I lead the army together. Ned’s got the ironborn bastard as a hostage — he’ll march too.”
Robert meant Jon’s own son, the sickly little Robert Arryn — heir to the Vale.
Jon felt both relief and deep worry.
“What about the Westerlands?” Jon asked.
“Jaime can lead them,” Robert said without hesitation. “That boy handles everything I give him. Never lets me down.”
Jon didn’t argue. The Kingslayer’s name stank, but Tywin Lannister’s was worse. King’s Landing still remembered the sack.
“Stormlands go to Renly. Stannis holds Dragonstone. Lord Hoster will rally the Riverlands. We’ll pull from the Crownlands, the Vale, and the Reach too.” Robert counted on his fingers. “Now we wait for Ned.”
Robert couldn’t wait to see his old friend again. Ned was his golden partner.
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