Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 219: Whence Comes the Offering

Compared to the last time Jhaqo was received, the number of attendees in the Throne Hall had more than doubled—from fewer than fifty to over a hundred. The Unsullied guards patrolled every corner of the palace with precision, like well-oiled cogs in a machine, ensuring absolute security within its walls.

Anyone who had visited the palace before could see the changes. Though the palace was no longer as ornate or varied as it once had been, it now exuded a simple yet grand atmosphere. This was especially evident when they entered the Throne Room, where seventeen three-headed dragon banners, each over four meters long, hung proudly, stirring memories in all who saw them.

The Targaryens had returned.

The predominantly black banners made the Throne Room even more solemn. 'The three-headed dragon banners will surely fly over King's Landing again,' Feles thought to himself. With the impending hatching of the dragons, his confidence in the counterattack on Westeros even surpassed that of even Viserys.

The sight shook Shinelli slightly, and Hoyt and the others, who had been away from Tyrosh for some time, felt a similar stirring. The members of the "Dragon Party" now understood one thing clearly: once they defeated the Horselord, no one would be able to stop Viserys.

However, not everyone shared this optimism. Tregar, and Cassius saw things differently. To them, the watch and the three-headed dragon banners were mere displays of Viserys's military might, and they were determined to prevent him from going to war with the Dothraki.

The Throne Room was now divided into three factions: the Dragon Party members, the Myrish nobles who opposed the war with the Dothraki, and the remaining nobles, who held no strong opinions and made up nearly half of the crowd. Some of these nobles were only noble by birth and had seen more of the world, but that didn’t necessarily mean they had the ability to lead it. However, they were born social butterflies; even in unfamiliar surroundings or among those from different Free Cities, they could quickly form groups and engage in conversation.

As the room buzzed with quiet chatter, many praised Viserys's watchtower. Some young nobles even saw him as a role model.

"Look at how magnificent those pillars adorned with human heads are! It's time to show those Dothraki some respect!"

"I wish I could have gone with you, Prince, to fight the Dothraki!"

"Come on, you? You'd just slow the Prince Regent down."

The young were always optimistic, but among the more experienced nobles and officials, a vague sense of worry lingered. Darsent was a prime example. Despite the sight of over 3,000 human heads displayed before him, he still lacked the courage to support going to war with the Dothraki.

"The Horselord commands an army of 50,000. Even if 3,000 fall, that still leaves over 40,000—an all-cavalry force. Once these Dothraki riders disappear into the Grass Sea, they’ll vanish like marmots, impossible to catch!" Darsent grumbled, his frustration evident.

For a man who had built his fortune with a sword, admitting fear of battle was a deep humiliation. After his previous embarrassment in front of his Windblown comrades, he had learned to tread carefully. However, he raised a point no one could ignore—the Dothraki’s unmatched mobility.

Even when combined, the cavalry forces of the four major Free Cities barely numbered 10,000. While they might hold their own in a direct confrontation thanks to superior equipment, in open terrain, they stood little chance against the Dothraki. Furthermore, the lack of unified command among the Free Cities' forces was a glaring and potentially fatal flaw.

"But now we have no choice but to fight," one officer muttered. "That Drogo claims to be the strongest Khal, and after losing 3,000 men, he won’t let it rest."

"That’s not necessarily true," Tregar interjected, catching the attention of those who were reluctant to fight.

"As far as I know, Khal Drogo's primary aim was to form an alliance with Prince Viserys, the Regent, but he was rejected..." Tregar’s words subtly shifted the blame for the conflict onto Viserys, a cunning move that did not go unnoticed by the members of the Dragon Party.

"So what do you propose, my lord?" asked Young Connington, the youngest member of the Dragon Party, unable to hold back his curiosity.

"Of course, my concern is for the well-being of the Confederation. If war breaks out, countless civilians and soldiers will perish." Tregar’s response was measured, but it carried a weight that resonated with some in the room.

Young Connington wanted to argue further, but he quickly realized his oratory skills were no match for Tregar’s.

Tregar pressed on, "My friends, if we can avoid war by paying a small price, it’s a price worth paying to spare so many from the horrors of battle. On the other hand, if we insist on dragging civilians into a conflict, it will lead to disaster."

His words began to sway some of the centrists in the room. Even Young Connington felt himself being swayed, though a nagging feeling told him something was off.

Just then, a voice echoed through the hall, announcing the arrival of Viserys and Dany: "The Lord of the Confederation, Regent Prince Viserys, Prince of the Andals and the First Men, and Daenerys, Princess of Essos, have arrived."

Viserys and Dany walked past a crowd of nobles, military officers, and officials, flanked by their entourage. The crowd parted to make way for them, all eyes drawn to the regal pair. They were both dressed in black robes adorned with a red three-headed dragon on the back. But it wasn’t just their striking appearance that captured everyone's attention; it was the confidence they exuded—the unmistakable aura of those who wield power.

Even those who had seen Viserys recently couldn’t help but stare, their presence commanding respect and admiration.

Taking his place on the throne, Viserys surveyed the room from the highest seat. His voice, deep and authoritative, resonated through the hall: "As you all know, there was a minor conflict between Tyrosh and the Dothraki a few days ago. According to the rules of the Confederation, the four major cities must unite to address the threat posed by the Dothraki. I invite you to share your opinions."

Feles was the first to stand. "Prince, I believe we should organize an army and work together to confront the Dothraki invasion!" he declared.

Tregar couldn’t suppress a sneer. To him, Feles's stance was nothing short of betrayal. Given the opportunity, he would find a way to remove Feles from Lys’s power structure. "The Dothraki have plagued Pentos for years. We pay them a fortune every year—more than enough to fund a war!" Hoyt added, clearly aligning himself with Viserys.

But soon, dissenting voices emerged. Tregar exchanged a glance with Cassius before speaking. "Prince Viserys," he began, using Viserys's title to subtly imply equality, "I believe the Confederation, in its current state, is not equipped to go to war with the Dothraki."

Tregar knew he was on Viserys's turf and chose his words carefully. Rather than openly proposing a marriage alliance with Dany or offering a substantial dowry, he reiterated the concerns he had previously voiced to Young Connington.

"Have you considered the plight of the smallfolk?" Tregar continued, his voice laden with concern. "The Dothraki horses move like the wind. A farmer working in his field could be suddenly abducted or slaughtered by Dothraki raiders. A peaceful village could be burned to the ground overnight. An intact family could be torn apart in the blink of an eye. Have you thought about all this?"

As Lys's "Merchant Prince," Tregar was a master of rhetoric, and he delivered his speech with practiced finesse. But his words failed to sway Viserys, who met his gaze with calm resolve.

"Are you finished? Isn't it my turn to speak?" Viserys asked coolly, locking eyes with Tregar.

Seeing that Viserys remained unconvinced, a flicker of irritation crossed Tregar’s face, though he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

"Lord Ormollen, now that you’ve spoken, please allow me to present my reasoning," Viserys began, gesturing for a servant to bring forth a tray bearing the bloodstained shoe that Selin had sent.

"Peace through struggle leads to peace; peace through compromise leads to death," Viserys declared, his voice resonating through the hall.

"I ask you, where have the gifts to Drogo come from all these years? From the nobles and coffers of the Free Cities? And where does that money ultimately come from? The smallfolk!"

He paused, letting his words sink in. "What our nobles have been sending isn’t just gold or trinkets; it’s the sweat and blood of the vendors in our streets and the farmers in the fields. It’s the lifeblood of our people!"

Viserys’s passionate speech struck a chord with many in the room. Even though most of them viewed the smallfolk as resources—no different from mineral deposits or herds to be managed—the accepted rhetoric was that nobles must protect and fight for the smallfolk.

Moreover, Viserys’s point about "the fat of the land and the wealth of the people" resonated deeply. The idea of endlessly compromising with the Dothraki, bribing them to avoid conflict, was starting to feel like cowardice to many.

"This is too risky!" Tregar protested, unwilling to give up. "Do you have any idea how vast the Grass Sea is? Once the Dothraki retreat into it, they’re like fish in the ocean—impossible to catch! No Free City can afford the cost of a prolonged expedition!"

Tregar’s resistance was evident, but before he could continue, an envoy emerged from behind the throne and whispered something into Viserys's ear.

Viserys turned to the assembled group with a calm but authoritative tone. "My friends, the Horselord's envoy has returned."