Oberyn Martell volunteered for battle, his face weathered and serious, streaked with a few strands of silver at the temples.
He had once guarded the wild mountain camp by the Lorn River in Andalos for several years.
Every day, Oberyn diligently trained his soldiers, all for the day when he could return to Westeros and personally avenge his sister Elia.
Those who knew Oberyn, or had served under him, understood how serious and meticulous the seemingly carefree Prince of Dorne was when training his soldiers.
All his efforts were for this day, his life's greatest goal.
In the Prime Minister's Tower, within the royal council chamber, all the high officials held their breath, looking towards Viserys.
Viserys was silent for a moment, his fingers interlocked on the table, looking at the spread-out map, before slowly nodding.
"You may."
The tension in Oberyn's eyes relaxed slightly, and the rest of the council breathed a sigh of relief.
"However,"
But Viserys had not finished speaking.
The Second Legion was mostly composed of men from Lys, with the remainder being Andals, and some surrendered enemy prisoners had been incorporated into the Second Legion. The main force was under Viserys's direct command.
The Second Legion had reached twenty thousand men after absorbing some of the surrendered forces. Though a large number, conquering the complex terrain of the Westerlands would still be fraught with difficulties.
After all, Tywin Lannister's reputation was formidable, and as one of the most famous commanders in the Seven Kingdoms, he was not an easy man to deal with.
Viserys suggested sending the Golden Company to assist Oberyn in conquering the Westerlands, but the Prince of Dorne shook his head and refused.
"Your Grace, the Golden Company must remain in King's Landing, to face the threats of the Vale, the Stormlands, and the Riverlands. We must be wary of Tywin abandoning Casterly Rock to join the other dukes, marching straight into King's Landing through the Goldroad."
Their controlled territories were flat and open, without natural defenses, and required guarding from multiple directions.
If Viserys sent too many soldiers to help him attack the Westerlands, it would leave the rear vulnerable, and a surprise attack could cause significant losses.
Though Oberyn refused Viserys's offer to send the Golden Company, he requested that the Master of Ships, Count Jeffrey Bracken, send a fleet to attack the enemy along the Westerlands' coastline.
The Westerlands were a hilly region with a long chain of mountains as barriers, making an attack from the Riverlands difficult.
"I plan to enter the Westerlands from the south, breaking through Hayford Hall along the Coastal Road, and then taking Lannisport and Casterly Rock," Oberyn's finger traced the route on the map.
"Lord Jeffrey's fleet can support me at sea, helping me harass the Westerlands' coastline."
Sitting at Viserys's right hand, the white-haired Master of Ships nodded and spoke in a deep voice.
"It can be done."
The Westerlands' coastline was flat, making a naval invasion easier. This was why the Iron Fleet often raided the Westerlands, which lacked a strong navy.
"Very well, it is settled then," Viserys nodded decisively, confident in Oberyn's clever strategy and tactics. In the end, it would all come down to execution.
The silver-haired youth stood up, and the rest of the council quickly followed.
"Your Grace."
"Your Grace."
Viserys's first royal council meeting in the Red Keep went smoothly, resolving many pending matters.
Oberyn was determined to march immediately, hoping to bring Lord Tywin to King's Landing for public trial, even missing Viserys's wedding to his niece.
Arianne was deeply regretful that her uncle would not attend her wedding.
The Princess of Dorne felt closer to her Uncle Oberyn than to her father, Prince Doran. She saw Oberyn as a true Dornish man, bold and passionate, while her father seemed weak and indifferent, even to the murder of his own sister.
Night.
In the Red Keep's Maegor's Holdfast, the core of the castle and home to the royal family, Viserys naturally took up residence in the king's bedroom. The previous occupants were Robert and Cersei, and before them, his parents, King Aerys and Queen Rhaella.
"You've worked hard these days," Viserys said, holding his fiancée's soft hand in one of his, the other resting on her swelling belly.
"My hardships are nothing compared to yours, my love," Arianne's deep eyes looked lovingly at her long-lost lover. Her nose was high, her chest fuller than before her pregnancy.
"I've missed you."
Arianne's tempting red lips kissed Viserys's cheek, followed by a soft laugh, her fingers moving down from his chest, undoing his belt.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Especially when pregnancy can stimulate certain hormones.
Viserys vaguely remembered that intimacy was forbidden in the first and last three months of pregnancy, but at that moment, he couldn't recall how many months had passed.
Just then, a knock came from outside the door.
Thump, thump—
Followed by the calm voice of the female knight.
"Your Grace."
...
Bran Stark and Alyssa Snow, among the black-cloaked brothers, escaped death in the icy North.
They were first trapped in the crypts after the Battle of Winterfell, then escaped before the Stark ancestors crawled out of their graves.
No one but them knew how they survived, including Tyrion, whom they rescued.
Tyrion only knew that they seemed to have been saved by a mysterious person or 'god' called the 'Three-Eyed Raven.'
The Three-Eyed Raven seemed to possess immense power, guiding them through the North, until they found a ship and escaped to Dragonstone.
The Three-Eyed Raven saved them but also made a request, asking them to find a silver-haired, purple-eyed person riding a dragon.
He didn't say the person's name, only describing their appearance, and everyone instantly understood he meant Viserys.
However, the Three-Eyed Raven shook his head, indicating that he didn't know what to call him.
But if they found him, he hoped they would pass on a message: he wanted to meet him.
"The Three-Eyed Raven?"
Viserys, sitting at his bedroom desk, looked at Bran Stark, his brow furrowing.