When the blood of the dragon meets the soul of the dragon, the continent begins to burn.
The Baratheons are steadfast, strong, and formidable. Leanna Baratheon is no different. She is the storm, and no one, Targaryen or other, will bring her down.
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Rhaenyra taps her fingers against the table, considering the illuminated map. Around her, the room is relatively silent.
"Is there going to be a war?" Laena whispers. Her gaze darts back to the door. To where her newborn daughters are under the watchful eye of a nurse, far away at Storm's End. "No sugarcoating. If this is going to happen, we all have the right to know."
"As we speak the Greens will know we are meeting," Corlys answers from his position by the windows. He watches the dragons circle the sky outside, like great vultures. Caraxes, Syrax, and Meleys, with the larger dragons Vermithor and Vhagar, along with the young recluse Seasmoke, landed somewhere else on the island.
"As we have learned of their meetings in Oldtown as of late. And the conspiracy in the capitol itself that allowed Otto to return," Leanna offers, stretching her hand out. "He has not made it easy for me to return as Hand."
"No, and I cannot imagine he will allow you to remain as Hand for much longer," Rhaenys sighs, stationed near Corlys. "He knows how deeply you are entrenched in Rhaenyra's counsel. He will not allow your influence over the Small Council any longer."
"Yes, I've thought of that."
"How can we stop him?" Orlys asks. "Without declaring an outright physical battle."
"It will come to that." The gathering turn to the speaker. Not one they expected, in any way.
Rhaella, under Daemon and Ser Orwell, has become a warrior. Honed finely, with a mind for battle stronger than any Leanna has ever seen. She spends hours studying the battle plans of ages gone by. Honing herself in the fashion of Aegon the Conqueror.
"Do you care to explain, Lady Rhaella?" Corlys presses, regarding the girl with a trained eye.
"Certainly," she offers, stepping from the shadows. Moving something like a soldier, somber in this meeting. Yet there is a light to her eyes. Burning bright. She lays the image before them with her words. "The Greens have long been gathering cause against us, and we against them. There have been deaths already. Deaths on our behalf, and yet we have not called war. We have been too gracious with them, and they know it. They gather troops quietly, and across the continent. Viserys's health will continue to decline, and with it the power of the Greens in King's Landing will continue to rise. Alicent and Otto will claim the Small Council, and replace our supporters one by one. Eventually, as tensions continue to grow, there must be a breaking point. More of us are going to die, and it will not be pretty."
"How can we avoid an outright civil war, then?" Rhaenyra presses her fingers to her temple, staring down at the table. "Why do they continue to press us so?"
"They're waiting for you to break, that's why," Daemon answers. "To grow angry enough to make a blow so intense that they must retaliate. To make it look like their hand has been forced and they had no choice. They will let this tension fester until it comes to a head."
