Chapter 614

A teamfight can be lost—but Euron must die.

That was Aegor’s core strategy for the Battle of Blackwater Bay, the plan he presented to Daenerys.

The sudden arrival of the Iron Fleet had completely disrupted the queen’s attack on King’s Landing. Even with all his meticulous calculations, Aegor had never expected a band of pirates—operating with no reliable means of long-range communication—to appear at precisely the right moment, as if they had been waiting for the perfect time to strike. Stannis had found himself an unlikely savior.

Neither the Northern fleet at White Harbor nor the increasingly refined wildfire missiles at Icebreaker Bay had been brought south. With no reinforcements and no secret weapons, Aegor found himself faced with a conundrum. He had grown far too accustomed to fighting asymmetric battles, to having a trick up his sleeve.

But just like every time he’d found himself stuck in a dead end, a good night’s sleep cleared his mind.

Everyone had been misled—by Daenerys.

She wanted to win both the naval battle and the siege of King’s Landing simultaneously, while keeping casualties to a minimum. But what if that was simply impossible? Was he supposed to bend over backward to make it happen anyway?

He was Daenerys’s supporter, not her father. His goal was to put her on the Iron Throne—to use her as a ladder to power, to fulfill his ambitions. He wasn’t here to grant her every wish, to spoil her like some precious little princess.

The answer had been in front of him the entire time. Not only could it be summed up in a single phrase, but he had just used it in the North.

Encircle and eliminate reinforcements.

Strategy was rigid—people were not.

King’s Landing wasn’t going anywhere. If it took another day to capture, so be it. But Euron? If left unchecked, the man would never stop being a threat. Even if they won today, even if they marched on the Reach afterward, he would always be there, harassing them from the sea, gnawing at the foundations of the reborn Targaryen dynasty.

Why waste time chasing him around later when he had delivered himself to them on a silver platter?
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At the second war council, Aegor convinced Daenerys to abandon the fantasy of winning both the land and sea battles at the same time. The moment she let go of that idea, their options expanded exponentially.

First, the Unsullied and the Giftlander artillery units quietly withdrew from the siege lines overnight.

With Dorne now officially committed to Daenerys’s cause, the forces surrounding King’s Landing were already more than sufficient. Unless Stannis sallied forth for an all-out battle, there was no way anyone inside the Red Keep could tell the difference between thirty-five thousand and thirty thousand men just by standing on the walls with a spyglass.

Second, the Dragonstone fleet was ordered to relocate from the distant mouth of Blackwater Bay to the harbor of Duskendale, just a day's sail from King’s Landing.

On the surface, it seemed like they were surrendering control of the sea. But in truth, this was a consolidation of strength. Every elite soldier available was quietly packed onto ships, forcibly evolving the queen’s ragtag navy from a glorified merchant fleet into a true naval force. At least, in terms of tonnage and manpower, that was the effect.

Finally, several thousand pounds of freshly mixed black powder were transported to the harbor by ox-cart, loaded onto the Invincible Iron Bell, and crammed into its most spacious and reinforced cargo hold—turning it into the first suicide ship in the history of Westeros. Asha Greyjoy’s mission would be all or nothing.

In naval battles, morale and numbers were secondary to hardware, experience, and proper command. It was entirely normal for a single large warship—packed with eager knights—to be kited and sunk by a handful of smaller, more maneuverable longships. To avoid playing into the enemy’s strengths, Daenerys’s fleet adopted a very specific battle plan.

It boiled down to two key points:Use their cannons to crush any hope of a war of attrition.Use half the fleet, packed with Unsullied, to tie up Stannis’s royal navy—on purpose—leaving a gaping weakness that would tempt the Iron Fleet into an all-out charge.

It sounded simple. But the risks were enormous.

If any part of the plan failed—if Stannis’s fleet proved stronger than expected, if the suicide ship was sunk or detonated too soon, if Euron was cautious and didn’t take the bait—then the entire operation would collapse. A failure here wouldn’t just mean losing the Unsullied and artillery—it would invigorate every enemy and every fence-sitter across Westeros.

The gamble was so immense that even Aegor prepared himself for the possibility of failure.

That was why he had only suggested the plan through Asha. He hadn’t personally proposed it, nor had he vouched for it. Certainly, he hadn’t sworn an oath guaranteeing its success.

Because, in the end, Daenerys would always choose to take the risk.

Better to let her own that decision.

Yes, it meant he’d get less credit if they won. But with the victories he’d already racked up, what did he care about one less accolade? There would be plenty more to come.
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No feasts. No celebrations.

Outside the high walls of King’s Landing, the queen’s camp was tense and focused, brimming with activity.

When the great naval battle had erupted in Blackwater Bay, the besieging forces had not launched a simultaneous assault on the city. That had surely left Stannis fuming, feeling like he’d been played for a fool.

But tomorrow—when the Unsullied and artillery returned to the siege—no storm, no snow, no divine intervention would stop the final fall of House Baratheon.

Every man and woman in the camp prepared themselves for the coming battle.

Aegor, in charge of the western front—the Gates of the Gods, the Lion Gate, and the King’s Gate—had finished all his planning. One final review, and he could rest until morning.

“Milord, Asha Greyjoy is outside. She requests an audience.”

What now?

To claim credit? Wrong person.
To give thanks? Terrible timing.

“Let her in. Arrange lodging. Tell her I’ll see her after we take King’s Landing.”

Aegor was a pragmatist. She might be a talent at sea, but he had no faith that she could contribute anything meaningful to the assault on the city. He dismissed her without another thought.

But she came back.

Moments later, she was outside his command tent again, still insisting on meeting him.

He let out a long sigh. Fine. She had risked her life to eliminate an enemy he despised. That much warranted some courtesy.
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“Apologies for disturbing you, Commander. The road from Rosby was long, and the thawing snow made the journey muddy.”

Asha entered, carrying a sack.

“You know it’s a disturbance—good. Get to the point.”

The woman had referred to herself as his subordinate—an attempt at ingratiation. Technically, as the second-ever female member of the Night’s Watch, she wasn’t wrong. Since she acknowledged the hierarchy, Aegor saw no reason to waste pleasantries.

“A war trophy. One I believe only you are worthy of owning.”

She upended the sack.

Metal clattered onto the floor.

The sharp sound echoed through the tent.

From the corner, where she had been meditating by the fire, Melisandre’s head snapped up. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Dragonsteel armor?”

Aegor’s brow arched.

Euron’s Valyrian steel plate.