Jaehaerys shook his head. "They won't stop. This storm will not pass, my lady." His expression was bleak. He had no army but his uncles' backing- but that was naval and all the navies in the world would not take the whole kingdom though Tyrith Lannister could take Kings Landing at the least. But what good were armies against foes who moved in shadow, whose armies were made of formless suspicion?
Aenyris was not saved. Father was felled. Mother gone. Rhaeys fled. Elia bloodied. "We must find a face to put to this. The true face, not the mask, not the hand they use but the true visage." He could make little sense of what he knew- even the facts did not shed light. Perhaps one foe had killed his father and another had send the shadows to their ship, and still another had slain Aenyris. Perhaps. "You would but wear a crown of roses, beautiful and quickly dying if we fail."