101 AC
Holding it in my arms, I'd never felt more awkward. More confounded. More proud. I stared at it, and it looked at me in turn, with squinty, watery eyes that seemed even more lost than I.
Impossible. I felt like a blind cripple in a maze of spikes. Nothing could be bewildered beyond me.
Gael sighed out a terribly disappointed thing from the other side of our quarters, lounging over a cloth-covered couch, her trusty ironwood lute in hand. She strung an odd set of chords that did not match well and winced. "It has been five months, Rion," she said, her hand fiddling with the tuning keys of her instrument. "You cannot remain a stranger to him."
"And if he does not wish me near?" I asked, looking her way, feeling ever-so foolish.
She rolled her eyes, not even sparing me an idle glance. "Then you put him in his crib, let him sleep, and try again later. Now hush. I almost have this…"
I grumbled but did as my wife bade, knowing it best to leave her be when the mood for music took her. Returning my gaze to our child, I tucked him into my chest with great care, rocking him lightly.
Aelys Targaryen. The apple of my eye.
My son blearily stared back at me, uncaring to my attentiveness. Aelys was a handsome babe, I was happy to say, taking after his mother greatly. His little tuft of hair had more silver than gold, his eyes were colored a striking indigo and shaped like almonds, and his skin bore a healthy tan with a small race of freckles dotting over his arms and shoulders. Some called them blemishes, but I could not see it. They only enhanced him, in my view.
And yet, as I looked at down him and marveled at his good looks and quick growth both, an awkward welling pooled in me, regardless of the unconditional love I bore my son.
Though I had accepted my life anew with able brevity and remembered very little of the before besides, certain norms of social expectation remained firm in my soul still: how I treated women, who I would take to bed, my views on mercantilism and my preference of diplomacy over battle.
And more apparent in the case of Aelys, my distaste for incest.
Were it not for the dragons my family rode giving obvious proof of the need to keep our bloodline pure, I would have never even entertained the thought of courting Gael as my wife. I would have decried my parents as monsters just as the Faith did behind closed doors and looked upon my kin and myself with disgust. I would have rallied the rabble and made it my purpose to end our stained practices on society.
But magic was real, dragons did exist, and the tale our blood spoke was too meritous to condemn.
I was proud of Aelys, ever glad to be his father, my love for him ready and willing and without reserve. However, in the back of my mind, a nagging reminder of our origins creeped its sordid speech, and that uncomfortable feeling would mar my interactions with him. I wondered if this is what my own father felt, watching me look more and more like Maegor as I grew, that gnawing in my bones.
It was that discomfort that showed why I oft felt odd in the presence of my son. Why I seemed a stranger to him, even with his birth having happened five months ago. It was fortunate, if backwards, that the Westerosi noble class did not deem it needed for a father to interact with his children until they had begun their lessons. It was the mother's role to look after a child in their early years. Gael even praised me for my attempts at growing closer with Aelys, awkward and stilted though they were.
Fortune favored me twice over too, for Aelys was an easy enough babe, even in the face of my bumbling attempts at growing close to him. He wanted to sleep more than he did cry or bother about his father. Gael and I had been nervous for his development, but the maesters said he was fine. A tad more sedentary perhaps when compared to other infants of a similar age, but reaching his appropriate milestones regardless. He could roll on his belly, liked to put odds and ends in his mouth, and had learned to change the pitch of his noises when he wanted different things.
Gael and I were lucky with Aelys. He was an ideal lad. Should we have another child, that luck might not continue.
I would love them all the same.
Hopefully, by the time they came around, if we had any more, I would be past my troubles, and be able to hold them and bask in their presence without reservation.
"Aha!" Gael cheered, playing on her lute again. This time, a more pleasant melody thrummed from its strings.
I offered her a warm look. "You've finished it then?"
"I think so," she said, playing the melody once more. She nodded her head decisively. "Yes, I've settled the tune. Now I need write the lyrics."
"Such an easy task," I teased.
Mature and the very likeness of the Crone, she blew a raspberry my way. I laughed. Her own tinkling humor echoed me.
"Do you have a name in mind?" I asked, rocking Aelys lightly. He gurgled at the movement but did little else.
"The Call of Harrenhal rings well, do you not think?" she asked, after her laughter died down.
"It does," I agreed. A firm name, for a day that would firmly alter history. Idly, I stared out the window of our apartment, the glass warped with smokey blackness, making our space dreary and dark. Gael had started playing her lute to try and brighten the room.
Brightness seemed impossible to find in the castle she wished to name her song for, however.
There were no good words to describe Harrenhal, save for monstrous. Its five great towers scarred the sky, huge and imposing and an ever-present reminder of both the cruelty of the old regime and the unbridled power of dragons. Its fused façade and ever-burnt bulwark was impossible to ignore, and its interior was of a similar nature. Harrenhal loomed over the world always and made all who approached feel truly small.
Even dragons.
Gael and Aelys and I arrived in Harrenhal but three days ago, atop Silverwing's back. Though she was one of the larger dragons of House Targaryen, Harrenhal made her appear tiny. Not as tiny as the milling peoples of below mind, their great tents and colorful arrays of splendor making itself apparent from the sky, a discordance the likes of which no man living had ever before seen. All of the noble houses of the realm had been summoned to Harrenhal, at the behest of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, to determine the upcoming future of House Targaryen.
As a proud member of its legacy, my attendance was expected.
Not that I would ever miss what was to come, of course.
The realm was teetering on the edge of insanity. For good reason. My brother Baelon, the Spring Prince, had died only a month hence, brought about from a burst belly caught too late to mitigate. Without him and his bold presence and relaxed affability, life had grown darker. Especially within my family. Viserys had grown more insular, Daemon more mercurial, and Rhaenys more exacting. Gael and I too were beside ourselves, though it seemed we had moved past Baelon with greater ease than the rest, for though he was our brother we did not truly know him, our differences in age too great to make a proper brotherly relation simple.
But the worst of us all was my father, beyond any shadow of doubt.
Baelon had been his heir. Before Baelon, it had been Aemon. But when Aemon died, father passed his daughter Rhaenys over for Baelon, citing the stability of Baelon's character over the uncertainty of Rhaenys and her still-fresh marriage to Lord Corlys Velaryon. Though I did not wholly agree with his reasoning, it was not without fault.
As it were, my agreement mattered little. He was the king, and who he decreed would succeed him, would succeed him.
With Baelon was gone now, cremated and entombed beneath the stones of Dragonstone with the rest of our fallen family, father was lost in his succession, and only uncertainty stood in his place.
Hence why I was here. Why we all were here. History was to be made. A determination of the realm itself for who would be our next monarch.
The Great Council of 101 AC was soon to be upon us.
As if to echo that thought, a knocking sounded from the door of our room. Gael and I both looked over, grimacing for differing reasons. Gael had yet to grow comfortable with unplanned social interactions and likely never truly would be, whilst I was simply tired. Since the moment we landed, the courtiers were ever in my presence, intent on making nice with the last remaining male child of the king who was eligible for position. I had barricaded inside with my wife and son to escape their call.
Loosening a sigh, I walked towards a hearth bearing wall, where a nursing crib sat untouched, defeat writ on my face. Regardless of my annoyance, I was a prince of the realm. I could not hide forever. I had a role to play.
Carefully, I placed Aelys back in his crib, bundling him up in a blanket to avoid the chill of our high quarters. He snuggled in easily, hands grabbing out for something. Chuckling, I bent down towards the hearth and removed a metal incubator held up by a pair of heavy tongs. Opening it, steam wafted through the room, settling fast. Pulling out the contents from inside, an egg just larger than my head lay still in my hand, scaled with cobalt and whorls of purple. An older egg that still held the promise of life, clutched by Vhagar some twenty years ago.
Smiling, I placed it in my son's cradle. The egg was nearly as tall as he and wider still. Contentedness fell over Aelys as he held the egg against his body, unbothered by its heat. I was hopeful that boded well for the egg hatching. To be a Targaryen without a dragon was a sad thing indeed, and I wanted the best for my son.
Turning to Gael, my smile turned strained. "I will be but a moment."
"If it be more, take it away from here," she requested, biting her lip.
I nodded my acknowledgement. Hopefully, it would not come to that.
Reaching the door, I lifted the bar lock and opened it. I expected a vassal lord braying for favor or one of their daughters looking to seduce, as I had grown accustomed to. Perhaps even a courier or servant with a summons for one of the great lords or my father.
I did not expect to see Rhaenys, clad in blue riding leathers that proudly showed a pair of silver seahorses at the shoulders. Her onyx-black hair was held up immaculately in a well styled bun, and a rare dusting of dark kohl was over her eyes, making the flecks of violet in their blue all the brighter. Her son Laenor was stood at her side, looking fetching in a pale green doublet that matched his silver-gold hair well. The seven-year-old was trying to appear stern, but the way his eyes darted around told another story. He wished to be anywhere but here.
That, if nothing else, I could find common cause with.
"Rhaenys," I greeted, feeling unnaturally stiff. The unexpected visit was unlike her.
Rhaenys quirked up a practiced smile as she crossed her arms to the small of her back. "Uncle," she said.
I snorted out an unfettered laugh, breaking my attempt at restraint. Rhaenys's smile turned more genuine with my humor, tittering at my failed attempt at getting back in control. Rhaenys was three years my elder, and when we were young, before she'd married Lord Corlys Velaryon, she dearly loved to remind me of that. Especially after she'd claimed Meleys. Pride-filled and willful, she would only ever call me uncle when she desired something only I could provide, plying my vanity. It rarely worked, but there was levity in our play.
"When was the last time you called me uncle?" I asked as I let her in, trying to smother my snickers.
"Six years ago," she answered with a grin, entering my space. Gael briefly acknowledged her before returning to her lute, intent on remaining a recluse. "You were being coy about the woodcarver you'd commissioned to make grandmother's cane. I wished to hire his services to build displays in the Hall of the Nine."
"Ah! That's right. Mother was quite happy with his product. Daryl was his name, I think. Last I heard he'd set up shop in Spicetown after accepting your patronage. Have you heard on how he's settled?"
"He is well. Corlys was quite appreciative of his work and granted him a small patch of land along the cove for continued services. He is rarely without contracts now, now focused on the carving of ship bows at the port over the smaller, intricate pieces that caught our eye. He has even taken a name. Knifeknick, I believe."
I hummed. "Good for him then. His work is worthy of recognition. But Daryl Knifeknick is not why you wish to speak, is he? This is about your claim."
Rhaenys did not falter. If anything, her stance turned all the greater. "The Iron Throne is mine by right," she boldly declared. Her hand left her back and fell to her son's shoulder, who'd been staring at Gael longingly. He tensed as her grip tightened, distracted away from looking at my wife. "And if not mine, then it should be Laenor's. I am the eldest child of the eldest child and have the backing of the Narrow Sea Houses and might of the Stormlands. I would know your price to back my claim with them."
I barely withheld a sigh. The appeals for my patronage seemed unending as of late. Aemma had already petitioned me for Viserys the moment my household had arrived, leaning on the softness I held for her. Daemon too had spoken to me that night, as if Viserys were a forgone conclusion as monarch that I would be a fool to ignore. The day after that, a trio of Saera's bastard sons, named Vaelor, Gaemon, and Aevar, tried to bribe me towards their own claims, devolving into a fight amongst themselves. In the six days that I had stayed in Harrenhal, thirteen petitioners called to me in total.
That Rhaenys approached so late was the only true surprise I felt.
"Do you fancy a walk, Rhaenys." I asked, diverting the subject.
Her brows briefly came together in confusion, but that was all she showed. A deft hand at the game, Rhaenys was. "If you think it best," she said.
"I do." I spoke. "Let us make for your own quarters. Is Corlys there? I find it best that your husband be here for what we need say."
"I intend to rule in my own name, Valerion." Rhaenys warned, stance loosening. "Corlys will have my council, joined in matrimony as we are, but I am not his instrument."
"I never claimed you were," I clarified. "Regardless, you are married, and much of your influence is due to his own reputation. Is he there?"
"He is," Rhaenys admitted with a frown. "He is entreating with a lord of high standing on my behalf. Mens work, he called it. I thought it best to use that time to make outreach to you."
"Good," I said. Then, giving Laenor my focus, I squatted down so our eyes were level. He startled at the quickness of my movement.
"Do you want to join us, Laenor?" I asked him. "Or would you like to stay here? Gael has just finished making the melody of a new song, as you can hear. I am sure she would love your input in making the lyrics."
"Oh!" He let out, craning his neck up with a wide smile, making the loss of his front teeth apparent. "May I mother?"
Rhaenys looked as if she'd bitten through a lemon. "You may. Be good for my aunt, Laenor. And mind your manners."
"Yes mother!" He beamed, racing away from her grip towards my wife. Gael shot me a dirty look but bore with the inquisitive child gamely. As Gael explained her intentions for her song, Laenor babbled away idea after idea, and when one or two proved decent, Gael become much more receptive to his invasion of her space.
Rhaenys and I left them to it. Exiting the room, we made for the Velaryon quarters. Father had smartly separated all of the primary claimants in different parts of Harrenhal. My family resided in the Tower of Dread, whilst Viserys's household rested in the Widow's Tower and House Velaryon had been given apartments in the Tower of Ghosts. The trek between each holding was intentionally long, separated by the length of a mile and an even greater distance when the stairs and slopes were mixed in. Father truly did not want us to interact with one another easily.
As we walked, silence seemed to be our preferred companion. It grated on me, the quiet. Harrenhal and its ghosts made it all the more difficult to tolerate.
Eventually, the tension opened my mouth. "Why wait?" I asked idly, following my niece up a set of stairs.
"Pardon?" Rhaenys asked, craning her neck back.
"You arrived in Harrenhal five days before I." I explained. The stairs had levelled out into a wide hall that led to an open-aired bridge some thirty stories tall. In the sky, our dragons Meleys and Silverwing flew, Vermithor and Dreamfyre racing with them, with not a care in the world. "I knew you'd been hearing the favors of courtiers and making your case to them, and find no fault in your priorities of time. But we were always meant to speak, and you delayed six days, Rhaenys. I've heard almost every other claimant save you make their bid, and lords and ladies enough looking to gain my favor by speaking their intention to vote for me. You could have asked for me at any time. Why wait until now?"
"In truth, I did not intend to ask you at all," Rhaenys admitted, shame in her throat. My eyebrows rose with her admission. "The truth is plain, Valerion. You and Viserys are my truest competitors. Viserys is the eldest son of Prince Baelon, the king's previous heir, and you are the last living son of the king."
"Besides Vaegon." I pointed out.
"Nobody counts Vaegon," Rhaenys huffed. That, I could not fault. "The king already has a record of choosing a son over a grandchild in Uncle Baelon. Just as I have not spoken with Viserys, so too did I not intend on entreating you."
"But…?"
"But your lack of ambition is clear. You have not made any overtures for aid or backing. You do not even want the throne, do you?"
"It is… not a matter of ambition, Rhaenys." I said, trying to find the words. "I simply have no interest in the doublespeak of court. The game of thrones, as they call it."
"Then the crown does hold your eye?" she asked in a grating tone.
"In a way. Truthfully, I feel I would make a good king," I admitted. It was an easy enough thing to say. "I know the laws and the lands well and have proven myself a fair administrator as castellan of Dragonstone. I have thoughts for the future that I feel would further my father's own rulings but prove to be of my own creation. I am not pigheaded enough to run rampant over my council, but neither am I weak and reliant on their words alone. I am not hungry for war but neither am I weak and unwilling for it. And much as it may rile you, I am male, with a male heir of my own in Aelys. The lords of the realm would stomach me easier. If the throne were offered, I would take it."
She grew progressively more nervous as I spoke. "Laenor too is male, uncle. If not me, then he would suit, would he not? You could sit his small council and assist in his regency. Your intentions for the realm would still be merited in such a scenario."
Her concern was plain to see. Fortunately for her, my next words would hopefully alleviate her. "It matters not." I said, shaking my head.
"It is the greatest matter in our lives, Valerion. It is everything."
"No, Rhaenys. It isn't. Talks of the throne matter little to me. Be it pride or foolishness, I care not what you call it, I refuse to beg or plead the rabble for consideration. The lords and ladies of the realm recognize that this is their greatest chance to gain prestige. We need them to elevate our standings, and they know it. Tell me, how many favors have you had to trade for a single promise of backing? How many families have you been forced to favor, when you could not care less? When you perhaps even hate them?
"Too many to count," she admitted. "But if that is what I must do to sit the Iron Throne, then that is what I shall do."
"And I applauded your dedication," I said. "But I will not play such games. And because I will not kowtow to their whims, the crown will never be mine."
"And yet, knowing that, you have not declared for anybody?" she asked, biting her lip.
"The correct appeal has not held to me yet." I shrugged.
"Then I ask again, Valerion. What is your price? What must I do to gain your backing?"
I hummed, letting the matter lie in quiet. Rhaenys stewed in the hush I established, trying to speak to me, about her claim, about her children, about our dragons. About anything really. I kept my mouth shut still, regardless of the rudeness. I had given her my thoughts on kingship already. I wished to collect the rest of my thoughts until her husband was in our company.
When we arrived at the Velaryon hall, I was admitted inside and looked on at the pavilion they'd been granted with an impressed whistle. Already, the silver seahorse of House Velaryon was displayed everywhere, quartered with the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. Servants and knights sworn to Lord Corlys swarmed the premises, and upon seeing me and Rhaenys, bowed deferentially, almost in unison. Rhaenys ignored them whilst I offered a short nod of acknowledgement their way, and we made way through their setting.
My niece led me to a closed back room, which turned into a long-tabled office. Lord Corlys was sat at its head with his younger brother Vaemond sat at his left side, both bearing a strong Valyrian look, silver-gold hair and tall, slender frames. Their bodies were heavily tanned as well, testament to the long voyages they'd made along the waters of our world. And a bevy of lords were sat at the table too. All but three loyal to the cause of Rhaenys.
The lords of Blackwater Bay were sat there, including the Celtigars and Bar Emmons, ever the allies of Corlys, along with what looked like half of the lower Crownland leal. Their vote was well secured. Of the riverlands, the most notable household to pledge their vote to Rhaenys was House Blackwood, along with their own vassal lords. And of the Stormlands was Lord Boremund Baratheon himself, along his son and heir, Borros, holding tight to their familiar connection with Rhaenys, whose mother was Boremund's sister. All of the Stormlands were intent on following the word of their overlords, it seemed.
And at the other end of the table were the houses they were entreating to. Lord Edric Stark of Winterfell with two of his vassal houses, Dustin and Manderly.
"-ot be talked to by a boy so green he pisses grass!" Lord Dustin shouted to Lord Celtigar, banging his fist down.
"Then grow a beard you sack of horse dung!" Lord Borros jeered. Dustin and Manderly looked ready to come to blows, and Borros seemed all-too-happy to egg them on, lusting for battle and carnage.
Corlys was massaging his brows in contriteness, his silver-gold hair held back loosely by a whisp of string, highlighting the wrinkled laugh-lines growing over his sea green eyes. "My lords," he tried, tired and weary. "Must we bicker so? Can you not see the pointlessness of it all?"
"They cannot, husband." Rhaenys said, formally announcing her present. The lords of the table straightened up at her arrival, and further straightened when they caught sight of me. "Their minds are clouded. Too many cocks in too high a space, I think. It dulls their reasonability."
"Rhaenys," Corlys breathed out, standing as he towards his wife, relief apparent on his face. That relief fell away into a quick neutrality as he took me in by her side. "And Prince Valerion. An unexpected visit. I have not seen hide or hair of you and yours since your arrival. One might think you avoiding us."
"I could say the same to you, Lord Corlys." I said, dipping my head shortly. Without their leave, I took a chair next to Lord Manderly, sitting down with an easy gait. Lord Manderly gave me a short bow. I did not return the gesture. We knew each other little, but I knew of him well enough. After all, we would have been goodbrothers had Viserra not killed herself in the foolish horse race in the dark of night all those years ago.
But that was the past. Now, he was but a stranger to me. One that I need not give distinction.
"Valerion wished to speak to the pair of us together about my claim, husband." Rhaenys explained, taking the seat her husband once sat at the head of the table. He took the open chair at her right.
"I am happy to speak to you, Prince Valerion." Corlys said. His left eye twitched. "But, as you can see, I have matters of my own I am handling. It would be the height of poor leanings to ignore them for you."
"We'd be done by now had you not wasted our time with your flowered language," Edric Stark huffed, his fingers dancing a light drum beat against the table.
I quirked an eyebrow his way. "From the fight that seems ready to brew, I imagine it is not going well."
Edric rolled his shoulders, unbothered. "Words are wind. Until fists are thrown, there is no fight."
"Of course." I drawled, rolling my eyes. "Let there be bluntness then. What do you want?"
"The New Gift to be returned to me and mine," Edric said shortly.
"You father, Lord Alaric Stark, bequeathed that land to the Night's Watch himself, backed by Queen Alysanne." Lord Corlys said, looking the perfect picture of confused. "You wish to go against his word?"
"My father was a sentimental fool that thought himself the queen's paramour-to-be," the lord of Winterfell snarled, eyes filled with hate. He glared at Rhaenys. "His obsession with cunny her weakened my people beyond our control."
"Careful," I growled.
He ignored me, attention firmly held on my niece. "The Night's Watch cannot farm the New Gift; it is too much land for too little a people. Already it is weeding out of control, the soil turning foul. They cannot handle it. I will not easily bend and let what was once fertile ground fall fallow. When winter comes, the food it produces is well needed for our survival. Swear you will return the New Gift to the North, and I will have my people swear to you in turn, Princess."
"Done," Rhaenys quickly said. "Should I become queen, or should my son Laenor be made king, our first decree of ascendency will be to undo the bequeathment of the New Gift to the Night's Watch."
Edric gruffly stood. Lord Dustin and Lord Manderly stood with him. "Good. Do not break your word."
"Never." Rhaenys declared.
He grunted, walking away without another word, his vassals following behind. It looked an odd sight.
When the door closed and their presence lifted, I could not help but comment. "His vassals followed him like a duckling their mother."
Laughter rang from my words, and warmness fell fast over the table. Jokes and japes about Northmen and their savage ways and tree-loving practices became the norm.
But laughter and good fun could not last. Corlys, when there was a short lull in the room, finally returned us to our proper line. "You wished to speak to us about my wife's claim?"
"I merely want to make my thoughts plain," I said. I looked through the room, taking in the eyes of each lord sworn to my neice, before looking to Rhaenys. "What I want from whoever sits the Iron Throne is simple. You must prove yourself stable."
Rhaenys peered at me oddly, and so I explained further. "My father passed you over for Baelon for reasons of stability. You were seventeen and pregnant with your first child while he already had two and was recognized in station. After the chaos Maegor caused, he would not allow any rumor of weakness or pliability to taint his legacy. I care not for your sex, only that you show yourself capable."
"In truth," I continued. "Between you and Viserys, you are my preference. Viserys is too weak willed a man to be a proper ruler in my view, and I fear for Aemma should he take the throne. He will bring her to an early grave in pursuit of a son. A foolish notion, especially when Rhaenyra is so talented a girl. You though, you already have two children, and you've a stronger spine than even Daemon, I feel. My father's concern of you at seventeen holds no matter now, Rhaenys. You would make a good queen."
Her countenance brightened. "I have your support then?"
"No. A good queen though you'd make, that is not enough. My concern is not you alone, Rhaenys." With those words, my gaze pierced into her husband.
"I will not rule through her," Corlys bit out, verbatim. He had said these words many times. "I am to be her consort, not her king."
"My house would not have sworn to the princess were that the case," Lord Blackwood added.
I did not look at him. I only had eyes for Corlys. "And if Laenor is elected instead of Rhaenys?"
"It is irrelevant. When either Rhaenys or Laenor sits the Iron Throne, Laenor will take the name Targaryen and recuse himself of my inheritance. Laena will be the heir to Driftmark in his place, her children bearing the name Velaryon regardless of her husband."
"Here, here!" Lords Celtigar and Bar Emmon echoed.
"That is the problem!" I thundered, hands shooting into the air in exasperation. My loudness quieted the Narrow Sea lords. "Stability! The House of the Dragon cannot stand divided, most assuredly not from the immediate line of our sovereign. Much of our recent strife comes from your union, Corlys!"
"There was no strife when he brought suit to our house," Rhaenys groaned, bringing her hand to her head. "My dowry was negotiated by my father and the king together!"
"And they failed to account for what might happen should your children be dragonriders. When Laenor hatched one of Meleys' eggs. Seasmoke set a precedent my father was not yet ready to permit. If one child can tame a dragon, Laena too has the ability. Westeros is not Valyria, with its council of forty dragonlord families, regardless of the legacy it provides. House Targaryen rules Westeros primarily through the fact that we are the sole dragonlords remaining in the known world. What will become of us when another house gains access to dragons?"
"House Velaryon is loyal to House Targaryen, uncle!"
"It is the principal of the matter, niece!" I bellowed. "What happens should you and Laenor be rejected in favor of Viserys or me? The power of House Targaryen comes from its dragons. We are not yet in a position to share them with other houses! In a generation or two, can you guarantee that whatever dragons House Velaryon claims will not rise against those ridden by the crown? That the families that gain dragons after will not bray for more? I know you, Rhaenys. I know you would never even consider such a thing. But what of your grandchildren? What of their grandchildren? I cannot sleep easy knowing the legacy of war that might fall onto my son's shoulders. The risk it too great."
Taking a breath, I continued. "You wish to hear my price? Here it is. Should I support yours and Laenors suit, and should either of you sit the Iron Throne, both of your children must take the name Targaryen. Not just Laenor. Laena as well. Any more children you might have must also bear the name Targaryen. They will be of the line of our ruling monarch. The throne must be as one."
Corlys's countenance grew fast angered at the thought, though Rhaenys seemed amenable. "I was intent on betrothing them after taking the throne anyway," she said. "For stability, as seems your intent. It will simply be another step in that eventuality."
The pair of us clear on that, at least. Corlys looked at his wife in dismay. I grinned at him. "Not the direction you were thinking, is it?"
"How and who my children marry is a discussion for another day." Corlys bit out.
Rhaenys gave him an icy look. "I would be queen, Corlys. Laenor would be king only through the right of blood through me. The succession of our station and the marriage of my children would be mine to determine."
She softened for him. "I will listen to your wants always, husband. Heeding them is another matter."
"Rhaenys," Corlys wheezed, looking broken.
"Har!" Boremund Baratheon laughed, slapping his knee. "It's the Baratheon in her! The fire! Ah, but you do our ancestors proud, niece."
"I am glad to be ahead of your disappointment, uncle." Rhaenys breathed. The lords laughed at her words.
"Then permit me to add dismay, for I am not finished." I said, leaning forward, my hands planted on either side of the wood of the table. "Should Laenor and Laena have children, they will not be eligible to take Driftmark or High Tide. Corlys must declare his brother Vaemond his heir in place of his own line. The ruling family cannot be distracted from their dues. And, to further ensure these matters no longer plague our House, you must enact a new law stating that female dragonriders must either marry within House Targaryen, have their husbands take on the name Targaryen, or vow before the realm to bear no children. From now on, only House Targaryen shall have dragons."
That had everybody glaring my way. Corlys was incensed that I would rob his line of birthright. Rhaenys was mad that I would have her renounce the feminine future of our house. The lords were angry that I would enact a law that ensured they would never have dragons of their own. Only Vaemond seemed unbothered by my words. He seemed happy, actually. Mighty happy indeed, smiling so wide that I could see the pink of his gums.
"And I presume," Rhaenys hissed. "Should Viserys take the throne, you would not have similar demands?"
"If Viserys took the throne, the preference of male descendants for the throne would be made apparent to the realm. Knowing that, regardless of the fact that he, as king, makes the laws and determination of his succession, he'd be more concerned with killing his wife off in his attempt at a son than he would at ruling the Seven Kingdoms proper. My concern would shift from the far-off future of the crown to the immediacy of shaping him into an able king," I admitted. "As I said, I care more for the protection of my son's future than I do any other matter. Of the pair of you, you hold my preference, Rhaenys. But preferences aside, I must try."
"What of his own intentions?" Corlys asked, ever troubled by the direction our talks had gone. "What happens if Viserys proves himself unwilling to take your ear? He is a weak man, though stubborn in many regards. What do you do if he will not listen to your counsel?"
I grimaced. "If he proves as I fear, and my counsel ignored, I would… I would pack my household and settle on Dragonstone once again, damn the consequences. I would kneel before him, pay him tithe and tax, and do no more, intent on raising my family in peace, away from deafened ears."
"Would that not put Aelys in jeopardy, as you so fear?"
"Mayhaps it will," I said, bringing my hand to my brow. Consternation was writ upon my visage. "At least I would have madeto do something."
A quiet fell upon us. Different from the quiet of my walk with Rhaenys, this one held no awkward air about it. Instead, it was the silence of thought, of muddling words in mind and enacting solutions.
"I will do as you request, uncle." Rhaneys said, after a long while, standing. Slowly, she walked around the table, making way towards me. "Should I sit the Iron Throne, Laenor and Laena will take the name Targaryen and be betrothed. Any more children I might have too shall be born Targaryen, their inheritance of Driftmark and High Tide rescinded in place of their royal title. Vaemond and his line will rule the Velaryon lands in their place after the passing of my husband. Finally, I shall enact laws that will ensure our dragons remain in the hands of House Targaryen and House Targaryen alone, the details to be determined at a later time."
"In exchange," she continued, now stood before me, intensity and promise wrought of her being. "You will kneel before me, and pledge hearth and grain and steel to my name. You will swear your dragon to my words, as well as the dragons that your wife and children might mount later in life. You will recuse yourself of the possibility of inheriting the Iron Throne, patron my own claim in your place before all the lords and ladies of the realm and decry the ascension of Viserys Targaryen to all that will listen. Should I take the throne, you will remain by my side in my small council. Should my suit for the crown be rejected, your son Aelys squire for my husband Corlys when he reaches an appropriate age. To bring unity to us, in the face of uncertainty."
Standing from my seat, over Rhaenys, our disparity of height and power became more apparent than ever. I stood nearly two heads taller than Rhaenys, with an easy five stone of weight over her.
And yet, in this moment, she appeared taller than Harrenhal itself did.
"I will not fight our kin for you, Rhaenys." I warned her. "Should they bray for war, for dragons to dance until death, I shall not be a part of the slaughter."
"If that is what it comes to, then I would recuse myself from the throne of my own volition," she stated, eyes flinting and unbending. "For stability."
I bent down before her with those words. I had no sword to bear at my feet, but I knelt all the same. "I, Prince Valerion Targaryen, son of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, swear to you, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and proclaim you for Queen. I pledge my voice in your name, so all the realm might hear my patronage. I swear my household to your cause, to bring unity and stability in these uncertain times. I offer hearth and grain and steel to your crown, and vow to uphold your title with forbearance and able hands. I swear this before the Old Gods, the New, and the Fourteen Flames."
"Then rise," Rhaenys said, voice warm and tone soft. "Rise, Valerion. My uncle, my kin. My Master of Laws."
And rise I did, to a cacophony of cheers and hooted hollers.