The North, Frosthold Keep, 290 AC, Fourth Moon
Two months had passed since the victorious return from the Iron Islands, and Frosthold Keep had settled back into its usual rhythm. The soldiers who had fought in the rebellion were celebrated as heroes, and the tales of House Aurelius's prowess on the battlefield had spread throughout the North and beyond. Merchants and traders spoke of the northern house with the white tigers, whose warriors fought with weapons and armor superior to anything else in the realm.
But for Aerian, the victory was merely another stepping stone. He stood in his private solar—a room his father had given him for his own use—staring at a detailed map of Westeros pinned to the wall. Red markers indicated major houses, trade routes, and strategic locations. His fingers traced the path from the North down to King's Landing, then across to the other kingdoms.
'Eight years,' he thought to himself, his dark eyes calculating. 'Eight years until Robert rides north to Winterfell. Eight years until Ned becomes Hand and the Starks begin their descent into chaos. Eight years to position myself perfectly.'
The door opened, and Kael padded in, the great white tiger having grown accustomed to following Aerian throughout the keep. The beast settled beside the desk, his ice-blue eyes watching his companion with intelligence that went beyond mere animal instinct.
"What do you think, old friend?" Aerian murmured, scratching behind Kael's ears. "The Starks are honorable, loyal, and doomed. Ned will die because he's too noble to play the game properly. Robb will rise in rebellion and make tactical mistakes that cost him everything. The North will bleed."
Kael rumbled low in his chest, a sound Aerian had learned to interpret as acknowledgment.
"But what if there was another way?" Aerian continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if, when the time comes, House Aurelius doesn't follow the Starks into ruin? What if we chart our own course?"
He turned back to the map, his eyes settling on King's Landing. The Iron Throne. The ultimate prize in the game of thrones. His ancestors had never sought it, content to remain in the North, protecting the magical creatures and living in relative peace. But Aerian was not bound by the same limitations. He knew the future, the growing resources, and the ambition to seize opportunities when they arose.
"The Starks will fall," he said quietly. "The Lannisters will overreach. The Baratheons will tear themselves apart. The Targaryens will return with dragons. And in all that chaos... There will be opportunities. Opportunities for someone clever enough to take them."
A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Enter," Aerian called.
Sir Lancelot stepped inside, bowing respectfully. "Young lord, Princess Elia requests your presence. She and her children will be departing for Dorne tomorrow, and she wishes to bid you farewell."
Aerian nodded. "Tell her I'll be there shortly."
As Lancelot left, Aerian took one last look at the map before covering it with a cloth. His ambitions were his own, and they would remain hidden until the time was right to reveal them.
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Princess Elia stood in the courtyard, supervising the loading of her belongings onto the carriages that would take her party south. Rhaenys, now a bright and curious girl of nine, was excitedly talking to Loreth about all the wonders of Dorne she would show her if she ever visited. Young Aegon, six years old, practiced his sword forms nearby under the watchful eye of one of the Aurelius guards.
Elia smiled as Aerian approached. Over the past six years, she had watched this boy grow from a precocious child into a young man of remarkable intelligence and capability. She owed him everything: her life, her children's lives, and the chance to return home to her family.
"Lord Aerian," she greeted him warmly. "I wanted to thank you one final time before we leave. Words cannot express my gratitude for what you've done for us."
"You've thanked me enough times, Princess," Aerian replied with a slight smile. "I'm just glad we could provide you and your children with safety and peace."
Elia's expression grew more serious. "I know the betrothal to Arianne weighs on your mind. I want you to know that while it's politically advantageous for both our houses, I would never force you into a marriage that makes you unhappy."
Aerian appreciated her honesty. "I understand, Princess. And I'll keep an open mind. When the time comes to meet Arianne, I'll judge for myself whether we're compatible."
"That's all I ask," Elia said, relief evident in her voice. She hesitated, then added, "You're not like other lords, Aerian. You're young, but you see things others don't. You plan for futures they can't imagine. It's remarkable... and a little frightening, if I'm being honest."
Aerian met her gaze steadily. "The world is changing, Princess. Those who don't adapt to change will be swept away by it. I intend to make sure House Aurelius is not among them."
Elia studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you will succeed. And when you do, I hope you'll remember the friends you made in Dorne."
"Always," Aerian assured her.
They spoke for a while longer about lighter matters—the journey ahead, the reunion Elia would have with her brothers, and the education of her children. Finally, as the sun began to set, it was time for the Martell party to depart.
Tharren and Lilliana came to see them off, with Loreth tearfully hugging Rhaenys goodbye. Aerian watched as the carriages rolled through the gates of Frosthold, carrying Princess Elia and her children back to the warmth of Dorne.
"A chapter closes," Tharren said quietly, standing beside his son.
"And another begins," Aerian replied.
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That night, Aerian found himself unable to sleep. He returned to his solar, lit a candle, and uncovered the map once more. His mind was restless, filled with plans and possibilities.
The trade business was flourishing beyond expectations. The soap and alcohol had become luxury items throughout Westeros, and merchants from as far as Braavos and Volantis were placing orders. The gold was pouring in, hundreds of thousands of dragons annually. With that wealth, Aerian had quietly begun investing in other ventures: buying land, establishing more trade routes, and even funding certain sellsword companies in Essos that might be helpful in the future.
The military was stronger than ever. The training system he had implemented was producing soldiers of exceptional quality, and the Knights of the Round Table were now legendary throughout the North. House Aurelius could field an army of five thousand men, all equipped with superior weapons and armor. That was more than most Northern houses could claim.
But military and economic power alone weren't enough. Aerian needed political influence, and that was more difficult to acquire. The North was loyal to the Starks, and that loyalty ran deep. Even House Aurelius, despite its growing strength, was still technically a vassal house.
'But vassalage is only binding as long as the liege lord is strong,' Aerian thought. 'When the Starks fall, the North will need new leadership. And who better than the house that has brought it wealth, strength, and glory?'
It was a dangerous line of thinking, one that bordered on treason if spoken aloud. But Aerian was nothing if not pragmatic. He had no personal animosity toward the Starks. In fact, he respected Ned greatly. But respect didn't change the fact that Ned's honor would lead him to ruin, and his children would suffer for it.
'I'll help them when I can,' Aerian decided. 'I'll try to guide them away from the worst outcomes. But if they refuse to listen, if they insist on walking the path to destruction... then I'll do what's necessary to protect my own house and claim what I can from the ashes.'
His thoughts turned to the Iron Throne. It was an audacious goal, a Northern house claiming the crown of the Seven Kingdoms. But was it really so impossible? The Targaryens had done it with dragons. Robert Baratheon had done it with a warhammer and alliances. Why couldn't House Aurelius do it with superior strategy, economic dominance, and military might?
'Not yet,' Aerian cautioned himself. 'The time isn't right. But when the War of the Five Kings begins, when the realm tears itself apart... that's when opportunities will arise. I'll need to be ready to seize them.'
He pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing, documenting his thoughts and plans. The document would be locked away, hidden from all eyes but his own. But it served as a reminder of his ultimate goal.
**Phase One: Consolidation (Current - 298 AC)**
- Continue building economic dominance through trade
- Strengthen military forces and training programs
- Establish an intelligence network throughout Westeros
- Forge strategic alliances (Dorne secured)
- Maintain good relations with Starks while preparing for their eventual fall
**Phase Two: Positioning (298 AC - 299 AC)**
- Monitor events in King's Landing closely
- Support Starks where possible, but maintain independence
- Be ready to act when Ned is arrested
- Secure the North's loyalty through strength and prosperity
**Phase Three: Opportunity (299 AC - 301 AC)**
- During the War of Five Kings, assess which side offers the best advantages
- Do NOT unthinkingly follow Robb Stark into rebellion
- Consider supporting Stannis (rightful heir) or remaining neutral
- Expand influence during chaos
- Potentially make a play for Northern independence under Aurelius's leadership
**Phase Four: Ascension (301 AC - Beyond)**
- Depending on circumstances, the position for the Iron Throne
- Leverage alliances, wealth, and military strength
- Prepare for the true enemy: the White Walkers
- Unite the realm under strong leadership capable of facing the Long Night
Aerian read over his notes, making adjustments and additions. It was ambitious, almost absurdly so. But he had advantages no one else in this world possessed. He knew what was coming. He knew the mistakes that would be made. And he had the will to do what was necessary.
'The game of thrones is about to begin in earnest,' he thought. 'And when it does, House Aurelius will not be a mere piece on the board. We'll be a player in our own right.'
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The following morning, Aerian went through his usual routine: sword practice with the knights, oversight of the trade operations, and lessons with the maester. To everyone around him, he was simply a dedicated young lord, preparing to inherit his father's responsibilities.
No one suspected the true scope of his ambitions.
At breakfast, Tharren discussed the latest reports from White Harbor. "Lord Manderly has requested an increase in our soap shipments. He says demand is higher than ever in the south."
"We can accommodate that," Aerian replied. "I'll have the production increased. Have we heard back from the Tyrells regarding the trade proposal?"
"Not yet," Tharren said. "But I expect we will soon. The Reach is always interested in profitable ventures."
Aerian nodded. The Tyrells were key to his long-term plans. An alliance with the wealthiest kingdom in Westeros would be invaluable. It also wouldn't hurt to go and visit the infamous Queen of Thorns in person someday, which would make for some interesting company over wine.
As breakfast concluded and everyone went about their duties, Aerian returned to his solar one last time. He looked at the map of Westeros, his eyes lingering on King's Landing.
"One day," he whispered to himself. "One day, the white tigers will rule more than just the North. And when winter comes, we'll be the ones the realm looks to for salvation."
Kael, lying beside the desk, opened one eye and regarded his companion. The great tiger seemed to sense Aerian's determination, and a low, approving rumble emanated from his chest.