"Uncle Draezell loves us very much—I know that well." Viserys looked at his stunned brother, pulling him to sit on the bed before closing the door. "He is a truly good man, but his name is Vaelarys."
Now fourteen, Viserys had spent the past few years learning the art of rule under Rey's tutelage. Though Rey was often indifferent to governance, he was far more ruthless than Draezell—he simply had not yet had the chance to show it. Being constantly exposed to such teachings, Viserys had come to understand a great deal.
The foundation of Targaryen rule over Westeros was not particularly complex. First and foremost, and most crucially, the Targaryens had dragons. Aegon rode Balerion the Black Dread and turned Harrenhal and House Hoare to ash. King Maegor had made countless lords, commoners, and devout followers wail in agony amidst dragonfire. They had demonstrated to the noble houses that had ruled these lands for millennia what true, unmatched power looked like. Even during the Dance of the Dragons, the Targaryens proved that, aside from young hatchlings, a dragon of sufficient age—unshackled by chains—could only be slain by another dragon.
But the Vaelarys family also had dragons—more of them, and stronger ones.
Daemon's death had cost House Targaryen its greatest dragonrider. The dragons of the Dragonpit in King's Landing had become a wild dragon, beyond anyone's control. Though House Targaryen still had five fully grown dragons—Dreamfyre, Caraxes, Syrax, Sheepstealer, and Seasmoke—not one of them had a rider.
And a dragon without a rider was a deterrent, not a true weapon.
Secondly, the Targaryens had respected the native ruling customs of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror had not abolished the old feudal system. Until Jaehaerys I's reign, only two of the six kingdoms beyond the Crownlands—the Tullys and the Tyrells, who owed their positions to House Targaryen—were truly loyal to the Iron Throne. It was only through Jaehaerys' royal progresses, appointments through the Small Council, and the lingering fear instilled by Maegor's brutal rule that he was able to gradually consolidate power and become, in the truest sense, the King of Westeros.
King Viserys I had inherited Jaehaerys' legacy, striving to uphold royal authority. Though his folly had led to the Dance of the Dragons, it was undeniable that during his reign, the Targaryen monarchy had strengthened its hold over Westeros atop the foundation Jaehaerys had laid. Lords now swore allegiance not only to their liege lords but to the Crown itself.
Jacaerys had reinforced this further, ensuring the people understood that House Targaryen valued them. As a result, the war-torn and crumbling monarchy had found new stability.
Unfortunately, anything House Targaryen could do, House Vaelarys could do as well. If people remembered Jacaerys, they also remembered Draezell standing by his side. And they would never forget that Vermithor had struck down Vhagar, ending what could have been a prolonged war in mere months.
Draezell might not desire the Iron Throne—anyone could see how much he despised that wretched seat. His brothers followed him without question. But what would happen after Draezell's death?
Yes, Rhaegor was stubborn. But what about his brothers? His children? Would none among them ever set their sights on the throne?
And then what would House Targaryen do? Delude itself with talk of "intertwined bloodlines"? That was laughable—Targaryens had torn each other apart over the Iron Throne before. Who could guarantee that House Vaelarys, bound to them only by blood, would not one day rise against them?
Could Aegon's descendants resolve this?
Viserys had no confidence in that.
"Can you guarantee that your descendants will rule over Uncle Draezell's?" Viserys asked. "Brother?"
Aegon gave his brother a curious look. He didn't understand why Viserys was bringing this up now. He was not unaware of the situation—if anything, he knew House Vaelarys far better than his younger brother did.
He understood exactly what kind of man Draezell was, as well as Rhaegor's temperament. That was why he was confident that, at least during his lifetime, House Vaelarys would remain loyal vassals of House Targaryen. With Draezell standing as his shield, Aegon could rule this kingdom without fear.
As for his children—they were also Samantha's children. Vaelarys blood flowed in their veins. At least while Rhaegor lived, House Vaelarys would not dare overstep its bounds.
And after that...
Aegon shook his head at the thought. "Of course I can't guarantee it." He smirked at his brother. "Do you have a solution?"
"Dragons, brother, only dragons." Viserys spoke with firm resolve. "The foundation of House Targaryen's rule is the dragons. We need more, stronger dragons to counter Uncle Draezell's descendants. Peace is also our opportunity."
The young prince analyzed calmly, "And allies. Though mortal allies mean little in the face of dragons, the more lords loyal to us, the stronger our position. Brother, this will be a long process."
"I know." Aegon understood his brother's good intentions, but he also knew that House Vaelarys' rise was now an irreversible force. Among the Nine Kingdoms of Westeros, the North had benefited greatly from House Vaelarys during this long winter—were it not for Baela's righteous intervention, the northern lords might have forgotten who their true king was. The Stormlands and the Reach had suffered heavy losses, and the Riverlands were a fragmented mess. The most powerful houses, like the Blackwoods and the Freys, were closer to House Vaelarys than to the Crown. The houses worth drawing closer were the Tullys of the Trident, the Baratheons of the Stormlands, and the Martells of Dorne—but none of them could stand against House Vaelarys.
"Unless one of our descendants manages to mount Vermithor." Aegon sighed and shook his head. "Otherwise, you can only pray that Uncle Draezell's heirs despise the Iron Throne as much as he does."
"Brother, you can't pin all your hopes on the foresight of future generations."
"I know. But it's already too late." Aegon chuckled. "Perhaps this is for the best. We do not interfere with Uncle Draezell's rule—politics can be left to the Silver Dragon, while the Red Dragon sits high upon the Iron Throne, governing the realm in safety. I think this arrangement is quite acceptable. If one of my descendants turns out to be a fool, or a tyrant like Maegor, then at least there will be a safeguard in place. Don't you agree?"
Viserys rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
He knew his brother had not given up—Aegon simply trusted that Draezell would never crave power. In truth, Viserys believed this as well. Draezell would stabilize Aegon's reign and then retreat, continuing to govern his frontier domains.
But his brother's attitude was still frustrating. If this continued into the future, then every king and heir upon the Iron Throne would wed a woman of House Vaelarys, and the head of House Vaelarys—or another of its prominent members—would serve as Hand of the King, ruling the realm.
That would be a worse Otto than Otto himself.
But at the moment, there was no better solution.
Only dragons.
Viserys silently apologized to Aegarax in his heart.''Sorry, Aegarax, but I'm afraid you will have to be separated from your beloved dragon, Zarafax.''
House Targaryen needed more dragons.
As many as possible.
Only then would House Targaryen's future not remain under the shadow of the Silver Dragon's wings.
"Sorry, Uncle Draezell, Uncle Valarr, Uncle Rey, and little Rhaegor. I know you all care for my brother and me. I am grateful for your kindness.
But I am a Targaryen.
And I must safeguard the future of House Targaryen."
Viserys made his decision.