Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…
Lyonel kept a steady schedule. In the past six years since his appointment as Hand of the King to Viserys I, the Lord of Harrenhal proved himself to be an ethical, capable councilor unmarked by self-interest, fair, considerate and earning the full trust of the king and his heir to be able to act without the need for Viserys's approval if the situation calls for it. One of his first acts as Hand was to fill the vacant office of Master of Laws on the small council; candidates from Queen Beatrice and Prince Aeonar were forwarded for consideration, their backgrounds were checked thoroughly, and upon inspection, Lyonel chose Lord Jasper Wylde of the Rain House as his replacement.
Since their return to King's Landing from Dragonstone, word quickly spread throughout the capital about Prince Jaehaerys's acquisition of the fearsome beast Vermithor and Princess Aemma's easy bond with Silverwing, two of the powerful second-generation dragons of the Old King's era. Many of the smallfolk called it a sign; that the Conciliator had somehow miraculously returned to this world in the form of his great-great-grandson, occasionally referring to him as 'Jaehaerys the Second' – whereas his younger sister was often compared to their great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne.
Queen Beatrice, however, was livid upon receiving the word. Once again, she felt her children were overshadowed by the Young Dragon's spawn. Although she didn't say it aloud, the slightest shift in her posture often gave her displeasure away – yet Beatrice was clever enough to not be seen doing it publicly.
Yet Lyonel's work was never done. Being the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, it was his duty to aid the king in keeping the realm together. So, he walked through the halls of the Red Keep, checking in on each council member's progress and inquiring about their progress. The ones Lyonel was familiar with assured him the same, Tyland issued his report on routine pirate raids occurring near the southeastern shores, and Jasper proved even stricter on matters regarding the law. There was only one more person he needed to check on: the king's heir and Master of Whisperers, Prince Aeonar Targaryen. Upon opening the doors leading to his chamber, the realm's spymaster's room was larger, containing its rookery – darker in color due to lack of sunlight with only the burning fireplace offering enough illumination. Did it just get considerably colder here? This looks… quite a lot of antiques he brought back with him from Dragonstone. The room looked more… draconic. Menacing, mysterious. Like any visitor who entered was being watched by the gods of Old Valyria's pantheon.
Farrier, one of the prince's chief agents, handed over a piece of paper. "Word from our comrade stationed in Lys, Brother Lycan. Ryndoon's men are scrambling after the loss of their benefactor, Magister Illonar Nesterion," he reported. "Once the deed was done, our brothers covered their tracks and quickly fled the scene before anyone could realize what just happened."
"Good," Aeonar replied coolly. Since his return to the small council as Master of Whisperers, the prince's methods had grown more calculating and efficient… but methodically ruthless as well. Any suspected of treason or foreign hostile threats to House Targaryen were shown no mercy. With eyes and ears spread across the realm, no one was safe from the Young Dragon's gaze if they were caught. "His support base is in the Disputed Lands. Tear it down." He turned to Farrier. "The captain-general wishes to make an enemy of House Targaryen? I'll give him what he wants. Doesn't Racallio have a right-hand man? Varesso Mopah? He's still wanted by the Faceless Men."
"Yes, my prince. I believe that is so."
"Good. Send them the location of his whereabouts… anonymously, and make sure Racallio's men know the consequences. I'll make sure the Faceless Men are paid for their services."
"At your command."
Lyonel watched Farrier move past him before returning his gaze to his young colleague. "A little bit harsh when it comes to dealing with perceived threats, don't you think?" he inquired.
Aeonar shook his head. "No, my Lord Hand. Men like them know it's pointless to fight a losing battle when the odds are stacked against them," he replied. "You see, when I'm ruthless, it serves as a warning to not enter the dragon's lair unless you're looking to cause trouble. How funny that after being gone for so long, only to return to this council would open my eyes to a whole… distinct perspective of the world. I'm disappointed it took me this long to realize this."
"You have a good heart, Aeonar, but you spend too much time in the shadows taking such risky gambles. What if all of this comes around to haunt you? Have you taken the necessary precautions in case?"
"You are a good man, Lord Strong. Call it what it is. The king – my father – knew some things could not be managed through more delicate means. I chose to become his spymaster twice, knowing what it meant. Death, deception, and gathering information are my trade. It comes with the territory of being a Master of Whisperers. Father may have meant well at first. Most intentions are, but many seek to take advantage of that. You know this as much as I do."
"Then what was that discussion you were having with your spies?"
"So, you heard a little bit of that. Did the Master of Ships not tell you?"
"Ser Tyland mentioned in his report of pirate incursions along the southeast banks of the Narrow Sea, normally trying to steal and plunder whatever they could find. But with each time, they become bolder until our ships retaliate – then they're forced to flee. However, they've been testing our fleet with each raid. So, I've come to ask you about it."
"Because it's no mere pirate raid, Lord Strong."
"What makes you say that?"
Aeonar moves pieces on the map. "Here," he points to the Stepstones. "Since our allies in House Velaryon control such vital shipping lanes, they patrol the area. Our watchtowers and sentries stationed along the Stepstones report suspicious activity near Last Refuge. Triarchy remnants. They're nowhere near the level of strength they once had years ago, and without the backing of influential magisters from Lys, Tyrosh, or Myr, they're led by a man called Racallio Ryndoon."
Lyonel raised a brow. "I take it you two know each other?" he inquired.
"One of the survivors who fled when we defeated Craghas Drahar at Bloodstone, and again during Plan Zero. Racallio is a cunning commander and dangerous warrior, capable of wielding two blades at once as I do. Despite being a gluttonous drunkard dressing up as a woman, he's surprisingly well-educated, capable of speaking High Valyrian and a dozen of its vulgate dialects. I'm guessing that's how Racallio managed to last as long as he did. These raids were merely him assessing our defenses looking for structural weaknesses. Lord Corlys knew it was only a matter of time before our men began crossing paths."
"Should we perceive him as a threat?"
"Eventually, he will. But Driftmark assures me they have the situation under control. The best we can do for them is to provide them with the resources they need so they don't get caught off-guard. My agents will take care of the rest. No one wants a repeat of what happened last time." Or what led to it in the first place.
"I'll authorize the necessary assistance the crown is willing to provide," Lyonel informed. "In the meantime, His Grace has expressed his will that everyone is to gather in the throne room for an important announcement later this evening."
"What for?" Aeonar asked. This was all relatively new – as Master of Whisperers, he'd be the first to learn of his father's intent. But for this to be brought to his attention made him suspect that it had to have been very recent.
"He wouldn't say, my prince. All I've been asked to tell you is that His Grace has requested all of you by name."
"Hmm. Then I suppose it's best not to keep him waiting." Father, this had better be important. I cannot afford distractions at a time like this.
Red Keep ― Courtyard…
Laenor had adjusted to his role as Captain of Prince Aeonar's Honor Guard. Since his wedding to Princess Rhaenyra six years ago, the heir to Driftmark wore the traditional House Targaryen colors – showing himself as prince consort and a member of the Blacks. The side of his head was shaved, leaving his remaining white Velaryon dreadlocks tied in a ponytail. He stood observing the children in the courtyard, watching them play with their toys.
"I've got you now!" Jacaerys waved a toy around.
"Not if I do this! Raaaaarh!" Viserys exclaimed with a toy of his own.
"Hey! That's cheating!" Lucerys complained.
"It's not cheating if someone else says something else!" Aegon the Younger chuckled.
"Gimme it!"
Ser Harrold, on the other hand, spent the morning training Jaehaerys upon the boy's return. "Sometimes your blade becomes your shield, and your shield becomes your blade," he instructed. "A knight is bound by a code of honor upon which he is sworn to abide by and uphold. Be brave, just, honorable, protect the innocent, and defend the weak. Don't let your emotions get the better of you, otherwise, they'll cloud your judgment and cause you to stray from the path. To see the truth, you must look with the eyes of your heart – not just the ones in your head. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ser," Jaehaerys nodded as he practiced with a training dummy. "Honor, justice, bravery, uphold the law, and protect the weak and defenseless."
"Good lad. Now… let's concentrate on your footwork."
Laenor wasn't sure what to be more exhausted with. The responsibilities come with being a prince consort or raising two children with a Targaryen princess… or maybe it was both. He and Rhaenyra agreed to abide by the promise they made to each other when they were younger; perform their duties to their families and be free to love whoever they want. However, Laenor never got over Joffrey's death. No matter how hard he tried, he felt unfulfilled. No matter how much fine wine he drank, no matter how many men he fucked… it simply was never enough to fill the void. Still, regardless of the case, the heir to Driftmark couldn't help but smile at the boys. Jace, Luke… Laenor knew the children weren't biologically his, but he loved them as if they were regardless – and they loved their father too. No matter how busy he was or how much he yearned for life on the battlefield, he would always be available for his sons. "All right now," Laenor approached. "That's enough roughhousing and more time for you four to start playing nice from now on, understand?"
"B-But father," Luke whined.
Laenor turned to his nephews. "Viserys," he said firmly, "let your cousins Jace and Luke have a turn, okay?"
"He's not Viserys, I am!" one of the twins said.
"Honestly, uncle, can't you tell us apart by now?" the other seconded.
"Ah! Ugh, I'm sorry, Aegon."
For a while, all was quiet. But then… the twins started chortling before bursting out laughing.
"Teehee! I'm kidding, uncle! I actually am Viserys!" Viserys grinned mischievously.
"Hahaha! You fell for it again! Oh! The look on your face!" Aegon laughed.
"Wha…? Oh, you sneaky little…!" Laenor realized he was tricked.
Jacaerys and Lucerys watched the hilarity unfold. Despite the mischief their cousins got into, they had to admit… Aegon and Viserys did occasionally produce some innovative ideas for their pranks. The Velaryon princes couldn't help but stifle a giggle or two; it was just so funny to watch. Pretty soon, Jace and Luke practically forgot what it was they were initially squabbling over as their father's face was mixed with confusion and annoyance.
Jaehaerys stopped what he was doing as soon as he heard the commotion. "Uncle Laenor," he called out. "Are Aegon and Viserys doing it again?" he asked.
"Oh, lighten up, big brother!" Aegon replied.
"At least take a moment to have some fun," Viserys seconded.
"Mother says there's a difference between being funny… and being mean. And it looks to me like you're being quite mean. So stop it or I'll have to tell mother and father again."
"Aw, you're no fun!" the twins complained.
Laenor shook his head. Nearly every day, the twins would always cause mischief – always taking advantage of creating so much confusion due to dressing the same, sounding the same, and looking the same as the other. Whenever anyone – servant or maester – came close to figuring out who was who, Aegon and Viserys would switch clothes with each other, and the confusion mayhem would start all over again. Even their grandfather, King Viserys, would get caught up in the whole mess with his grandsons. "All right, boys, you two have had your fun," he sighed. "Now be a good lad and resume your practice." He turned to his sons. "Jace, Luke. The same thing applies to you as well."
"Aw, but father!"
"No buts. You can resume your playtime another time. Now, let's― Aegon! Viserys! Where are you going?!"
Before Laenor could finish giving his instructions, his nephews had already taken off, turning around the corner in the courtyard and nearly disappearing – until they were apprehended by Ser Harwin Strong, who easily carried them by the scruff of their collars and returned them to where they once were.
"Ngh! Lemme go! Put us down!" Aegon complained.
"Lemme go!" Viserys voiced his displeasure at being roughly moved.
Harwin was amused. "Still up to no good, I see," he remarked. Though I will admit, they're quite the feisty, little ones. "These two giving you a hard time?" he asked.
"It's… something I've gotten used to, commander," Laenor sighed wearily. "Or at least, I thought I did."
"They're just boys, captain. Perhaps… I should inform Prince Aeonar of their little antics. Or their mother."
Aegon and Viserys stiffened. "No! No, no, no! Don't tell mother!" they struggled.
"Oh? That didn't take much to get you to beg for mercy," Harwin laughed. "But that's not why I'm here. His Grace – your grandfather – has asked that everyone gather in the throne room. Says he has an important announcement to make."
Red Keep ― Throne room…
The elder King Viserys grunted with each step he took, steadying himself with his cane as he climbed the steps to sit on the Iron Throne. "Ngh! Ooh, if only these bones would cooperate more," he groaned.
Lyonel, who stood by the king's side, helped to steady him. "Age is always an unpleasant foe once we get up there in years," he agreed. "But learn to make do with what we have until a remedy is found. I've already instructed Orwyle and Alwyn to brew some potions to help ease your joins, Your Grace. They said it should be done by around midday."
"That's… well, that's reassuring." Viserys reached the last step and turned to sit down. The Iron Throne felt cold beneath his robes, the forged steel still had jagged, sharp edges that threatened to cut him again if he shifted in the wrong direction. "All right, Lyonel. I'm ready. Bring them in."
"At once, Your Grace."
Lyonel snapped his fingers, motioning for the Kingsguard to open the doors to the throne room. Once inside, a large contingency of nobles arrived by the dozen. From the highest of lords to the lowliest of landed knights. Everyone who attended was told that King Viserys had an announcement to make. But only one person standing for House Velaryon stood in attendance, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was. Since her son Laenor was prince consort, her husband Lord Corlys and brother-in-law Ser Vaemond were engaged in a naval battle with Triarchy remnants near the Stepstones, Rhaenys remained as politically astute in the years following the wedding ceremony. Only a few houses were missing.
Queen Beatrice, on the other hand, moved to stand closer to the Iron Throne, accompanied by her children, Prince Aegon the Elder (9), Princess Helaena (7), and Prince Aemond (6). A child of nine, the elder Aegon resembled his father in terms of physical appearance but was known to be lazy and refusing to behave as a prince is expected to; Helaena was mostly quiet, instead being preoccupied with a centipede she was examining; Aemond, however, paid attention to what was going on around him.
Before long, each member of the small council finally entered the throne room with their entourage accompanying them. While most had their staff, Aeonar instead had Alicent, Jaehaerys, the twins Aegon the Younger and Viserys, Aemma, and Daeron with him. Rhaenyra and Laenor also followed suit with Jacaerys and Lucerys behind them. The elder Targaryen royals traded glances with their stepmother and half-siblings, being still indifferent to them all.
"Lords and ladies of the court," Lyonel began. "Today officially marks the nineteenth year that His Grace King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm began his benevolent reign. Carrying forth the legacy of his lord grandfather, the Old King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the realm continued to see another two decades of peace and plenty."
"Mommy, I'm hungry," Daeron whined.
"Shhh!" Alicent hushed silently. "Just be patient, sweetling."
Aeonar shook his head. Five children, yet three of them were giving him headaches. He did not like being pulled away from his duties, especially if he felt it was something as menial as a public service announcement. But the Young Dragon remained focused on the Iron Throne, noticing something different in the way his father looked at them – there was something there, something serious.
"Well… flattery aside," Viserys began, "it's been almost twenty years since we all began this journey. Sure, we've had some difficult moments, and petty disagreements, but I'd like to believe we remained strong throughout it all – as King Jaehaerys had done before me. I only hope that the next generation will continue carrying on the legacy of our forebears once my time is done. It's something any house would wish for their sons, their daughters, their grandchildren… and their descendants." He turned toward his children. "Prince Aeonar Targaryen… please step forward."
Aeonar complied.
"Good luck, father," Jaehaerys whispered.
"Mmm."
"My son," Viserys spoke with the tone of a king, but with a tune of a father, "we've gathered you here to review your years of service to the crown. As Prince of Dragonstone, you resolved trade and property disputes amongst your bannermen. You showed exceptional bravery when rescuing your sister, Princess Rhaenyra, from the Cannibal and defending those under your protection. As Master of Whisperers, you've uncovered secret conspiracies and exposed those plotting treason. Although I cannot say I agree with how you do it, I must admit, the results do speak for themselves. And so, as your king, I figured it appropriate to reward you for all you've done for us." He motioned for his Kingsguard.
As the second senior knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Steffon Darklyn approached the Young Dragon. When all eyes were locked in on what he was holding, there was a silent pause… though Aeonar was already familiar with the sword in hand.
It was Blackfyre, one of House Targaryen's two Valyrian steel blades.
"As it was passed down from king to heir since Aegon's time, I now pass on Blackfyre to you. As you can see… I only have a cane to carry me now. I have no doubt you will make good use of it."
Queen Beatrice was fuming that her children were being passed over… yet again! For the king to voluntarily give his son and heir Blackfyre, many would see it as an acknowledgment of Viserys's health weakening and the decision to bestow Aegon the Conqueror's sword to Aeonar as confirmation that the Young Dragon was more suited to wield it now… that the Seven Kingdoms would be under his control from the machinations of the shadows. He would be the puppet master, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Aegon the Elder rolled his eyes, Helaena did not pay attention, but Aemond watched in fascination as his elder half-brother grasp the hilt of Blackfyre.
"So, you're just leaving it all to me?" Aeonar examined the Valyrian steel shining in the exposed sunlight, its water-like ripples, and the ancient runes of Old Valyria forged into the blade itself. To now own a piece of living history, the Young Dragon felt something stir within him.
"Well, if a father knows his son at all…" Viserys commented, "you've had your eye on Blackfyre for a long time since you were but a small boy."
"I won't deny it." To be given Blackfyre, the sword of my ancestors… Twirling Blackfyre, the Young Dragon rested the tip of the blade onto the ground as his hands lay upon the pommel. "There is none more qualified than myself to carry the Conqueror's blade and use it to defend House Targaryen from its enemies, foreign or domestic."
As the rest of the court applauded, Aeonar and Beatrice locked eyes with one another – the tension between them over the years was boiling even higher. A power struggle loomed in the shadows, with each faction – the Blacks and Caltrops – fighting for the right to dominate the court. But for those unaware of the impending threat, none dared speculate what might happen if tensions eventually reach their peak.