[POV: King Viserys I - 104 AC]
The crown felt impossibly heavy on Viserys's head. It was the year 104 AC, and the weight wasn't just gold and jewels, but the crushing burden of expectation. His grandfather, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, had ruled for half a century, leaving behind a realm at peace and a legacy that loomed large. Viserys, by contrast, often felt himself a lesser man, prone to indecision, happier amidst dusty maps and ancient lore than navigating the treacherous currents of court politics. He missed Baelon every day, a gaping hole in his heart that never truly healed, and the sorrow only amplified his constant feeling of inadequacy. The throne room, with its echoing silence and the expectant faces of his small council, often felt less like a seat of power and more like a cage.
His first years as King were a blur of small decisions and larger anxieties. Otto Hightower, his Hand, was ever present, a constant, reassuring voice in his ear, guiding him through the labyrinthine duties of kingship. Otto's counsel was always sound, always practical, yet Viserys sometimes felt a subtle hand nudging him in directions he hadn't quite intended. He found himself agreeing to marriages, appointing lords, and signing decrees, often feeling as if he were merely a vessel for Otto's meticulous will, rather than the true sovereign. The Hand's efficiency was undeniable, but it left Viserys with a nagging sense that his own authority was slowly, imperceptibly, being eroded.
The Great Council's decree regarding Raegon was a constant, unspoken pressure, a shadow that hung over their family. Jaehaerys had spoken with such conviction, laying out the succession with an iron will, and even outlining the marriage pact with Rhaenyra. Viserys loved Raegon dearly, his eldest son, a quiet, observant boy who possessed a maturity far beyond his years. He saw flashes of Baelon's strength in him, a solid, dependable quality, and something else, something sharper, more calculating, that reminded him unsettlingly of his own father, Aemon, and even a touch of the Conqueror. Raegon was undeniably a true dragon, a natural rider of Alduin, whose growth was astonishing, the dragon himself growing into a formidable presence in the Dragonpit. But the boy was still so young, barely in his early teens when the decree was made, and the weight of the crown, even in waiting, seemed far too much for him to bear now. Viserys worried constantly about the toll it would take on his son.
Viserys knew Daemon resented the succession. His brother, the Rogue Prince, was a constant source of both exasperation and affection. Daemon was volatile, hot-headed, and undeniably ambitious, but there could be no doubt of his loyalty to the Targaryen name. Still, Jaehaerys's clear decree had left Daemon chafing, a restless dragon confined to too small a cage. Viserys found himself constantly trying to appease his brother, offering him posts and honors, trying to bind him closer to the crown, to prevent his wild impulses from causing further trouble. It was a delicate dance, always on the edge of a precipice, with Daemon often seeming to delight in pushing him to the brink.
He looked at Rhaenyra, his sweet, spirited daughter, already growing into a vivacious young girl. The thought of her marrying Raegon, while a natural enough union for Targaryens, felt prescribed, an obligation rather than a choice. He wanted them to be happy, to find love and companionship in their union, not simply to fulfill a dead king's decree. But Jaehaerys's last command had been absolute, etched into the very fabric of the realm's future. Viserys, for all his gentle nature and his desire for peace, knew the dangers of defying his grandfather's will. He was the King, yes, but even he felt bound by the formidable shadow of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. He sighed, the heavy crown pressing into his brow. The realm was at peace, yes, but Viserys felt no peace within himself. He could only hope that Raegon, in time, would grow into the destiny laid before him, and that their bond, not just his own love, would be enough to sustain him.
[Interaction between Viserys and Raegon, later in 104 AC]
One evening, as the sun dipped below the Blackwater Rush, painting the sky in fiery hues, Viserys found Raegon in the quiet contemplation of the castle's rookery, watching the ravens settle for the night. Raegon, though still a boy, carried himself with a solemnity that belied his years. Viserys observed him for a moment, a pang of fatherly concern twisting in his gut.
"Son," Viserys said softly, stepping into the rookery, the cooing of the birds a soft backdrop. Raegon turned, his silver hair catching the fading light, his violet eyes, so like his mother's, meeting his father's.
"Father," Raegon replied, a respectful incline of his head. He didn't seem surprised to see him.
Viserys walked to his side, leaning against the rough stone wall. "A heavy burden, this crown," he mused, not looking at Raegon, but out at the darkening city. "Heavier still, perhaps, for those who must one day wear it."
Raegon was silent for a moment. "Grandfather laid a clear path, Father. A path for the strength of our House." His voice was calm, steady, betraying no youthful impatience or fear.
Viserys finally turned to him, a faint smile on his lips. "Clear, yes. But the paths laid by kings can be thorny. Do you feel the weight of it, Raegon? The expectations?"
Raegon looked at his father, his gaze thoughtful. "I feel the responsibility, Father. The responsibility to honor Grandfather's wishes, and to serve the realm. To prepare."
Viserys placed a hand on his son's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and shared burden. "Prepare, you must. But remember, Raegon, a king is not just a warrior, or a scholar. He is a shepherd to his people. He must temper strength with wisdom, and justice with mercy." He paused, looking at his son's earnest face. "And he must learn to trust those around him. Though not blindly."
"I understand, Father," Raegon said, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – perhaps a hint of the deep well of knowledge and experience he held that Viserys could not yet perceive. "I will strive to be worthy of the trust placed in me. And I will always strive to honor your reign, and Grandfather's."
Viserys nodded, a warmth spreading through him at his son's words, even as that familiar anxiety still churned beneath the surface. He pulled Raegon into a rare, firm embrace. "That is all a father can ask, my son. That is all the realm can ask." He squeezed Raegon's shoulder once more, then released him, leaving him to the quiet company of the ravens, wondering what thoughts truly occupied the mind of his quiet, powerful heir.