The sun blazed down on the Red Keep, casting golden light over the banners of House Baratheon. Inside, however, the mood was dim and cloaked in tension. The royal solar was thick with the scent of wine, parchment, and unspoken truths.
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, walked at a measured pace beside King Robert Baratheon, whose thick fingers gripped a goblet more often these days than a warhammer. The two walked into the meeting chamber where the small council waited.
"Alright gents let's get on with this business then. What are the fires need putting out and, if their is good news let me hear it now."
Robert Baratheon, dropped into his chair with a grunt, his weight creaking the ancient wood. grunted in mild amusement as he poured himself wine.
Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, stood near the open windows with a sealed raven scroll in his hand, wax freshly broken. His tone was calm, but his words carried weight.
"A raven came from Winterfell," Jon began, handing the sealed parchment to Robert. "The construction efforts on the outer walls and village are proceeding ahead of schedule."
"Innovation from a house older than the Targaryens? Hah! That's a surprise. And what of the raven's true purpose?"
"Lord Drakon will be returning in a month's time… to negotiate for the Targaryen dragon bones."
Robert scoffed as he was handed the parchment, barely scanning the words before tossing it to the table. "Dragon bones," Robert said, pouring wine from a silver decanter. "Didn't expect the Drakons to want the dead beasts. They want the bones of those dead beasts? Heh. Well, they can have them. No use to us now. Just clutter and ghost stories. But their coin's as good as anyone's."
Petyr Baelish, sitting straight up in his chair, gave a thin smile. His fingers played idly with the braided trim of his green doublet.
"More than good, Your Grace. They're offering a quite the fortune. And they've have the coffers to pay it upfront. Their coin flows like a river. Rumors say Lord Samir Drakon's coffers could rival the Iron Bank of Braavos. Some whisper he's creating a financial empire in Essos that might one day challenge our own."
"Hmph," Robert muttered, taking a long sip. "Gold from the east… fire from the west. That family makes me nervous."
Stannis, sitting rigidly his black and gold surcoat, arms crossed and expression and jaw tight shook his head. And finally spoke.
"It would be foolish to bleed them dry for these bones. Those bones, dragon or not, may have meaning to them. Their interest speaks of deeper purpose. Sentimental or mystical. If they want the remains of Valyria's last dragons, there is meaning in that We should use this opportunity to forge a stronger alliance, not debt."
Robert shot his younger brother a look, but it lacked its usual heat.
"The Drakons are good allies. Like the Starks, honorable, strong. But they make me uneasy. Always so calm and controlled. Like they know more then what they let on. But just sit their in the shadows, waiting and watching as the fires burns brighter. I always felt like if they wanted to, they were one bad day from burning the world like the damned Targaryens."
Robert's face darkened, expression growing serious as he leaned forward. His voice turned low, almost thoughtful. "They make me think of Rhaegar, how calm he looked right before I crushed his breastplate open."
The room quieted for a moment, tension wrapping around the assembled lords like a noose.
Varys, who had remained still as a statue, now stepped forward. The light glinted off his smooth scalp and silken robes.
""Your Grace… regarding the other matter, the Targaryens…you once asked about the children and their mother. The whisperbirds have returned."
Robert's face turned grim, and the air turned colder despite the fire.
"And?" Robert asked, voice sharp ."Speak plainly, spider."
"Of course." Varys's voice was silken. "The agents I sent months ago… those who survived… have finally sent word. The Drakons did not just offer hospitality to the former Queen Rhaella. They have taken her and her children in. Daenerys and Viserys, are… or were with her."
The goblet in Robert's hand trembled, wine sloshing over the edge.
"They what?"
"Rhaella is being trained in the Drakon mystical arts… the Flow," Varys said. "It is rumored she will be a future confidant and advsior to the current lords and their son . As for Daenerys, she is being trained as a recruit, inducted into the Drakon family. There are whispers she shows great potential to use the Flow as well. So she is being groomed as a potential wife for the young heir, Lord Samar Drakon."
"The Flow! A bride?"" Robert spat. "Bloody sorcery."
"Yes," Varys replied smoothly. "
Varys continued.
"Daenerys shows promise. If she proves herself, she could one day be a powerful woman like many of the Drakon blades or Lord Maran. Who I hear is overseeing her training personally. The young lord has… options, in many houses as well it would seem. Many houses offer their daughters to him as a future wives. Now as for Viserys… he has vanished. No trace."
Robert stood abruptly, wine sloshing over the rim of his goblet. The pressure in the room shifted like a gathering storm. Even seasoned men like Jon and Stannis felt it. Robert radiated pressure and fury.
"Those DAMN DRAKONS!" Robert growled, he hurled the goblet across the room. It shattered against the wall, crimson wine trailing like blood. Then getting storming toward the side table to pour more wine, his voice thick with anger. "Do they think they can claim the throne? Do they believe using the dragon spawn gives them the right?!"
His voice boomed through the chamber.
"Do they think they can use Targaryen spawn to stake a claim on MY throne? I won it! With blood and steel and rage!"
"I killed Rhaegar. I ended their line. And now they're bringing it back? Raising that silver-haired girl like some… like some warrior queen-in-waiting? All those Valyrian bastards should've been wiped out along with the rest!"
Stannis held his ground, but his voice was stern.
"Brother. You need to remember… our grandmother was a Targaryen. If bloodlines are all that matter, we're not clean either. And the Drakons? They have more than just a girl. They have coin. Armies. Influence. And their own Valyrian blood with some Targaryen's mixed in."
"What are you implying?" Robert barked.
"Their power in Essos grows by the year. And that only claiming the Drakons are monsters for their blood would make you a hypocrite," Stannis replied coldly. "Besides… they already have a claim. A strong one."
"How?" Robert spat. "The rebellion killed the Targaryens' right. I hold the crown."
"They have blood," Stannis said. "Targaryen blood. From legitimate and illegitimate lines. Their houses, Velaryon, Celtigar, all interwoven with dragon blood for centuries. And the Drakons… they've been careful. "
"Not just blood," Varys added, his voice slithering into the gaps. "They possess wealth, discipline, power. Their command of the mystical Flow, the Lord of Light religion diefy's them. That alone ties to factions across Essos, the Free Cities, Volantis, even Qarth, all lend their name weight."
"I don't give a rat's arse what they have or who kisses their ass," Robert growled.
"Meaning, my king," Varys said, softly, "that Lord Drakon and his son carry Targaryen blood as well. Over the years, many bastards of the Targaryen line, known and unknown, fled to Essos. Some were taken in by the Drakon families. Sired children and Intermarried."
He paused before delivering the final blow.
"And with Queen Rhaella under their care, with her blessing, they could be seen as the legitimate continuation of the Targaryen dynasty… with a new philosophy and purpose. Not conquerors… but redeemers of the Valarian bloodline, even saviors. Especially since the Targaryen have loyal houses like the Tyrell's, Martell's, and Tarly are just some examples."
Robert fell heavily into his chair again, rubbing his forehead with a massive hand.
"So… why play nice then?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Why come to negotiate bones when they could just… take everything, If they have so much power, why not use it?"
Jon Arryn finally spoke again. "Because they don't want to," Jon Arryn interjected quietly.
Robert looked at him, confused.
"When the late Lord Drakon visited once, he told me they never married into the Targaryens. And never tried to cease Westeros or the Iron throne, because it wasn't the right time. He said his son Lord Samir and his future daughter-in-law, at the time Maran were to prepare Essos. Preparing it for the true ruler. At the time, I didn't understand. But now… I think he meant Samar.""
"What in the seven hells does that mean?" Robert barked.
"I didn't know then," Jon said, his expression thoughtful. "But now I suspect… he meant Samar. I believed he was saying the Drakons were gonna Conquer All of Essos, and when they have the power they would take Westeros when the Targaryen's are at their weakest. But when the throne was empty they still chose not to take it. The Late Lord Drakon and his wife went to battle knowing they would probably die, but went anyway saying it's time to pass my flame for the next generation."
The words echoed.
Robert dropped into his chair again, and sat in silence, his anger cooling and face pale. He reached for a fresh goblet, pouring more wine, this time with a shaking hand.
"Damn Drakons," he muttered. "Always so… mysterious. They are playing a very long game and I don't know what their aim is. But I can tell the world will change, I just don't know if it will be for the worse."
There was a pause before he chuckled bitterly. A shadow passed over his face as he looked into the wine.
"Did I ever tell you, before the rebellion, I was nearly chosen to go east? The recruiter from that damn family said I had the gift. Said I could touch the Flow."
Stannis blinked, but said nothing.
Jon raised a brow. "You never mentioned that."
"Didn't think it mattered," Robert muttered. " "Told him about a dream I had once. A stag… golden antlers… black fur… standing before a sky of raging lightning. He said it meant something." He said it meant destiny."
He downed the wine in one gulp.
"So… why didn't you go?" Stannis asked softly.
"Before I could leave, our parents died in that gods-damned shipwreck, coming home from looking for a bride for Rhaegar. After the rebellion, the Drakons came. Said I was 'damaged goods', not fit for their plans. Sai they could my daughter Mya instead."
"Mya?" Jon asked carefully.
Robert waved him off. "Doesn't matter now. Cersei wouldn't have let Mya, stay in the Red Keep, without a accident happening."
Silence settled over the chamber like a burial shroud.
Jon and Stannis exchanged glances, but neither spoke.
Roberts knuckles went white on the rim of the cup.
No one spoke.
Not even Littlefinger.
"They said she was strong. That the Flow moved through her like a storm." Robert muttered.
He looked up slowly.
"I said no at first. I said my daughter would never be raised by cultists and mystics. But now…"
He trailed off, staring into the outside sky.
The clouds outside rolled low in the sky, sun glimmered faintly in the distance.
"Now from what I hear she is happy, and living a good life. All because of those damn Drakons."