# The Red Keep - Royal Solar, Late into the Night
The embers in the great fireplace had burned low, casting dancing shadows across the ancient tapestries that chronicled five decades of Targaryen rule. King Jaehaerys sat in contemplative silence, his long fingers steepled before him as he studied the dying flames with the intensity of a man reading omens in their shifting patterns. The weight of his great-grandson's revelations seemed to have settled into his very bones, each word adding years to his already considerable burden.
Queen Alysanne had dismissed her ladies-in-waiting hours ago, preferring the privacy of this moment to process what they had learned. She sat beside her husband of fifty years, her silver-gold hair unbound and flowing over her shoulders like liquid moonlight, but her violet eyes held the sharp calculation of a woman whose mind never truly rested. Despite the gravity etched into her features, there was something almost predatory in the way she watched the flames—as if she were already planning how to reshape the very future itself.
"A dance of dragons," she said finally, her voice carrying the crisp authority that had made hardened lords nervous for decades. She rose gracefully and moved to pour herself wine from the sideboard, her movements deliberate and controlled. "Our grandchildren, our great-grandchildren, tearing each other apart while the realm bleeds and the dragons die. All while something ancient and terrible gathers strength in the far north." She paused, taking a measured sip. "Rather poetic for a catastrophe, don't you think?"
Jaehaerys allowed himself a dry chuckle, though it held no real humor. "Trust you to find literary merit in the end of our dynasty, my dear. Though I suppose if we must face apocalyptic prophecy, it's fitting that it comes with appropriately dramatic terminology."
"Oh, I do so prefer my disasters with proper narrative structure," Alysanne replied with mock gravity, returning to her seat with feline grace. "If we're to be destroyed by civil war, at least it should sound suitably epic in the histories. Assuming, of course, that anyone survives to write them."
The King's expression grew more serious as he considered the implications, his weathered hands now clasped behind his back as he began to pace—a habit that had driven courtiers to distraction for fifty years. "And it begins with Viserys," he said heavily, his voice carrying the particular tone of disappointment reserved for beloved family members who were about to make terrible mistakes. "Our good grandson, who wants nothing more than to be worthy of the crown we'll leave him, will make choices born of love and duty that destroy everything we've built."
He stopped before the great window, his reflection ghostlike in the dark glass. "Aemma. Sweet Aemma, who laughs at his terrible jests and brings him such joy that courtiers actually pretend his humor is improving." His voice grew thick with genuine affection and anticipated grief. "The boy sees her dying in childbed because Viserys pushes for a son when he should accept the daughter the gods have already given him."
"And then," Alysanne continued with the relentless precision of a master chess player analyzing moves ahead, "he marries Alicent Hightower. Otto's daughter. A girl who currently reads to us with such sweet innocence and plays with Rhaenyra as if they were true sisters, blissfully unaware that her father is already positioning her as the next queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
She set down her wine cup with a soft clink that somehow managed to sound ominous. "Tell me, husband—have you noticed anything... particular in young Alicent's behavior of late? Any change in her manner when she attends us? Because I certainly have."
Jaehaerys turned from the window, his eyebrows raised in the expression that had preceded many significant political revelations over the years. "Ah. I wondered when you'd bring that up. Yes, she's been more... let's call it 'developmentally curious' recently. More attentive to palace gossip, more interested in matters of governance. I attributed it to the natural maturation of an intelligent young woman beginning to understand how power actually functions."
"How diplomatically phrased," Alysanne observed with amusement. "Though I might have used the term 'calculating' instead of 'developmentally curious.' The girl who used to ask about my jewelry now inquires about tax policy and trade agreements. Rather a dramatic shift in interests for a fourteen-year-old, wouldn't you say?"
"Now that you mention it..." The King resumed his pacing, his mind clearly working through recent observations with new context. "She's been present at several small council meetings lately, ostensibly to take notes for Otto but lingering afterward to ask remarkably sophisticated questions about policy decisions. Questions that suggest she's been receiving considerable... guidance in what to ask and how to interpret the answers."
"And how does our dear Viserys respond to this sudden political acuity?" Alysanne inquired, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"Like a peacock in mating season," Jaehaerys replied with undisguised exasperation. "He practically preens when she asks for his thoughts on governance. More animated, more willing to explain his reasoning at length, clearly flattered that such a young and lovely creature finds his wisdom so fascinating." He stopped pacing and fixed his wife with a look of grim understanding. "Otto is many things, but he's certainly not a fool."
"No, indeed he is not," Alysanne agreed, her voice carrying the sort of cold appreciation one might have for a particularly elegant trap. "If young Jaehaerys' visions prove accurate—if Alicent does indeed become Viserys' second wife—then the groundwork is already being laid with admirable thoroughness. A fourteen-year-old girl doesn't develop sudden fascination with fiscal policy without considerable coaching."
She rose again, beginning her own restless circuit of the room. "And Otto is perfectly positioned to provide that coaching while maintaining complete plausible deniability about his ultimate intentions. After all, what's wrong with a Hand wanting his daughter to be well-educated? What father wouldn't want his child to understand the world she'll inherit?"
"The question," Jaehaerys said slowly, settling back into his chair with the careful movements of a man feeling every one of his seventy-plus years, "is whether we accept that young Jaehaerys speaks truth. That his visions—whatever their source—show us a future we must prevent rather than prophecy we must simply endure."
He rubbed his temples with fingers that trembled slightly, whether from age, exhaustion, or the weight of terrible knowledge. "Are we prepared to reshape the fundamental political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms based on the fevered dreams of a four-year-old boy? However remarkable that boy might be?"
"Fevered dreams that included details about dragon behavior that he couldn't possibly know through conventional means," Alysanne reminded him sharply. "Fevered dreams that accurately described political dynamics he's never been exposed to. Fevered dreams that knew about Aemma's current pregnancy before the maesters confirmed it themselves."
She moved to stand behind his chair, her hands settling on his shoulders with the easy familiarity of five decades together. "I've spent fifty years learning to distinguish between possibility and probability, husband. And the probability that a four-year-old boy could fabricate such detailed, consistent, and verifiable prophecy through imagination alone is... vanishingly small."
"So we proceed on the assumption that disaster is not merely possible, but inevitable—unless we act to prevent it." Jaehaerys covered one of her hands with his own, drawing comfort from her presence even as they discussed choices that would have horrified their younger selves. "The question becomes: how do we act on this knowledge without creating new disasters in our attempt to prevent existing ones?"
"Ah, now there's the essential dilemma," Alysanne said, beginning to massage the tension from his shoulders with practiced skill. "Too little intervention and we watch helplessly as everything unfolds exactly as prophesied. Too much intervention and we become the very architects of the chaos we're trying to prevent."
"Carefully, then," Jaehaerys decided, his voice carrying the authority that had made him one of the most successful kings in Westerosi history. "With full understanding that some actions which appear cruel or manipulative in isolation may prove merciful when measured against the alternatives we're trying to avoid."
Alysanne moved around to face him directly, her expression carrying the sort of grim determination that had sustained her through decades of impossible choices. "The boy spoke of assassination, husband. Of ensuring that certain people don't survive to start the conflicts that will tear our house apart. Are we prepared to discuss such measures? Because I find myself surprisingly... open to the possibility."
The admission hung in the air between them like a physical presence. Jaehaerys studied his wife's face—the woman who had been his moral compass for half a century, who had consistently argued for mercy over justice, compassion over expedience. If she was contemplating murder as a policy option, the situation was even more desperate than he'd realized.
"If necessary," he replied without hesitation, surprising himself with how easily the words came. "I have no stomach for unnecessary violence, but I've never been squeamish about necessary cruelty when the survival of our house—and the realm—hangs in the balance. The question is whether such extreme measures are truly required, or whether we might achieve our goals through more... traditional means."
"Traditional means require time we may not have," Alysanne pointed out with characteristic practicality. "According to the boy's visions, you and I will be gone within the year—possibly sooner if the maesters' concerns about our health prove accurate. That leaves us perhaps ten months, maybe less, to reshape the fundamental political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms."
She began pacing again, her mind clearly racing through possibilities and implications. "Ten months to prevent a civil war that apparently destroys most of our dragons, kills half our family, and leaves the realm defenseless against supernatural invasion. When stated that way, even assassination begins to sound like measured restraint."
"Then we must prioritize ruthlessly," Jaehaerys said, his strategic mind already beginning to organize the overwhelming challenges they faced into manageable components. "What are the essential elements we must address to prevent this 'Dance of Dragons' that young Jaehaerys described? What are the absolute minimum changes required to alter the future he showed us?"
Alysanne stopped pacing and fixed him with the sort of intense focus that had made her legendary among the realm's political players. "First and most obviously, the succession itself. If Viserys produces no legitimate male heirs, if Rhaenyra remains his only child, then there's no basis for the conflict between her and hypothetical half-brothers that apparently tears the realm apart."
"Straightforward in concept, problematic in execution," Jaehaerys replied with a frown that deepened the lines around his eyes. "We can hardly order Viserys not to remarry after Aemma's death—such a command would be both impossibly cruel and practically unenforceable. A king needs a queen, both for personal comfort and political stability. And if he remarries, the natural possibility of male heirs follows."
"Unless," Alysanne said slowly, her eyes lighting with the sort of dangerous intelligence that had made her simultaneously beloved and feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms, "his second wife is someone chosen specifically for her inability to provide strong male heirs. Or someone whose loyalty to Rhaenyra's interests would be absolute, regardless of any children she might bear."
"You're thinking of someone other than Alicent Hightower," Jaehaerys observed, leaning forward with renewed interest.
"I'm thinking of several possibilities, actually," she replied, resuming her seat with the fluid grace of a hunting cat. "But they all require us to navigate around a rather significant obstacle. We can hardly arrange Aemma's death just to control Viserys' choice of a second wife—that would make us the sort of monsters we've spent fifty years trying not to become."
She paused, her expression growing troubled as she confronted the moral implications of what they were discussing. "Though if the boy's visions are accurate, that death is coming whether we intervene or not. The question becomes whether we allow it to happen naturally and then react to the aftermath, or whether we... expedite matters to ensure better control over the consequences."
The suggestion settled between them like a lead weight, heavy with implications that neither monarch was comfortable contemplating. To actively contribute to the death of their beloved daughter-by-marriage, even if that death was supposedly inevitable, would cross lines that had remained inviolate throughout their long reign.
"That path leads directly to madness," Jaehaerys said finally, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "If we begin orchestrating the deaths of innocent people based on prophetic visions—however accurate they might be—where does it end? Do we kill every potential threat, every ambitious lord who might someday challenge our chosen heir? Do we become the very sort of tyrants we've spent fifty years proving we're not?"
"Perhaps we do," Alysanne replied quietly, her tone carrying none of its usual strength. "But if the alternative is watching our house destroy itself, seeing all our dragons die, leaving the realm defenseless against supernatural threats that could end human civilization... perhaps a little tyranny is an acceptable price for preventing the apocalypse."
"Or perhaps," the King countered with renewed energy, "there are other solutions that don't require us to become everything we've opposed. The boy mentioned specific elements that contribute to the future conflict—Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor Velaryon, her... unconventional arrangements for producing heirs, Otto Hightower's political maneuvering. What if we address those elements directly, reshape the political landscape to prevent the conditions that lead to civil war?"
Alysanne's expression shifted, calculation replacing moral uncertainty as she began to see alternative paths forward. "Rhaenyra's marriage... yes, according to the boy's visions, she's pressured into wedding Laenor despite his obvious... preference for male companionship. A marriage that produces no legitimate heirs, forcing her to seek other arrangements for children who can be presented as Velaryon offspring."
"A political marriage doomed from the start," Jaehaerys agreed grimly. "And one that creates exactly the sort of succession questions that ambitious men like Otto Hightower can exploit to devastating effect. But what alternative do we offer? The Velaryon alliance is politically essential—Corlys' fleet and wealth are far too valuable to alienate without excellent reason."
Alysanne's eyes suddenly brightened with the sort of inspiration that had produced some of their most successful policies over the years. "What if we offer Corlys something better than a marriage alliance? What if we give him something that makes him absolutely indispensable to our house's survival?"
"I'm listening," Jaehaerys said, recognizing the tone that preceded his wife's most brilliant political innovations.
"The boy spoke extensively of his own future—his bond with Vermithor, his apparent destiny as a great dragonrider, his supernatural knowledge of threats facing the realm." She was speaking faster now, her excitement building as the possibilities became clear. "What if we betroth him to Rhaenyra? A marriage that would unite Targaryen and Royce, dragon and bronze, while ensuring that her children have absolutely unquestionable legitimacy?"
Jaehaerys felt his breath catch as he considered the implications. "The age difference is negligible—barely a year between them. Certainly not unprecedented, and it would solve several problems simultaneously. Young Jaehaerys would bring all of Daemon's military prowess and the Vale's resources to support Rhaenyra's eventual rule, while his apparent supernatural knowledge and dragon bond would make him an invaluable counselor and protector."
"More than that," Alysanne continued with growing excitement, "it would completely eliminate Otto's ability to drive a wedge between Viserys and Daemon. Rather than being potential rivals for influence and succession, they would become family allies united in support of the same heir. Otto's entire strategy of divide and conquer would be neutralized before he could implement it."
"Brilliant in concept," the King acknowledged, "but it still leaves the Velaryon question fundamentally unresolved. Corlys will expect significant marriage ties to the royal family in exchange for his continued support. If not Rhaenyra to Laenor, then what do we offer him?"
"Laena," Alysanne replied immediately, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "But not as a consolation prize or secondary alliance. As part of a much more... comprehensive arrangement."
Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. "Comprehensive in what sense?"
His wife's smile carried the sort of dangerous charm that had made her legendary among the realm's political players. "If we're breaking with tradition to solve these problems, why not embrace the precedent completely? Young Jaehaerys wed to both Rhaenyra and Laena, binding both the Iron Throne and Driftmark to his line, ensuring that future succession questions are resolved before they can even arise."
The King felt as if the breath had been knocked from his lungs. "Polygamy," he said faintly. "You're proposing to revive a practice that's been dead for over a century. A practice that provoked the Faith into armed rebellion during Maegor's reign, that nearly tore the realm apart before we convinced our ancestors to abandon it entirely."
"I'm proposing to prevent a civil war that would kill most of our dragons and leave the realm defenseless against supernatural invasion," Alysanne corrected with steel in her voice. "The Faith may object initially, but the Faith can be managed—particularly if we begin now to establish clearer separation between matters of state and matters of religious doctrine."
She was fully animated now, pacing again as she developed the concept with characteristic thoroughness. "Besides, the current High Septon is fundamentally a practical man who understands political necessity when it's properly explained to him. If we present the marriages as essential for realm stability, backed by sufficient incentives and carefully managed public relations, I believe we can secure his acquiescence if not his enthusiastic blessing."
"And the maesters?" Jaehaerys asked, though his tone suggested he was beginning to see the potential in her proposal. "The Citadel has considerable influence over public opinion. Grandmaester Runciter is a good man, but he's old and likely to pass soon. His successor could prove... problematic, particularly if Otto's influence extends as far as the boy's visions suggest."
"Then we ensure that his successor is someone we choose rather than someone Otto chooses," Alysanne replied with the sort of simple directness that often characterized the most effective solutions. "We still have months to identify suitable candidates, arrange for their advancement within the Citadel hierarchy, and position them to assume the role when Runciter inevitably passes."
She paused in her pacing, turning to face him directly with an expression that mixed excitement and calculation in equal measure. "Though that does raise the broader question of Otto himself. The boy's visions suggest that he's the primary architect of our house's future destruction, the man whose ambitions and manipulations create the very conditions for civil war. Yet he's also an undeniably capable Hand, a skilled administrator whose sudden removal would create significant problems."
"Sometimes it's better to keep your enemies close enough to watch," Jaehaerys observed thoughtfully. "Otto serves our purposes well enough as long as his ambitions are properly channeled and his influence is balanced by other voices on the small council. The challenge is ensuring that balance persists after our deaths, when Viserys becomes king and potentially more susceptible to focused manipulation."
"Which brings us directly back to small council composition," Alysanne noted with satisfaction. "If we can establish Daemon and Princess Rhaenys in positions where they can effectively check Otto's influence, provide alternative counsel to Viserys, and prevent the sort of political isolation that apparently makes him vulnerable to manipulation..."
"Master of Ships for Daemon," Jaehaerys said immediately, his strategic mind already working through the implications. "His dragon gives him unparalleled strategic mobility for naval operations, the position carries enough prestige to maintain his status within the family hierarchy, and it keeps him productively engaged in governance rather than seeking external adventures that could prove... destabilizing."
"And Master of Laws for Princess Rhaenys," Alysanne added with growing enthusiasm. "Her legal training and political acumen would make her invaluable in that role, and it would bind the Velaryon interests directly to the crown's decision-making process rather than leaving them as potential opposition."
"Those appointments would certainly balance Otto's influence effectively," the King agreed. "But they also create their own set of challenges. Daemon has never shown much patience for administrative duties, and Rhaenys might view such a position as consolation for being passed over in the succession."
"Then we make it abundantly clear that these are not consolation prizes but essential positions for the realm's future security," Alysanne replied firmly. "We explain—to the extent that we safely can without revealing our source—that these appointments are part of a larger strategy to prevent future conflicts and ensure stable governance for generations to come. We emphasize duty to the realm over personal ambition or wounded pride."
Jaehaerys was quiet for several long moments, his weathered hands once again steepled before him as he contemplated the sheer magnitude of what they were discussing. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft crackling of dying embers and the distant sounds of the Red Keep settling around them.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a man who had spent fifty years making impossible decisions with incomplete information and living with the consequences. "What you're proposing amounts to a complete restructuring of the realm's political foundations based entirely on the prophetic visions of a four-year-old boy—however remarkable that boy might prove to be."
He rose from his chair slowly, moving to stand before the great tapestry that depicted Aegon the Conqueror's landing at Blackwater Bay. "Polygamous marriages that haven't been seen for over half a century. Modified succession laws that challenge fundamental assumptions about royal legitimacy. Preemptive political appointments designed to prevent conflicts that haven't yet occurred. Any one of these changes would be controversial enough to provoke significant opposition; implementing all of them simultaneously..."
"Would be the sort of bold action that either prevents a catastrophe or creates an entirely new one," Alysanne finished for him, joining him before the tapestry. "But consider the alternative, husband. Doing nothing, allowing events to unfold exactly as the boy's visions suggest they will, guarantees the catastrophe we're trying to prevent. At least this way, we're taking action rather than simply reacting to disasters as they occur."
"And if we're wrong?" the King asked quietly, his eyes tracing the familiar lines of the ancient weaving. "If the boy's visions prove to be nothing more than fevered dreams or childish fantasy or some elaborate deception we don't understand? If we reshape the realm's entire political structure to prevent a war that was never going to happen in the first place?"
"Then we've strengthened our house, secured the succession more thoroughly than any Targaryen king in history, and created a more stable political structure for our heirs to inherit," Alysanne replied without the slightest hesitation. "None of the changes we're contemplating would be actively harmful if the visions prove false. They would simply be... unnecessary insurance against problems that never materialized."
She turned to face him directly, her violet eyes blazing with conviction. "Whereas if we do nothing and the visions prove accurate, we condemn our descendants to civil war, watch helplessly as our dragons are destroyed, and leave the realm defenseless against supernatural forces that apparently represent the end of human civilization itself."
"When you put it that way," Jaehaerys said with a rueful smile, "the choice becomes remarkably clear, doesn't it? The risk of dramatic action, however unprecedented, pales in comparison to the certainty of catastrophic inaction."
"Exactly." The Queen's voice carried absolute conviction, the sort of moral certainty that had sustained her through five decades of complex political calculations. "We must choose to gamble on hope rather than surrender to despair. We must act as if the future can be changed, because the alternative—accepting that our house is doomed to self-destruction—is simply unacceptable."
The King closed his eyes, feeling every one of his seventy-plus years as he contemplated decisions that would reshape the Seven Kingdoms for generations to come. The weight of kingship had never felt heavier than it did in this moment, when the choices he made in the next few months would determine whether his legacy was peace or war, prosperity or devastation.
When he opened his eyes again, his violet gaze held the steely determination that had made him one of the greatest rulers in Westerosi history. "Very well," he said with quiet finality that seemed to echo through the chamber. "We act. But carefully, strategically, with full understanding that every choice we make creates new consequences we cannot possibly foresee."
He paused, meeting his wife's eyes with something that might have been gratitude mixed with exhaustion and grim humor. "We have perhaps ten months to reshape a kingdom that took us fifty years to build. It will require all our remaining skill, all our accumulated political capital, considerable luck, and probably a few minor miracles."
"We've had reasonably good luck so far," Alysanne observed with a slight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes but carried genuine warmth nonetheless. "Fifty years of peace, prosperity, and gradual progress toward a more stable realm. Perhaps it's time to spend some of that accumulated good fortune on ensuring our legacy survives what's apparently coming."
"Then we begin tomorrow," Jaehaerys decided with the sort of decisive authority that had ended more arguments than anyone could count. "First priority is the betrothal arrangements—both marriages must be negotiated, formalized, and publicly announced before opposition can organize or alternative proposals can gain momentum."
"Second priority," Alysanne continued seamlessly, "is the small council appointments, presented as routine administrative decisions reflecting natural evolution of governance rather than dramatic political restructuring designed to prevent civil war."
"Third is the beginning of the delicate process of separating crown and faith authority," the King added, "presented as natural development of institutional maturity rather than revolutionary challenge to religious influence over state policy."
"And Otto?" Alysanne asked with deceptive casualness.
"We keep him close, as we discussed," Jaehaerys replied thoughtfully. "His ambitions may be dangerous in the long term, but his capabilities are undeniably valuable in the short term. Better to have him working within our system where we can monitor and influence his actions than operating independently where he might cause considerably greater harm."
The Queen nodded approvingly, then moved to begin extinguishing the remaining candles that provided flickering illumination to the chamber. As darkness gradually settled over the solar, broken only by the dying embers in the great fireplace, she spoke once more into the gathering quiet.
"Do you think we'll live to see how this ends, husband? Whether our grand gamble succeeds in preventing disaster or simply creates new forms of chaos we haven't anticipated?"
Jaehaerys considered the question with the careful honesty that had characterized their private conversations for fifty years. "I rather hope not," he replied finally. "The boy spoke of terrible choices ahead, of prices that must be paid for victory against supernatural threats. If we're fortunate, we'll pass peacefully in our sleep long before those choices become necessary, leaving the hardest decisions to younger hearts and stronger hands."
"But we'll have given them the tools they need," Alysanne said with quiet satisfaction, snuffing the last candle and plunging the chamber into near-darkness. "The marriages, the alliances, the political structures that might—just might—allow them to avoid the worst of what was prophesied."
"And if our preparations prove insufficient?" he asked softly.
"Then at least we tried," she replied with simple dignity that somehow managed to fill the darkened room. "At least we used what time and power we had left to fight for our family's survival and the realm's future. Whatever comes after, no one will be able to say that we surrendered without giving battle."
Outside the solar windows, dawn was still hours away, but somewhere in the ancient depths of the Red Keep, dragons stirred in their caves. They could sense change on the wind, feel the tremors of decisions that would reshape the world they had known for over a century.
The Dance was indeed coming, though perhaps not in the form that fate had originally decreed. The game of thrones was about to become something far more complex and dangerous—a careful manipulation of marriage, politics, and prophecy designed to prevent the very future that had been so terrifyingly foreseen.
Whether their desperate gamble would succeed or simply create new disasters remained to be seen. But for the first time in years, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne felt something approaching hope—the sense that they still possessed agency, still retained power to shape what was to come rather than simply endure whatever fate had supposedly decreed.
The future had never been more uncertain, but it had also never been more malleable to those with the courage, wisdom, and ruthless determination to act decisively when action mattered most. The die, as they say, had been cast.
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