King's Landing
Rhaegar
The raven from Winterfell had arrived before dawn.
By midday, the words still burned in Rhaegar Targaryen's thoughts.
A High Silver Gate has formed in the North.
He stood at the tall windows of the Red Keep, silver hair stirring in the sea breeze. Below, King's Landing moved as it always did — merchants shouting, ships docking, banners snapping.
But his gaze was distant.
A High Silver Gate required at least three High Silver warriors to close safely. Two could contain it. One could die trying.
And the North did not have three.
"We have already sent two," Rhaegar murmured to himself. "Supplies, men, coin…"
Still not enough.
If the Gate destabilized further, it could evolve.
The last High Silver Gate had appeared a century ago.
A hundred years.
And now one rose in the North.
The door burst open without ceremony.
Only one man in the realm dared such a thing.
Arthur Dayne strode in, grinning like a victorious knight fresh from tourney.
"Congratulations, Your Grace."
Rhaegar turned slowly. "For what? The opening of too many Gates?"
Arthur laughed. "No, Your Grace. Something far better."
Rhaegar's eyes sharpened.
"Your sons."
Silence.
"They have broken through."
Rhaegar stepped forward. "Say it clearly."
"Aegon has reached Mid Silver."
A breath caught in Rhaegar's chest.
"And Aemon," Arthur continued, grin widening, "has broken into High Silver."
For a heartbeat, the king did not move.
Then his eyes widened.
"Is this truth?"
Arthur nodded. "Not an hour past."
Rhaegar rose from his chair so quickly it scraped harshly against stone. He crossed the room in three strides and embraced Arthur like a brother.
"Thank you," he said, voice low but fierce. "For training them. For guiding them."
Arthur smiled. "They earned it themselves."
Rhaegar pulled back, laughter escaping him — rare and unguarded.
"If not for this Gate," he said, "I would declare a tourney and celebrate across the realm."
Arthur tilted his head. "What Gate?"
Rhaegar's expression sobered.
"Lord Stark writes that a High Silver Gate has opened in the North."
Arthur's grin faded.
"The last one was…?"
"A hundred years ago."
Arthur exhaled slowly. "And they lack three High Silver warriors."
"We have sent two," Rhaegar said. "And supplies."
Arthur folded his arms. "Who are the two?"
Rhaegar was silent for a moment.
"I considered sending you."
Arthur's eyebrow lifted.
"But now," the king continued, "I believe I will send Aemon."
Arthur's grin returned immediately.
"With his sworn shield?"
"Ser Barristan Selmy."
Arthur nodded approvingly. "Good. No one in the Red Keep besides you, me, and Barristan can keep pace with him now. The boy is a terror with a blade."
Rhaegar laughed softly.
"He is too much like his mother."
And in his mind, he saw her again.
Lyanna, pale from childbirth, fierce even in weakness.
Promise me you will take care of him.
"I have kept my promise," Rhaegar murmured under his breath.
Arthur watched him quietly.
"If he hears this news," Arthur said lightly, "no one will stop him from packing his things and riding north immediately."
Rhaegar's smile deepened. "No. No one will."
Arthur chuckled. "Better he goes with Barristan. The old knight will keep him out of danger."
Rhaegar's eyes glinted.
"As if Aemon requires danger to find him."
They both laughed.
Then Rhaegar's expression hardened once more.
"Still. A High Silver Gate is no minor matter. Even for him."
Arthur's voice turned steady. "He will close it."
"Yes," Rhaegar said. "He will."
The king moved toward the door.
"Come. We will congratulate them properly."
"And after?"
"The small council meets within the hour."
Arthur smirked. "That will be less pleasant."
"Always," Rhaegar replied.
As they left the solar, the bells of King's Landing rang faintly in the distance.
A High Silver Gate in the North.
A son risen to High Silver.
The balance of the realm was shifting.
And somewhere far away, in the frozen lands of Winterfell—
Fate was waiting.
RHEAGER:
The training yard of the Red Keep was louder than a tourney.
Knights, lords, captains — even squires — had gathered in a loose ring around two young princes.
Steel still hummed faintly in the air.
At the center stood Aegon Targaryen and — and his brother Prince Aemon Targaryen.
Aegon stood proud, controlled, his aura steady — Mid Silver, stable and refined.
Beside him, Aemon was different.
Sharper.
The air around him still trembled faintly with the residue of breakthrough. High Silver. Not polished — but powerful.
The surrounding knights stepped aside as Rhaegar Targaryen entered with Arthur Dayne at his side.
The yard fell silent.
Both princes turned at once.
"Father," they said in perfect unison.
Rhaegar's expression softened — a rare sight.
He stepped forward, placing a hand first on Aegon's shoulder.
"Mid Silver before your twentieth year," he said quietly. "You honor your house."
Then he turned to Aemon.
High Silver.
The king studied him for a long moment.
"I am proud of you," Rhaegar said simply.
No grand speech. No courtly flourish.
And somehow it carried more weight than a proclamation.
Aemon's eyes flickered — fierce, but deeply pleased.
"You trained well," Arthur added lightly. "Try not to destroy the yard next time."
A few knights chuckled nervously.
Rhaegar straightened.
"You will both attend the Small Council."
The brothers exchanged a brief glance — silent understanding passing between them.
"Yes, Father," they answered together.
The Small Council Chamber
The doors opened.
Every man at the long table rose as the king entered.
At his left sat his Hand — and oldest friend — Jon Connington.
Beside him, Kevan Lannister, Master of Coin, precise and composed.
Next, stern and unyielding, Randyll Tarly, Master of Laws — a position granted after he broke Robert's host during the rebellion.
On the king's right sat Pycelle, Grand Maester of the realm.
Beside him, broad-shouldered and calm, Paxter Redwyne, Master of Ships — his fleet the largest in Westeros, his loyalty proven in war.
Further down, soft-footed and smiling faintly, Varys, Master of Whisperers.
And standing at the king's back — Lord Commander of the Kingsguard — Arthur Dayne, who had taken the white cloak's leadership after the passing of Gerold Hightower.
The princes entered behind their father.
Every lord in the chamber felt it.
High Silver.
Young.
Dangerous.
Rhaegar took his seat.
"Be seated."
They obeyed.
The king's gaze swept the table slowly.
"We will begin," he said calmly, "now that my sons are present."
A subtle shift rippled through the chamber.
Jon Connington's expression remained firm — but proud.
Kevan Lannister's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Randyll Tarly watched Aemon with open military assessment.
Pycelle blinked, calculating.
Varys smiled.
Only Arthur remained relaxed.
Rhaegar folded his hands.
"A High Silver Gate has opened in the North."
Silence fell instantly.
"Lord Stark reports it requires three High Silver warriors to close safely."
Kevan spoke first. "The North does not possess that number your grace."
"No," Rhaegar agreed. "They do not."
Aemon did not move — but the air near him seemed to tighten.
Jon Connington leaned forward. "You intend to send reinforcements your grace."
"Yes."
Randyll Tarly's voice was blunt. "From where your grace ?"
Rhaegar's eyes flicked briefly to his younger son.
"Prince Aemon will go north."
The words landed like a blade dropped on stone.
Several lords exchanged glances.
Kevan Lannister's expression sharpened.
"The heir's brother," he said carefully. "To a High Silver Gate is it wise your grace."
"With Ser Barristan Selmy as his sworn shield," Rhaegar replied evenly.
Arthur gave the faintest approving nod.
Randyll Tarly studied Aemon openly now.
"You are certain he is ready my king?"
Before the king could answer, Aemon spoke.
"Yes."
Not arrogant.
Not loud.
Certain.
Rhaegar did not look at him — but pride flickered in his eyes.
"The North has stood alone long enough," the king said. "The dragon does not ignore its realm."
Varys's soft voice drifted across the table.
"The North will remember such a gesture your grace ."
"Yes," Rhaegar said quietly.
"That is the point."
Silence stretched.
Then Rhaegar leaned back slightly.
"Prepare the orders. Supplies will accompany them. Two additional Silver captains will reinforce Lord Stark's forces."
He looked at Aemon fully now.
"You depart within two days."
Aemon's lips curved slightly.
"If I waited longer, Father, no one could stop me from leaving tonight."
A few councilors allowed themselves faint smiles.
Rhaegar exhaled — almost amused.
"Then let us not test that."
Outside the chamber windows, the bells of King's Landing rang faintly.
A High Silver Gate in the North.
A prince riding to meet it.
And in the silent exchanges between the lords of the realm—
Politics had already begun to move.