Title: Unstoppable
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: GoT/ASOIAF
Genre: Fix-it, Time travel
Relationships: future-Tywin Lannister/Rhaella Targaryen
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Canon-level Violence, Discussion-murder, Discussion—pregnancy loss, Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Discussion—canon incest, Discussion—canon slavery
Author Notes: See A/N Tab on Story Page.
Beta: NinjaPaws
Word Count: 52,219
Summary: When Tywin Lannister is killed by the dragonspawn that carries his name, the Old Gods send him back in time to save his sister from House Frey. Tywin does it and all of Westeros heard him roar.

 

 

Chapter Five

“I will be officially naming you my heir when we arrive at Casterly Rock,” Aegon informed his youngest child, Rhaelle.

“May I ask why?” Rhaelle frowned. “I have two older brothers and an older sister.”

“Your brothers have both put their personal preferences before duty, proving themselves too shortsighted to sit the Iron Throne.” It hurt to say such a thing about Duncan. He truly loved his firstborn the most, but the truth was the truth and there was no denying it.

“And Shaera?” Rhaelle asked.

“More ambition than sense,” he admitted. “And selfish, the same as your brothers.”

Rhaelle nodded her acceptance.

“I am trusting you to support our ruling queen.” He stared his good-son, Ormund Baratheon, down.

Lord Baratheon nodded, taking Rhaelle’s hand. “I assume whichever of our children sits the Iron Throne will do so under the Targaryen name?”

“Of course,” Aegon agreed. He was glad Baratheon saw sense rather than seeking to serve his own pride. “How go your efforts in that area?”

Rhaelle added her second hand to the pile of hands her husband had made on the table between them. “We believe we have been successful but we will continue working toward our goal until we are certain. I have heard whispers that Casterly Rock’s new maester, Maester Luwin, specialized in pregnancy and healing women. We may have to steal him for House Targaryen.”

Aegon huffed in amusement. “I am reluctant to steal anything from young Lord Tywin,” he admitted. “He has proven canny and resourceful despite his age. I will be betrothing our Rhaella to him.”

“Shaera will not like that,” Rhaelle warned. “She is determined to wed Aerys and Rhaella. I have spoken to her against it. Aerys tortures Rhaella every moment they are alone. Jaehaerys and Shaera refuse to do anything about it.”

“Another reason to keep them off the Iron Throne,” Aegon said darkly. “If they will not protect their own daughter from their own son,” he shook his head.

“You should squire the boy,” Lord Baratheon said. “To someone honorable but unyielding. A Royce, mayhaps. Or a Mormont.”

“Only if he gives them a writ allowing them to beat the snot when called for,” Rhaelle said darkly.

“Is he truly so bad?” Aegon asked. He knew there had been an incident with one of the kitchen cats, but he had heard no other complaints. Not even from the boy’s sister.

“Oh, I’m sure he is worse,” Rhaelle frowned but did not speak again as the door to the Inn opened.

Shaera swanned into the dining room as if she were already queen, her family followed in her wake. “Father,” she greeted him with an arrogant kiss to the cheek.

“Aevan! Aevan!” Little Rhaella bounced into his arms.

He took up his granddaughter with a grin. “What has you so excited, my littlest dragonet?”

“Dragon dreams, aevan!” She announced with a whole-body smile. “I am having dragon dreams!”

“All Targaryens have dragon dreams, sweetling,” Shaera said. “They are nothing to bother your grandfather with.” She reached out as though she thought to take her daughter from him.

He frowned at his daughter and turned the girl away from her mother, silently making it clear thatshe was not welcome to take her child from him. Shaera reluctantly backed off. As if she did not trust her father with her child.

“Are these special dragon dreams?” he asked Rhaella as he sat back down, holding the child. “When did they start?”

“Our first night in this place!” Rhaella gushed. “I never want to leave.”

That was unfortunate as it was their fourth night in Lannisport and they were, in fact, leaving in the morning. But it was also good because it meant she had started dreaming about dragons immediately after he put the eggs in the fires.

“Tell me about your dreams,” he urged the girl in his arms.

“They were scary first,” she said solemnly and he nodded. That was not a surprise, the girl was six. “But then I was flying with big wings! And then I was riding a dragon! Protecting everybody!”

“What color was your dragon?” he asked because in normal dragon dreams it was impossible to articulate the what the dragon looked like but, if an unhatched dragon had chosen Rhaella, his book had assured him that she would know its colors.

“Bronze!” she chirped. “With gold between the wing fingers!”

Aegon was entirely disappointed for a heartbeat before he crushed it. He had known his egg would hatch. He had not known it would not hatch for him.

He looked up to see Jaehaerys watching his daughter speculatively.

“I have never remembered the color of my dragon after the dreams,” Jaehaerys offered when he pressed his son with a silent, demanding eyebrow.

Aegon tipped his head in acknowledgment but did not bring more attention to the point by responding. “Have any of the rest of you been having dragon dreams?”

“Nothing unusual, father,” Shaera asserted again.

None of his children or grandchildren argued with her. When had Shaera come to dominate his family so strongly? And more importantly, what could he do about it? He did not trust his oldest daughter anywhere near the Iron Throne. If he was going to trust any of the rest of them with it, Shaera’s influence would have to be quashed.

“Do not roll your eyes at me, Rhaelle,” Shaera snapped.

“You are overbearing to the point of ridiculous,” Rhaelle told her sister.

“I will be queen,” Shaera asserted and his stomach lurched. “Such disrespect from you is uncouth and uncalled for. I will not have you corrupting my children with your—”

“Speaking of children,” Aegon interrupted.

Shaera closed her mouth and sat back in her seat with a glare at her little sister.

“When will you be providing me with more grandchildren?” He asked Shaera directly. For a brief moment, she looked entirely horrified by the idea. “House Targaryen must marry into the families of our Lords Paramount to secure our hold on the Iron Throne. To do that, I need more grandchildren.”

“My children will marry each other,” Shaera said.

“No, they will not,” he disagreed.

“It is the tradition of our House!” she objected.

“No, it is not,” he disagreed. Again. “When we had dragons to secure our place on the Iron Throne, certainly, but the last dragon died a hundred years ago. Should we grow complacent, we will be easily replaced on the Iron Throne. We must secure our place in another way.

“Rhaella will marry one of my future Wardens,” he declared, holding his daughter’s gaze unflinchingly. “Aerys will squire with one of my lords and marry a daughter from a different region than his sister.

“My exact choices will be made after I review my options at Casterly Rock.”

“But—”

“I expect more daughters out of you to further bind the Realm to us.”

“Daughters?” Shaera said weakly.

“Wardens are the most powerful men in Westeros after the King and Hand. And there are four of them. I have only one granddaughter. House Targaryen requires at least three more daughters to bind them all.”

Shaera swallowed audibly. “And if I cannot have more children?”

“Then I will end your marriage and wed your brother to another,” he said simply. “I understand his original betrothed, Lady Celia is still unwed.”

Shaera looked away but he did not make the mistake of assuming she was cowed.

“Did any maester tell you that you cannot have more children and you kept it from me?” he asked. If she had, both she and the maester would have to be punished.

“No, father, of course not.” She did not make eye contact with him. He did not believe her.

He did resolve to have Lady Waters quietly investigate Motherhouses of Westeros for him. There were as many as seven in every kingdom other than the North. Certainly, one of them would be able to hold Sheara in silent contemplation for the rest of her natural life if she proved herself to be an obstacle to securing the best future of House Targaryen.

His sister Daella joined them from deeper within the Inn at that point. “Has Lord Whent relayed anything interesting from Casterly Rock, brother?”

Their good-brother Lord Nithan of House Whent had gone ahead of them with the other Riverlords and was sending them ravens two to three times a day about what his fellow lords from all across Westeros were saying and doing.

“Lord Tywin stole the Frey children, apparently,” Aegon told his sister, latching onto the new subject eagerly. “Reports are mixed. He either rescued them from inadequate care or sold them to their grandfathers for revenge against House Frey.”

Lord Baratheon snorted. “A Lannister would never sell people with the King so close at hand as you are, Your Grace. The opportunity for punishment would be too great.”

“I would believe the children were rescued before I would believe a Lannister would so blatantly invite the King’s Justice to take his head,” Rhaelle agreed. “House Frey is not the most caring House when it comes to their children. Probably because they have so many of them and assume there will always be more.”

“Agreed.” Aegon sat back as the servants of House Targaryen began bringing forth dishes from the Inn’s kitchens. “We will find out either way on the morrow.”

“Rhaella.” Shaera gestured for her child to sit beside her.

The girl was young enough to require assistance with her meal but she settled herself more firmly in his lap. Since that was where he wanted his one descendant to hear the call of the eggs, he wrapped an arm around her to keep her where she was.

Shaera pursed her lips furiously but said nothing. He would have to keep his granddaughter close to ensure Shaera did not do anything to ruin the girl.

He caught young Aerys’s black glare at his sister and gave Rhaelle’s report of abuse more credence.

It made betrothing the girl to Tywin Lannister even more important, in his mind. Young Tywin, he was sure, was canny enough to cast the blame far from himself if he was forced to end young Aerys in defense of Rhaella. Aegon would have to gently make his preference on the matter of his granddaughter’s defense clear to the Lion of Lannister.

If he was right about Rhaella, Lord Tywin would be her Prince Consort. Aegon found that fact pleased him. Even if the children were too young yet to bring young Tywin into House Targaryen fully, the boy would be a solid addition to the regency when the time came.

“Reports on several minor lords from the North and Vale are very good,” he offered. “Aerys will be squiring with either House Royce of the Vale or House Mormont of the North.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Shaera flush scarlet with fury but she said nothing so he tried not to hold it against her.

Daella hummed. “Like most Northern Houses, House Mormont does not hold with the Andal traditions of knighthood though they do teach all of the skills knights require. They are just as likely to follow a lady as a lord, which I see as a bonus.

“House Royce does follow the traditions of knighthood and they have had ruling ladies, but I would not sat they do so as readily as House Mormont does.”

“Bear Island is not the place for a Prince of the Blood,” Shaera interjected. “It is an island. And poor.”

“Both of those points are what make it so appealing,” he disagreed.

His daughter looked like she had swallowed a slug. It was his favorite look he had seen on her face since she manipulated and married her brother.

“Until I have spoken with Lord Mormont, young Aerys will remain in Lord Jorvan’s care,” he informed the table. A glance at his good-brother netted him a nod of agreement. He then focused on the boy in question. “Your parents have a duty that must take their focus. You will stay with and obey your great aunt and uncle until I directly tell you otherwise.”

The boy, to his credit, did not look to his mother for help. “As you will, Your Grace.”

“Did you have a chance to speak with our Martell cousins?” Aegon asked his sister.

“I did not. I sent Mordred to Casterly Rock with your letter instead.” Daella held out her hand and her youngest son put a sealed scroll in it. Daella handed him the scroll. “This is their reply.”

“My thanks.”

“Glady, Your Grace.”

-*-

Tywin had never been more grateful for Tybolt than he was when it came time to organize the receiving line for the King.

If the King had been coming to visit House Lannister, Tywin would have had to organize only his family which was easily done, but the king had specified that all Lords Paramount had to attend him at Casterly Rock. That gave every Lord Paramount a place in the receiving line. A line that included four Wardens, three princes, and two princesses.

And then there were the Lords Vassal that had thought to participate.

Tybolt and his mate, Arya Stark, had earned their weight in wild game by running the Lords Vassal back into the Rock itself.

They had also roared every time someone thought to shout Tywin down—something that was only attempted twice because lions roaring in the Sea Caverns beneath the Rock were a special kind of auditory torture.

Receiving lines in the West were sorted by rank, placing the non-warden Lords Paramount the furthest down the line. Lord Greyjoy, whom all of the “greenlander” lords agreed was the least of them based on ruling the smallest number of people and keeps was the very first person in line, standing practically on the docks of the Sea Cavern. Not that Lord Greyjoy seemed to care since it put him in place to speak with King Aegon first.

Lord Tully did not argue with being second.

Dorne argued vehemently against being third as they were cousins to the king and prince(sses) but they were, specifically, third cousins and Tywin was not impressed.

House Baratheon would be arriving with the king, so Tywin did not have to worry about them.

Lord Luthor Tyrell was not as difficult and stupid as his son, Lord Mace, had been, but he was still fourth in line because of the compromise the Wardens had come to. House Tyrell looked as thrilled with their position as the Dornish did and Tywin had to wonder exactly how deep the hate between them went if it was still there between them seventy years after Dorne had joined the Seven Kingdoms.

Lord Jasper of the Vale of Arryn came next. Tywin wanted him and his pretentious son, Ser Jon, as far from him as possible but the Stark-proposed compromise was for them to follow the order of the compass with West going last.

Lord Edwyle the Frustratingly Reasonable stood by himself between House Arryn and House Lannister.

There was one exception to the line. Two, technically. Lady Arryn was Princess Daenora of House Targaryen. Her first husband had been Aerion Brightflame, King Aegon’s older brother, and she had given that older brother one son, Prince Maegor. Those two stood on the other side of Tywin from the rest of the receiving line because, as the King’s family, they outranked everyone that was not part of the Royal House.

Various sounds told Tywin when Uncle Jason’s personal ship arrived with the king and his party but no runner came to confirm it to him. The oversight was frustrating. He never would have had to tell someone in his household to confirm such vital information for him Before.

Tybolt tugged at his mind and Tywin allowed them to come together briefly. Through the lion’s eyes, Tywin watched King Aegon—who was, surprisingly, holding Princess Rhaella!—speaking to Lord Greyjoy. There was a wave of nods echoing back and forth between the Ironborn and King Aegon. The King then moved on to House Tully. Lord Tully and his children all went down to one knee. King Aegon gestured them to stand and—

Tywin pulled away from his bonded lion with thanks.

“Are you well, Lord Tywin?” Prince Maegor asked. The lad was so far removed in nature from both his namesake and his sire, it was ridiculous.

“Quite,” he confirmed. “Tybolt allowed me to verify whether the king was here.”

“Is he?” Princess Daenora asked.

“He is.” Tywin gave the woman a nod. “He seems to be taking a moment to speak with each lord he greets.”

“Meaning we will be here for a while,” Prince Maegor concluded darkly. He did not like being separated from his pregnant Royce wife and had no problem making that clear to everyone around him. Tywin had made sure to put extra guards on the poor woman just in case some fool got ideas about her pregnant vulnerability.

“It could be worse,” Princess Daenora offered philosophically.

“How?” her son demanded.

“He could be talking to every member of every Paramount House. Rather than just the Lords.”

Tywin nearly snorted at the furious fear that painted across the young dragon’s face.

A mental shove from Tybolt had him glancing over to see King Aegon stop at Lord Arryn.

King Aegon nodded to him personally but then did a doubletake. The King immediately skipped House Arryn, House Stark, and House Lannister. He even set down Princess Rhaella to gather Princess Daenora in his arms.

Tywin and the other skipped nobles took a knee, of course, but King Aegon took no notice. Princess Rhaella stood in front of him, watching him like he was the most interesting person she had ever seen.

“I like you,” Princess Rhaella declared. “I am Rhaella.”

“I am Tywin of House Lannister, Princess Rhaella,” he responded gravely.

“Good,” she decided, bafflingly enough.

He looked up at the adults to find them no longer hugging but speaking softly with their heads together and holding hands.

“Brother,” Princess Daenora said at a more normal tone. “May I introduce you to your nephew, Maegor?”

“I have not seen you since you were a babe in arms,” King Aegon told Prince Maegor as he pulled the lad close. “You look well.”

“I am, Your Grace.” At the king’s stern look, the young man ducked his head. “Uncle,” he corrected. “My wife is with child. Maester Luwin advised her against coming down to the Sea Cavern in her current state, even with the use of the wench cages.”

“Your wife?” the King asked.

“I wed Lady Rhaena of House Royce on my eighteenth nameday,” Maegor explained. “We have been dear friends since we were quite small. I would have no other but her.”

Tywin figured it was a good thing to give a lad named Maegor whatever he wanted within reason. They could ill afford history to repeat itself. With or without dragons.

King Aegon seemed to notice the number of nobles kneeling for him. “Rise, rise,” he ordered.

“Lord Lannister, it seems the debt between us keeps growing—”

Tywin had barely a moment to contemplate that before Tybolt sent him a warning and he was nearly trampled by his bonded lion’s mate.

When he recovered, Arya Stark was rubbing her face all over Princess Rhaella who was giggling joyfully over the attention. The three of them were the center of a circle of Kingsguard swords.

“Arya Stark!” he said in his best commanding tone. It was pitiful compared to what he could manage before. “Step away from the princess!”

The lioness snarled without removing herself from the child’s space.

“You must back away and approach at another time with preparation and permission.” The lioness did not respond. “You are surrounded by far too many swords. For the child’s sake, back away.”

Arya Stark huffed, licked the girl one more time, and backed away despite Rhaella’s vocal complaints on the matter. The lioness seemed to fade into the shadows of the cavern—a feat that should have been impossible at her size and yet somehow was not.

The Kingsguard was left uncertain of how to respond. Tywin was not impressed.

“Arya Stark?” the king asked, almost playfully but mostly exasperated. “Why would House Lannister name one of its Western Lions Arya Stark?”

He thought for half a heartbeat about confessing to trying no less than two hundred Western names before settling on the Stark name but he dismissed it quickly.

“She is named Arya Stark because she is as stubborn as any Northerner I have ever met.” The handful of Northern lords that had snuck back down to stand at the shadowed edges off the cavern roared their approval. “And twice as mean,” he concluded.

King Aegon laughed.

-*-

“Your Grace, Casterly Rock is yours.”

Aegon nodded. He knew he had disrupted things by jumping the line to see his good-sister, but he was still relieved to hear that key phrase from young Lord Tywin’s mouth.

“Very good,” he nodded to the youngling. “Let us retire.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

As he had never actually been inside Casterly Rock’s Sea Cavern, he allowed Lord Tywin to lead him to the wench cages Ser Jason had mentioned.

He did not miss the nod Lord Tywin have his uncle. Nor did he miss the way the older man obeyed his nephew’s unspoken command, immediately setting to break the attendant nobles down into groups suitable for using the cages. His royal party was big enough that they found themselves with only Lord Tywin in attendance once the doors closed behind them.

Aegon turned to his good-sister. “You have not written me in years. I forgot—” he had forgotten she had not died with his brother, if he was going to be honest about it.

He barely noticed when Lord Tywin sent him a queer look.

“King Maekar gave me permission to marry my uncle, Jasper Arryn. We have two children; Alys, seven-and-ten; and Ronnel, twelve.”

“Have you arranged young Ronnel’s squiring?”

“No, Your Grace. We nearly had it arranged with Lord Yonnel of House Corbray when your letter arrived. We decided that if you were arranging marriages, you would want to arrange squirings as well. Lord Corbray took our postponement of our arrangement with good grace.”

Aegon found the choice of House Corbray a curious one. House Corbray was old but poor. Their territory used to be primarily the Fingers before Lord Jasper’s father gave them to House Baelish. Now, their primary pride was their Valyrian steel sword, Lady Forlorn.

Mayhaps their lack of resources was the reason for the choice. House Arryn could augment House Corbray’s income to cover the care of Ronnel if they took the lad as a squire. Or, mayhaps, the boy’s nature was similar to young Aerys and Lord Jasper had chosen them for the same reason he had all-but chosen House Mormont for his grandson.

In all reality, it could be both. Aegon took a deep breath and released it slowly, willing his shoulders to relax.

“Young Lord Tywin has proven to be quite the matchmaker,” Daenora offered slyly.

Lord Tywin huffed like an old man. It was an amusing show of being put out. “Our King clearly wishes to bind the Kingdoms of Westeros together by marriage. As a Lord Paramount and Warden, it is my duty to aid my king in all his efforts.”

“Did you give someone else a book?” he wondered.

Daenora made a noise of understanding. “No, but Lord Stark suddenly had the book my Alys told her father she required before she would consider marriage. Somehow. Despite being so far from the North.”

Lord Tywin’s ears turned red. “I am certain that I know not what you mean.” His face was so stoic it could only be a lie.

“Of course,” Aegon agreed, allowing the boy to keep his dignity. “What other matches have you made?”

Lord Tywin took a deep breath. “Lord Greyjoy has been dancing with Lady Amanza of House Tyrell every night at dinner. So much so, I have been forced to hire two more troupes of musicians to support it.”

Aegon frowned at the little lord. “Do they teach their children to dance like we do in the Iron Islands?”

“He dances efficiently,” Lord Tywin said and Aegon had to wonder. “Lady Diandra of House Tyrell is quieter and steadier than her younger sister. She and Ser Jon of House Arryn are currently circling each other. No solid development in that direction.”

“I had thought to match my sister to Lord Hoster of House Tully to seal the breach between our Houses but she has no time for fools. Lord Hoster’s ardent support of the Faith in the face of evidence that the old gods are the true gods makes him a fool in her estimation. She has chosen Lord Luthor of House Tyrell for herself.”

“Evidence of the old gods?” he asked.

“My Tybolt and Arya Stark,” Tywin Lannister answered immediately. “They are blessings from the old gods upon myself and my House. None of the Seven have ever done such a thing. It has caused quite a stir among the lords of my generation. Lord Stark has been convinced to give us all lessons in the old ways. It is a religious revolution unlike Westeros has seen in documented history.”

The Faith was going to be furious. “Fascinating. I will have to request my own lessons from Lord Stark,” Aegon decided because if his lords were making such a change he would, in the least, have to understand it. To rule them effectively, if nothing else.

Aegon was, honestly, impressed. Lord Tywin had already connected the Reach to the Vale and the Iron Islands; the Vale to the North and the Reach; the West to the Reach. That was five of the eight sections of Westeros all in a single web of marriages. And he had done it in such a way that Aegon’s paramount nobles would not only embrace but possibly enjoy doing their duty.

His vassals might even consider their dutiful matches to be love matches—a rare privilege for people of their ranks.

“My mother is about to give birth,” the little lord continued. “She believes she is carrying a daughter. That gives us a potential match for Dorne or the Stormlands. Possibly both, if my family’s tendency to produce twins comes through.”

Make that seven regions out of eight.

All that he had left out was the Riverlands. Leaving them out showed a bias Aegon knew was common for a variety of reasons. Particularly in the Land of Rivers. House Tully was not popular and Lord Edgar had done himself no favors by appearing to support House Frey in their most recent misbehavior.

“Mayhaps Lady Celia of House Tully to Lord Ronnel of House Arryn?” Lord Tywin shook his head, dismissing his own recommendation. “This would be easier if a House with many daughters ruled one of the Kingdoms. Like House Whent in the Riverlands. Lady Whent—”

“Princess Rhae, if you please, she is my sister,” Aegon interrupted.

Lord Tywin’s surprise managed to break his entirely too-adult display of stoicism for a hot second before the boy looked away. Mayhaps Ser Jason was correct in his suspicion that this Tywin Lannister was an ancient Tywin Lannister reborn.

“Princess Rhae,” Lord Tywin concurred, “has done her duty generously in the area of noble daughters.”

“Why not give House Whent the Riverlands?” Daenora asked. “It would bind the Land of Rivers to the Iron Throne directly without the requirement of another marriage. And we all know House Tully is wildly unpopular.”

“Unpopularity is not a reason to unseat a Paramount House,” Aegon pointed out. “They would have to be derelict in their crown-given duties, eradicated, or criminals-all.”

“They are,” Lord Tywin asserted.

“Which?”

“Derelict in their duties and possibly criminals,” Lord Tywin clarified. “I have used the time you were travelling to continue investigating House Frey. I would discuss the issue with you privately first, but I believe they have been planning usurpation and war for a long time and they have done it in ways House Tully should have put a stop to long before this.”

That sort of news could be explosive.

“Privately first,” Aegon agreed.

“What about matches for yourself, my young lord?” Daenora asked.

Lord Tywin frowned. “Mayhaps a daughter of House Stark?” he offered. “I know marriages are more fruitful when the woman is slightly older than the man, but there are not enough noble daughters to make all the necessary connections in one generation. Not yet. Lady Alys and Lord Stark would meet beneath the tree tomorrow, if they had your royal permission, Your Grace. They would be able to provide our efforts with daughters the soonest, gods be good.”

“Beneath the tree?” Aegon asked.

“Marriages before the old gods are conducted in front of a weirwood tree. The oaths for the ceremony are simpler and more applicable to noble marriages,” Lord Tywin explained. “Love is neither guaranteed nor is it a necessary for noble arrangements. The marriages vows of the Faith make us swear our love, possibly making liars and oathbreakers out of us all. Personally, I do not appreciate that.

“Meanwhile, marriages beneath the tree only require consent for the match. Primarily from the female of the match. This is both logical and wise since women have the most onerous part of noble wedding duties—the carrying and providing of children to their noble house.”

Aegon nodded. This was the reality his children had never understood and accepted. It was pleasing to see Lord Tywin had already learned this lesson though it did make him wonder about the state of Lord and Lady Lannister’s marriage.

“And Casterly Rock does not currently have a septon,” Lord Tywin concluded darkly.

That was odd. “Why?”

“Our current Septon of the Rock took my acceptance of the blessing of the old gods poorly and decided to encourage unseemly behavior within my household. Lion Guardsmen have raped four women, murdered two, and harassed nearly another dozen. That they were natural daughters of the West does not come into it as far as I am concerned.”

Aegon had to agree. “How have you punished the criminals?”

“They are all confined, alone and in the dark, in various places around the Rock for seven days. Including the septon, as an example to the rest of the Rock. Those that survive the confinement will be executed or sent to the Wall.”

The punishment was harsh but not outside the bounds of the laws he had passed as king. He found rape to be the most heinous of crimes and was gratified to see at least one of his nobles taking it seriously.

“Why not a Targaryen match for yourself?” he wanted to know.

“House Targaryen certainly needs to join the web of connections we are building directly, but I would never presume my House would be so blessed,” Young Tywin admitted. “House Targaryen is already connected to the web through House Arryn. I do not believe it would be a firm enough connection to serve the Realm’s Peace long term, but I assume Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella will marry each other as their parents and many ancestors have before them. I know not a way to strengthen House Targaryen’s ties to the rest of us while honoring their traditions. Mayhaps fostering as well as squiring?

“I would welcome Lord Steffon of House Baratheon here. My master at arms could be his knight-mentor while he is a squire. Lord Luthor Tyrell is squired to a Knight-Captain of House Redwyne. Prince Aerys could join him which would build connections and give the prince valuable skills considering King’s Landing’s coastal placement.”

“That is a very good idea,” Shaera interjected, clearly still opposed to her precious son going North.

Aegon shot his daughter the look her obvious scheming deserved. House Mormont was also a house of sailors, negating her argument in his mind.

“Have you reached out to House Blackfyre?” Lord Tywin asked.

Aegon was shocked by the question. “What?”

“House Blackfyre still exists, unfortunately,” Lord Tywin said. “They could, with considerable negotiation, be considered a cadet branch of House Targaryen. As long as House Targaryen married back into them first, they could safely provide daughters to further our efforts, if they have them. Lord Rickard Stark still requires a firm match. So does Prince Doran Martell, Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Ronnel Arryn, Lords Hoster and Brynden Tully, myself and my two brothers.”

“A Blackfyre queen or future queen would bridge the gap between our Houses, brother,” Daenora agreed. “And prevent another Blackfyre Rebellion.”

Considering House Blackfyre were the most likely to whip Essos into a fury once he managed to hatch dragons, another Blackfyre Rebellion was a sincere concern. He was not certain he was willing to forgive the usurpers. He had punished his Nuncle Bloodraven for murdering a Blackfyre at the beginning of his reign, certainly, but that was quite different from forgiving longstanding betrayal and rebellion.

“I will consider it,” was the most he could promise. “Aerys does still require a noble match,” because this one conversation had convinced him of Lord Tywin’s suitability to marry his granddaughter. “I have ordered both of my daughters to provide more heirs for House Targaryen.”

Daenora made a considering noise but the wench cage slowed and Dunk stepped forward to help Lord Tywin wrestle with the doors before he could question her about her reaction.

As they left the hall the isolated the cage from rest of the Rock, they walked into chaos. Absolute chaos. The White Bull was on the floor in a tangle of limbs with a maester. Some men were working to separate them, others were running about, and there was a woman wailing in the near distance.

“What is going on?” Lord Tywin stepped forward to demand.

A few men paused but not nearly enough.

“What is going on here?” Dunk repeated, much louder.

Every man in the hall stopped. Including the second maester on the stairs in front of them.

“My Lord,” one said, leaving the work he was doing with the bodies. “Your Grace.” He bowed deeply.

“What happened here, Ser Rogar?” Lord Tywin asked.

The knight winced. “Maester Curtass was heard shouting about your father from his chambers at the top of the stair. Then there was an awful racket. Your mother and I investigated only to find Ser Gerold and Maester Curtass dead at our feet. Your mother screamed and, in her terror, began her labors. Maester Luwin took her into the nearest chambers,” the knight waved a hand at a nearby door. “I sent Maester Keeran to check on your father, ordered security sweeps to ensure the deaths were accidental, and set to clearing up all of this.”

“What have you found?” Lord Tywin demanded of the maester.

“I am not a healer,” the maester said sharply. “But, as all members of my order, I know enough for this. Your father has passed from this world.”

Lord Tywin nodded. “We help the living first, Ser Rogar. My mother will never forgive us if we allow her to give birth in a library. Organize a stretcher and carriers for my mother. And send a squad ahead of the litter to ensure Lady Lannister’s privacy.”

“Of course, my lord,” Ser Rogar bowed, turned and started calling orders.

“Cloaks,” Lannister ordered the nearest guards with a wave of his fingers. “My mother will not be exposed to such as this again.”

More red cloaks than strictly necessary landed upon Ser Gerold and Maester Curtass’s corpses in an instant.

“Organize three more stretchers,” Lord Tywin ordered. “We will display my father, Maester Curtass, and Ser Gerold in the Silent Chamber per our traditions. Maester Keeran, send a raven to the motherhouse in Lannisport. We require the services of the Silent Sisters.”

The maester made a face but turned around and headed back up the stairs to the maester’s suite without objecting.

“Your Grace, if you and your party will follow me, I will show you to the family level. It has been made ready—”

Aegon stopped the lad with a hand on his shoulder. “Lord Lannister, see to your mother. Ser Jason can take us to our rooms. We will take luncheon privately and you may attend us at dinner.”

Some strain seemed to drain from the young Lord Lannister. “You have my thanks, my king. Uncle?”

Ser Jason came forward. “I would be glad to assist, nephew.”

“I would come with you, Lord Lannister,” Daenora said. “I know of no greater comfort in the birthing bed than the face of another woman. I would provide that comfort for your mother.”

Lord Tywin considered that for a moment and nodded. “Thank you, princess. Please, this way.” Lord Tywin led his good-sister away and Aegon was again grateful that they were both so intelligent and reasonable.

“Quite the lion, that one,” Dunk offered.

Aegon had to agree.

 

Chapter Six

“How is your mother?” King Aegon asked as he sat behind Tywin’s desk in Tywin’s solar. “And the baby?”

“The Lady Lannister is recovering well from her labors,” Tywin assured the king. “She has provided House Lannister with twin daughters.”

“The two matches you were hoping for.” King Aegon grinned. “Names?”

“Gyrri and Daena,” Tywin told the king.

“She named the second for Daenora?”

“I believe so,” Tywin confirmed. “I have not asked to be sure but she did state that she had picked out Gerion or Gyrri for the child which are considered masculine and feminine versions of the same name. Both are common in her birth house, House Marbrand.

“When will you be announcing the matches?” was what he wanted to know.

“After I have spoken with each Paramount House and settled the issue of the Frey Usurpation. I believe we should settle House Frey’s fate as it is the primary reason for this gathering before we start long-term solutions.”

Tywin nodded. There was also the issue the King had specifically discussed with House Nymeros Martell, but he was not supposed to know what that was so he did not mention it. “I have a handful of other concerns for the long-term benefit of the Realm as well,” he said instead.

“Say on,” the king ordered.

“House Hightower and Oldtown are currently suffering some sort of contagion.” A Plague of Black and White, he knew, but could not yet say. He would prefer to tell the king as soon as possible. If he truly was to marry a Princess Rhaella who would be queen as the Gods of Forrest and Stone had said, he could not be the only one guarding his family from the threat of the Citadel and Faith. Not if he wanted to keep his family entirely safe. “It brings to mind the folly of having all of Westeros’s great knowledge in one location. Should the Iron Throne not have easy access to Westeros’s accumulated wisdom? We are at peace now but what about a hundred years from now? Two hundred? Should House Greyjoy or House Dayne throw a particularly maladjusted son; circumstances could conspire to lose us that great resource.

“Both Houses have a history of burning Oldtown and the Citadel,” he said to cut off the insult he could see building in the king’s jaw.

History was not an insult. No matter how ugly, it was fact.

Tywin could see the king’s understanding of this when the man nodded. “Your suggestion?”

“Move the Citadel away from the coast. Put it somewhere central and protected, like Summerhall, Harrenhal, or even Moat Cailin. Tear down the Dragonpit and build a King’s Library in that place. Or start a copying project for all of the Citadel’s collected tomes and send the copies to all of them.”

King Aegon frowned at first but in the end, came to nod. “We could start a Valyrian collegium at one of the locations. The children of noble houses could gain part of their education together. It would give us another way to bind Westeros together.”

“Advanced non-heirs could go straight to the Citadel to forge their chain, should they choose,” Tywin added.

“Lords from across Westeros could provide books from their private collections to enhance the greater whole and bringing us all closer together.” King Aegon added.

“Who would miss the opportunity to add to the wisdom of and therefore influence the Iron Throne by contributing to the Royal Library?” Tywin asked.

“I like it,” the king nodded. “What else?”

“Matching border families together,” Tywin said immediately. “Like sewing seems in a garment or patches in a quilt. I noticed there is, even now, tension between Dorne and the Reach when we were organizing ourselves for your receiving line. I imagine it has to be the same with Dorne and the Stormlands. We have to fix that.”

“The collegium would help with that,” the king pointed out. “But that is a valid issue. One that will need to be investigated.”

“Certainly,” Tywin agreed though he did not see the point. Marcher Lords on every side of the borders between Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Reach had been warring for time immemorial. The only necessary investigation was to open a history book.

“Speaking of investigations.” The king held up the documents he had collected for royal review. “I desire your thoughts on these.”

“The short version of it is that House Frey has been preparing for war for nearly twenty years and House Tully is complicit.”

King Aegon huffed a sound similar to amusement. “And the long version?”

“House Frey has marriage contracts requiring mutual defense with the Houses holding the largest armies in the Vale, the West, and the Stormlands other than those regions’ Lords Paramount.”

“That is not unusual for a marriage contract,” the king pointed out.

“True, but the defense pact usually ends when the marriage ends as it does with a death. The Frey contracts all specify that the defense pact lasts as long as a person of the mother’s blood lives with House Frey. House Frey has kept all of the children Lord Walder and Ser Stevron have fathered, regardless of other factors including the Swann contracts specifying that at least one of what has become three sons would be given over to House Swann.”

“All of the mutual defense pacts are active,” the king concluded.

“Yes,” Tywin agreed. “Which means a war very nearly happened and it would have been devastating.

“If my father had signed the Frey contract, they could have easily arranged mine and my father’s deaths—as we have seen since they certainly have killed my father in an agonizing fashion—and House Frey would have taken Casterly Rock in the short term. Either Kevan or Tygette would have objected as legal heirs with precedence over Genna and there would have been a war. One that would tear all of Westeros apart unless the Iron Throne was presciently quick about putting down enormous hosts from three different kingdoms. Two of which would have had to march through the Riverlands.”

King Aegon nodded. “How do you take House Tully to be complicit?”

“House Lannister requires all bannermen to request authorization for all marriage contracts arranged in the West. I know from conversations with Lord Luthor of House Tyrell and Lord Stark himself that such matters are handled the same in the Reach and the North.” Tywin did not fight the urge to frown. “My father only collected copies of marriage contracts. He left approval to the High Septon, but the High Septon does not have the power to approve or deny legal matches. That is the duty of the Iron Throne and therefore the Lords Paramount.

“Either House Tully is like my father, allowing the High Septon to overstep himself and is derelict in their duties in that way. Or they do not know they should be reviewing these contracts at all which—” is just stupid “—is a choice so foolish that I do not have the words for it.”

“Not polite words, certainly,” King Aegon agreed. “They have been Lords Paramount for two hundred and fifty years. What exactly do they think a Lord Paramount is supposed to do?”

“I would love to hear Lord Edgar’s answer to that question,” Tywin had to admit.

“I will ask it, but I cannot promise your attendance. Though I cannot help but notice that the High Septon and the Most Devout had all of this information and did not warn the Iron Throne because all Paramount-approved contracts are presented to the Faith and the Citadel for their records.”

Tywin hesitated. Should he tell the king? He was not sure. “Many are unaware, but Casterly Rock has been offering gold for rare books for longer than any can remember.”

King Aegon gave him a queer look. “I was unaware but find myself unsurprised. Why do you bring this to my attention?”

“Because I found the rarest of books in our collection,” Tywin said. “I am having an artist make copies of it as we speak. He cannot read and is handsomely paid so I do not worry word will get out. He has made copies of several other rare books so that the knowledge will never be lost again but this book is the rarest I have put before him.” Tywin paused dramatically because it amused the king more than himself and the king’s good humor was always a boon. “It is a book bound in Valyrian steel.”

King Aegon shot to his feet in shock. His chair hit the ground behind him and the door was thrown open as Lord Commander Duncan charged into the room.

Neither Tywin not the king paid the knight any mind.

“What is the book?” King Aegon demanded.

Tywin shot Duncan the Tall a look. The knight re-sheathed his sword and closed the door but he leaned pointedly on their side of it.

“I believe the book is the one true copy of Fire and Blood/the Death of Dragons.”

King Aegon breath sounded like a hiss as he gasped in fury.

“My reading proved it to be, in fact, two books. The first, Fire and Blood, is a spell book and journal written by the hands of Targaryen Queens starting before even Daenys the Dreamer.” That had been eye-opening for him. “The last queen to write in it was Queen Rhaenyra the First of her Name.”

“And the second?”

“Fire and Blood came into the possession of Grand Maester Munkun, I assume illegally, and he wrote about the Citadel and the Faith’s work to kill House Targaryen and their dragons.”

“What?” Lord Commander Duncan demanded as King Ageon staggered and grasped at the desk between them in a desperate bid to keep his feet.

“This is the true reason for the affliction of Oldtown and my desire to both knit the kingdoms together and end the Citadel’s intellectual dominance of Westeros,” he admitted.

“Your brother is in Braavos,” King Aegon observed as he gathered himself enough to find another chair. This one was on the same side of the desk as Tywin’s “You hired the Faceless Men.”

“Such a deed would have beggared even House Lannister,” Tywin disagreed. “But Braavos is a city built upon sea trade and freeing slaves. The secrets the Citadel is keeping from the world would aid both of those endeavors.”

Tywin watched the king, consideringly. “So would dragons.”

King Aegon jerked in surprise. “You would have us declare war on Essos?”

“Every King since Aegon III has prophesied the return of dragons. The moment that prophecy is fulfilled; Essos will declare war on us all.”

“The children of Old Valyria are all hungry to reclaim their mother’s place,” the king allowed.

“Indeed, and House Blackfyre is in Essos. Westeros must be united before dragons are reborn or we will be lost.”

“Everything you have done has been to help return dragons to Westeros?” King Aegon frowned at him. “Taking out an enemy unseen, providing me information—” The king shook his head in a clear display of confusion.

“Everything I have done is for peace,” Tywin corrected. “Up to and including spreading the religion of the old gods to take power and followers from the Faith.

“Peace requires a strong monarchy. Westeros’s Dragon Laws require that the Iron Throne to be held by a dragon rider. No one can dispute a dragon rider’s claim—to anything. Not even a bunch of science-mad fools, self-important priests, and overly-greedy Hightowers can change that.”

“I cannot believe—” The king shook his head again. “Oldtown welcomed Aegon the Dragon. They crowned him in the Light of the Seven. I—”

“They crowned a man that had already been crowned. They had to do that to take that power from Queen Visenya and they all knew it,” Tywin disagreed. “Or do you think the first Targaryen King visited Oldtown multiple times a year out of friendship? Landing the Black Dread on someone’s heights is a not something done for no reason.”

“It is a threat. A very clear one,” the king nodded slowly. “I had not considered it in that way, but I understand what you are saying.”

King Aegon looked to the Lord Commander. They had a silent conversation and the king turned back to him and nodded again.

“I will allow you to make and keep your copies of Fire and Blood/The Death of Dragons but the originals must be returned to House Targaryen.”

“I had intended to, My King.” Otherwise, the king would have never known he had it.

The king continued as if he had no spoken. “I allow this because I have already decided you will marry my granddaughter. As family, I extend the gift of a king’s patience to you.”

Tywin sat back. He had expected it. The old gods had told him it would happen, but it was still a surprise. “She will be a fine Lady Lannister,” he said.

It was a probe and a test—he did not think the king would see it as such.

“I am sure she would be,” King Aegon gave him a wry smile. “But she is my only descendant to be chosen by one of the unhatched dragons. She will be a ruling Queen in her own right. Never Lady Lannister.”

“And what will I be?” he wanted it confirmed.

“Prince Consort,” King Aegon answered. “As Daemon Targaryen before you, you will rule at her side, command her armies, and father her children.”

All as he expected. “Kevan will inherit Casterly Rock from me.”

“Upon the day of your wedding to my granddaughter,” the king agreed.

“I must insist she be at least six-and-ten when we wed. For her health and safety.”

“I have offered her the same advice, but she will be Queen the moment her dragon hatches and her word will be law.” King Aegon shrugged. “Fortunately, for us both, she has already picked you for her husband.”

Tywin huffed, amused even though he had no desire to be. “Dragons grow fastest and best in places of fire magic. The big two in Westeros, south of the Wall, are—”

“Dragonstone,” the king interrupted. “And?”

“Winterfell.”

The king blinked several times in surprise. “Winterfell?”

“Hot springs are fueled by the same magic as volcanoes.” Tywin shrugged. “House Stark is the longest standing ruling House in Westeros and has had ruling Queens of Winter in their long history. Our enemies that think to claim your dragons will assume she will retreat for Dragonstone for safety as House Targaryen has done for hundreds of years, since before even the Doom.”

“But if we hide the queen at Winterfell,” the king said thoughtfully, “she will be safe, well away from the conflict, and learn the Wisdom of Winter as well as strengthen her dragon.”

“Just so,” Tywin agreed. “The chances of even another Westerosi force infiltrating the North unseen or undetected do not exist. No Essosi will ever make it to her.” Tywin reconsidered that. “Certainly not alive.”

King Aegon snorted in amusement.

“Have any more of your family members been touched by the unhatched dragons?” Tywin wondered. Honestly, he wanted to know whom he might have to argue against the fitness of to ensure his wife received her rights.

“I have not asked,” the king admitted.

“There are more of your blood here than there had been in Lannisport,” he pointed out.

The king nodded. “I will investigate. First, I will witness the oaths of fealty your bannermen make to you and meet with the rest of my Lords Paramount. After that, we shall see.”

“As my King wills it.”

-*-

“He is an impressive young man,” Dunk offered when the solar door closed behind the young Lord Lannister.

“He is,” Aegon agreed. “Ruthless, the youngest blooded warrior I have met, and somehow still filled with ideals. He will be a good addition to House Targaryen. Grown, he will keep my granddaughter safe and on the Iron Throne.”

“I agree.” Dunk nodded. “I would not want to take anything from the Young Lion. I watched him in the training yard. Some of my sworn brothers could learn from him. The boy is ten.”

Aegon had not watched the lad’s training but he trusted Dunk’s judgement. “Have someone fetch Lord Stark, will you?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Dunk ducked outside. When he came back, he asked. “Have you considered a replacement for Ser Gerold? My brothers and I are six. Neither of the Whent boys are old enough to bear the honor of the white cloak.”

“Someone Northern, I think,” he said. “It is obvious many ignore that the Iron Islands are part of Westeros; the North is excluded just as often. We need to fix that.”

“Lord Tywin would approve.”

Aegon shook his head with a rueful smile. Dunk was right but one lad’s approval, while nice, was not a factor for him as king.

It was not long before there was a knock at the solar door. Dunk verified the knock was Lord Stark and allowed the Warden of the North to enter when Aegon agreed.

“I must request a simple service of you, my lord,” Aegon said was greetings were dispensed with and refreshments were served.

“My time is yours, My King. How may I serve?”

Aegon passed quill and parchment across the desk. “List for me the duties of a Lord Paramount. In a separate list, provide me the duties of a Warden.”

“As you wish.”

It took Lord Stark longer than he expected but the lists were thorough and thoughtful. The Warden list had a special subsection for the Warden of the North.

“Thorough yet concise,” he complimented, meaning every word of it. “I will have to get you on my Small Council the moment your son is ready to lead the North.”

Lord Stark huffed in amusement. At least two of his Wardens were rather dour fellows. Aegon would have to consider whether that was a boon or not. “That would be a first. My people believe you southroners prefer House Manderly over the rest of us. That we are too wild and godless for you.”

“Hardly,” Aegon denied though his ancestors may have agreed with the North’s evaluation. “Speaking of positions close to me, I have a place to fill on my Kingsguard. I want a Northerner to fill it. Or two. A mere seven Kingsguard is not enough to see the duty done thoroughly.”

“The Faith will not like that,” Lord Stark pointed out.

“The Faith of the Seven is merely one religion of many in the Eight Kingdoms of Westeros and it is high time they remember that.”

“The only knights in the North are members of, or sworn directly to, House Manderly,” Lord Stark pointed out, taking them back to the earlier concern of the South writing off all of the North other than House Manderly.

“Once a blooded warrior has taken the vows of the Kingsguard, they will be a knight of Westeros,” Aegon countered. “That is more than enough for me.”

Lord Stark nodded and scratched at his chin. “The Young Bear, Jeor, heir of House Mormont has long been talking of giving up his inheritance to join the Watch and serve the Realm of Men. I can see if he is willing to serve the Realm of Men on the Kingsguard.”

“I am not inclined to steal a lord’s heir from him,” Aegon disagreed.

Lord Stark made a dismissive gesture with a hand. “Lord Mormont has a daughter more suitable to rule Bear Island and has said more than once he it would be his preference to be shot of his dreaming cub. I will send for him and his son. We can ensure the father’s sincerity and the son’s skills in one stroke.”

Aegon…could agree to that. “Very well.

“Now, for your suit for Lady Alys of House Arryn.”

“Your Grace.” Lord Stark sat up straighter.

“My good sister and her husband have agreed; and I approve the match. How soon will you be prepared to wed?” Then he added as an afterthought. “Her father is not thrilled, but Lady Alys as agreed to meet beneath the tree, I believe the saying goes?”

Lord Stark gave a small smile. “That is the saying, Your Grace,” he confirmed. “I prepared my son for my marriage the best I could before I left Winterfell and I have House Stark’s wedding cloak in my trunk. I am ready when she is.”

That was a relief. “It is the tradition in the Vale to wait three days between agreement and wedding so the bride may prepare herself for her future. You are not to speak to her directly at any time during those three days, but those three days will not start until I have announced all of the matches that I will be making to all those here in the Rock.”

“Acceptable,” Lord Stark said. “Do you have a standard wedding contract for the matches you are making, My King, or are the Houses involved to negotiate them for ourselves?”

He knew, generally, the terms of wedding contracts were between Lords Vassal and the terms for Royal Matches. He was not certain of the standard terms used between Lords Paramount. He did not think there were standard terms because they were making history and reshaping Westeros here, but spending his time negotiating such deals was the last thing he wanted.

“I will have to approve the contract before it is finalized but, no, I see no need to standardize such a thing. Consider it practice for dealing with your future good-family.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Lord Stark frowned, nodded to himself and said, “I know the short supply of Paramount daughters in the Realm vexes you.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow and wondered if Lord Lannister had shared his whisperer with Lord Stark or if Lord Stark had figured that out on his own. “When peace is the aim and only sons are allowed to rule, daughters are the only way to bridge the gap between noble houses.”

“Aye,” Lord Stark agreed. “I have two nieces,” he said. “I have raised them as my daughters.”

“Their parents?”

“My good-sister died birthing the second one. My brother was slain while defending my section of the Sunset Coast from Ironborn.”

“Are your brother’s children a close enough bond to House Stark for the North to be held back by their marriage should such a thing be necessary?”

“They have my name and my blood,” Lord Stark said shortly. “And I raised them. I would be more concerned about you southroners honoring the marriage bond than Northerners accepting the bond of my blood.”

“If they wed into Houses adjacent to the Iron Throne, none would dare dishonor the marriage bond with the blood of your blood.” Particularly once dragons flew Westerosi air once again.

Lord Stark considered that. “I would offer Branda as a match to House Baratheon and Lyarra as a match to House Lannister. Lyarra would not do well so far south as Strom’s End but Branda has long dreamed of the south.”

“Send for them when you send for your Lords Mormont,” he ordered. “I wish to meet them before I agree one way or the other.”

“As you will, my king.”

“Now, tell me about the Old Gods. I know you are teaching your fellow Lords Paramount.”

“Lord Lannister started a fashion,” Lord Stark said wryly. “I hope it is one that will stay.”

“Should you and Lady Alys provide enough daughters, I am certain it will,” Aegon teased.

Lord Stark huffed, causing Aegon to realize that huff was the lord’s laugh. “And you, of all of us, can ensure our daughters are put to the best use in the name of the cause.”

Aegon inclined his head.

“First, they are not the old gods though they are the oldest gods Westeros knows. Among believers we call them the Gods of Forest, Stream, and Stone…”

-*-

“My King,” Tywin greeted as he entered the Lord’s Solar King Aegon had been dominating for days. “If I may?”

“I only have a moment,” the King warned.

“That is no problem,” Tywin assured him. “I have a few things to give you and then I will be on my way.”

“Very well,” the king returned to his seat behind what was properly Tywin’s desk.

“First, my lists of Warden and Lord Paramount duties.”

King Aegon accepted the scroll from him with a frown. “Did Lord Stark tell you or—?”

Tywin shook his head. All Lords Paramount other than himself and Lord Tully had made such lists at the king’s request over the last several days but none of them had told him so personally, “no.”

“Your Whisperers must be prodigious,” the king observed.

Tywin had nothing productive to say to that so he moved on. “The first completed copies of Fire and Blood and The Death of Dragons. I had them separated into two books so you could disguise the Maesterly abuse of your family’s spell book if you were so inclined. I know House Lannister’s spell book has given me great comfort.”

Particularly, the ritual he had found regarding claiming Guardianship of his family’s Weirwood. His guardianship had assured that no one could use the godswood with him unless he wholeheartedly wanted them to. The moment he decided he did not want someone in the godswood with him, they left.

He rather wished the magic could be extended to cover all of Casterly Rock.

“Were it mine, I would find the abuse your family spell book was put through to be infuriating,” he admitted. “As it is, I am still mightily displeased.”

King Aegon nodded. “I still want the original.”

“Of course, My King.” That was never in question.

He waited for dismissal, however, the king was already absorbed in Fire and Blood. After a minute, he bowed and dismissed himself. Both he and the king had things to do.

-*-

“Sire?” Dunk called.

Aegon could not help but stare at the drawing he had in his hand. It had been tucked innocently inside the copy of Fire and Blood Lord Tywin had handed him and it— It was everything he needed to know!

Well, it and the page behind it.

The drawing itself was a simple sketch of a funerary bonfire, something his House was known for. The second page were the details that would allow him to hatch dragon eggs!

The top tier would hold a deceased person of royal decent of which they had two on display in Casterly Rock—Lord Tytos Lannister, descendant of the Kings of the West, and Ser Gerold Hightower, descendant of the Kings of the Tower. The middle tier would hold prize possessions of the person on top, burning it would symbolize sacrificing the deceased king’s hold on this world to move on, a powerful act that changed and empowered future generations. The bottom tier would hold the carcass of an animal sacrificed before the fire was lit. Either a horse or a bull was preferred but, the note offered, that mayhaps the White Bull would suffice.

Tied to the bonfire was a living sacrifice. They had to have sacred blood, specifically either magical or holy blood like the Septon currently waiting for execution deep within the Rock.

Up to three dragon eggs that had responded to Targaryens could be placed on the top tier with the king but only so long as the eggs had been laid by dragons bonded to House Targaryens in the past, otherwise a Targaryen would need to be sacrificed to enable the dragonbond.

His mind was reeling. If this was true—!

“My King.” Dunk touched his shoulder. “House Tully has answered your summons.”

Aegon shook his head and ordered himself to focus! Thankfully, Dunk had not allowed anyone inside without his direct permission.

He hid the book and its ritual in one of the desk drawers and stood. Wine. A glass of wine would fortify him enough to get the meeting with House Tully done. Then he could consider the ritual that was entirely necessary to the fate of his House and Westeros.

He stared out the golden-hued windows that made up the outer wall of the solar as he sipped his wine. When he was ready, he nodded to Dunk and returned to the desk, wine in hand.

Dunk went to the door and allowed House Tully to enter.

“Lord Tully, I have a task for you,” he said as he had to nearly every other Lord Paramount he had met with.

“How may I serve, Your Grace?” Tully asked as he sat.

Aegon waved at the parchment, quill, and ink sat on Tully’s side of the desk. “List for me the duties of a Lord Paramount.”

“As you will,” Tully agreed. He scratched at the parchment with the quill for a very brief time and passed it over.

There were two items on the list.

Collecting the King’s taxes was obvious, but there was nothing about approving marriages, dispensing justice, preparing his vassals for winter. Nothing.

“Expand upon keeping the King’s Peace,” he ordered. Keeping the peace was wonderfully vague. Mayhaps the man just had not expanded upon his duties involved with keeping the peace, thinking them obvious.

“I require reports from my Lords Vassal twice every week regarding the state of their lands and the findings of their patrols.”

Aegon blinked. The Riverlands were worse off than he thought. “You do not send out your own patrols?”

“Of the lands attendant to Riverrun, yes, Your Grace.”

“But not of the entire Riverlands?”

“No, My King.”

Wow. “Do you dispense the King’s Justice?”

“It is the duty of every lord to dispense justice in their keep and territory,” Lord Tully assured him.

Right answer, Aegon nodded. “And between your vassals?”

“My vassals do not come into conflict, Your Grace. If they did, it would be included in their reports.”

Wrong answer. “What about in the case of feuds?”

“The historical feud between House Bracken and House Blackwood is just that, Your Grace. Historical,” he stressed.

The man was delusional. “House Bracken murdered the first heir of House Blackwood and his son two moons gone,” he informed the Fish. “House Blackwood responded by murdering three maidens attached to House Bracken which included the daughter of Lord Mallister who was set to marry the heir of House Bracken.”

“That is not possible!” Lord Tully denied. “These things would be reported—”

“All three Houses came to me for satisfaction on my second night in Riverrun,” Aegon said, silencing the sputtering lord.

“Did you give them justice?” Young Lord Hoster asked from where he was seated on a couch not far away from them.

This one might yet become something.

“I did,” he confirmed.

“May I ask what that Justice was, Your Grace?”

“You may,” Aegon agreed with an incline of his head. “Those directly involved with the murders were executed. All adult males of House Blackwood and House Bracken were given the choice of the Wall or execution. The Master at Arms of the Red Keep escorted the survivors to the Wall. Adult women were given to the Faith. Every Blackwood and Bracken under the age of three-and-ten were sent to the Red Keep to foster and men I trust were given stewardship of both Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall until I choose the new leaders of each House, those leaders come of age, and I match those leaders to members of the opposite House.

“I have impressed upon all of them that this is their last chance. Should any of them rekindle the feud, they will all be given the same fates as their parents and I will raise up new lords to their seats—non-Riverland lords to ensure the feud is utterly spent.”

“That is true justice, My King,” Lord Tully said, his approval was clear. The lickspittle.

“Do you train and maintain any sort of men at arms to maintain the security of the Riverlands, Lord Tully?”

“I have a standing force of two hundred to defend Riverrun, Your Grace.”

Clearly, it was an act of the gods that kept this man from becoming a member of his family. That did not mean he would forgive Jaehaerys and Shaera their foolishness though.

There were nearly a dozen other duties he could question the fool about but he found suddenly that he had no patience for it. He certainly was not about to torture himself so he cut straight to the heart of so many matters. “Do you review and approve the marriages your Lords Vassal make, Lord Tully?”

“Marriages are a holy matter, Your Grace. They are the purview of septons.”

“So, you do not know who your Lords Vassal are allied with,” Aegon said, hoping the man might catch a clue.

“We are all Riverlanders. We are naturally allies with each other and the Iron Throne.”

Aegon nodded. “Would you prefer the Wall or execution for your gross dereliction of duty?”

“Of course, I would prefer—” The Fish Lord stopped and paled dramatically. “My King?” he asked weakly.

“’Tis a simple question,” Dunk rumbled, coming to stand pointedly behind Lord Tully.

Lord Tully opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like the fish on his banner before he answered. “The Wall, My King.”

Aegon dismissed him with a gesture. Dunk forced the man from his chair and frog marched him into the waiting hands of the guards in the hall.

“Come,” he beckoned the children of House Tully towards him after Dunk returned alone. “Bring chairs for yourselves, lads.”

He waited until all three were seated before him. “I have queried each and every Lord Paramount about the duties they perform for the Iron Throne,” he told them. “Your father has admitted to only performing two out of more than a dozen.”

Lord Brynden let out a whistle. Lord Hoster reached across their sister to smack his little brother. Lord Brynden absently leaned out of the way and the older fish missed.

“That would be gross dereliction of duty, Your Grace,” Lady Celia agreed evenly.

“It is. I will be meeting with all of my Lords Paramount to ensure they are all performing their duties to the same standard, but that is a concern for none of you.”

He heard Lord Hoster, Lord Tully’s legal heir swallow loudly. “Will we be going to the Wall as well, Your Grace?”

“Not unless you want to,” Aegon assured the boy. “But there must be long-term repercussions for your father’s—for your Houses—many failures.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“First, House Tully will no longer stand as House Paramount of the Riverlands. I will not demote you back to knights out of respect for my own ancestor, Aegon the Dragon, but you will have to give the new Lord or Lady Paramount good, true service to maintain your place as their Lord Vassal.”

“I will, My King,” Lord Hoster swore. “Who—” he started but stopped himself before he could finish the question.

“As I will, of course, be keeping a very close eye on the Riverlands, the new Lord Paramount will be my good-brother, Lord Whent.”

“Thank you for indulging my curiosity, My King,” Lord Hoster said.

“Lord Whent has sent a person he trusts to hold Riverrun for House Tully because none of you will be returning there for some time. Lord Hoster, you will be squiring with Ser Robar Royce, younger brother of the current Lord Royce.”

“As you will, Your Grace.”

“Can I squire with the Kingsguard?” Lord Brynden blurted. “My King.”

Lord Hoster glared hellfire at his brother. “No! You have to marry to secure our House’s position!”

Aegon did not think the lad had realized the depth of the mess his House was in. No one was going to have interest in helping House Tully secure their position for ages. They would have to do as House Frey had and pay through the nose to match with daughters of different kingdoms unless he ordered matches for them.

“I do not want to marry,” Lord Brynden disagreed. “I want to bring honor to House Tully as a knight! All the best knights are Kingsguard. Everybody knows it.”

“You!” Lord Hoster visibly steamed at his brother’s stubborn independence. Thankfully, the lad had enough restraint not to curse his brother out in front of the king. “You black sheep!”

“Hah!” Lord Brynden sneered. “I am a Tully! That makes me a black fish!”

“A white fish, soon enough,” Dunk said.

Aegon looked to his mentor and friend in surprise. Dunk had not taken another squire since him! He had, in fact, never expressed interest in taking a squire before. Not even him!

“I will train him,” Dunk answered his unspoken question.

Aegon was a little jealous, but it was inappropriate so he swallowed it down. “Very well.

“Lady Celia, you will be marrying Ser Jason Lannister,” he told the still rather young woman. “Your father’s gross negligence nearly allowed House Frey to start what could have been a civil war that would have devastated all of Westeros.”

The Tully brothers’ mouths dropped open in shock. Lady Celia was too well trained for that and merely nodded.

“Only Lord Tywin Lannister’s quick action prevented that war,” he said to drive the point home. “As such, Lord Jason Lannister will take over the Twins as the new Lord of the Crossing and you will wed him to seal the breach between House Tully and both Houses Lannister.”

“It is my honor to do so, Your Grace,” Lady Celia agreed in the soft, gentle tones that had convinced him years ago that she would be a good match for his Jaehaerys. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“You may,” he allowed.

“I believe it would be wise to change the subject of House Tully’s sigil from one fish to two,” she said. “This will show all of Westeros that House Tully is on our second chance; that we are aware of this and have humbled ourselves before the Iron Throne.”

Aegon liked that. He liked it a lot. “Make it so.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” all three remaining Tully’s agreed.

“I will be announcing the changes we have discussed and many others at dinner this evening.

“You may go.”

Lady Celia led her brothers through both standing and appropriate abasement. “Good day, Your Grace.”

 

Chapter Seven

“It is my honor and duty to announce two new additions to House Targaryen,” King Aegon said, sat upon the Throne of the King of the Rock. Tywin was not allowed to stand at his side for this series of announcements, and that was annoying, but he would survive. “My nephew, Maegor of House Targaryen and his wife, Rhaena of House Royce, have provided House Targaryen a pair of twin girls, Visenya and Vysaera. May they love long, fruitful lives.”

Tywin clapped along with the rest of the big names of Westeros.

“On to business,” King Aegon said, holding a hand up for silence until he received it. “We were brought together in this place for a matter of inter-Kingdom justice. After reviewing all of the evidence and interviewing all parties on either side of this issue, the Iron Throne finds that House Frey attempted to usurp Lord Paramount status of the West from House Lannister and murdered Lord Tytos of House Lannister when discovered in the attempt. For the murder of a Lord Paramount, Emmon of House Fray will be executed. Lord Tywin Lannister has requested permission to swing the sword himself and that permission has been granted.”

Tywin stood a little taller at the news. He had expected it. It would ruin all of the king’s work in drawing the North closer to him to rely on a headsman as was the Targaryen wont. Allowing him do to carry out justice for his father in the King’s place would be a compromise the North could accept.

“Lord Walder of House Frey and his heir, Lord Aenys, have been sentenced to the Wall for their place in the conspiracy to usurp the West. All of the other children of Lord Walder Frey and his first born, Ser Stevron Frey, have been claimed by their mothers’ Houses.” With the exception of the children from House Lydden, Tywin knew. “They have taken the names of their mothers’ birth Houses and been stripped of all claim to the Twins.”

Lord Lydden had refused to claim his niece and nephew due to his nephew’s infirmity. Tywin had sought and received permission to name young Aegon and Maegelle Hills, rather than Freys, and allowed a pair of aging kitchen maids to take them as their own. The king did not clarify the fate of those particular Freys out of what Tywin thought was misplaced kindness.

He believed House and Lord Lydden deserved to face social consequences for their choices, but he was not king and the children did not deserve to suffer for their elders’ public scorn.

Lady Jeyne Lydden, the mother of the two children, had refused to be parted with them too far but had not known how to care for the children herself, particularly with her son’s non-typical needs. She had allowed the adoption by the kitchen maids, but had returned to using the surname she was born to and sought House Lannister’s protection against her brother.

She was now the Lady of the Kitchens, and was currently learning the exact details of the position from the elderly common who had held the position before her.

“House Tully has been found to be grossly derelict in their duties to maintaining the peace in the Riverlands. This decision is based on both the current issue with House Frey and the recently reignited rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood that has already cost the Realm over a dozen lives.

“Due to House Tully’s dereliction, the Iron Throne was required to step in for House Tully to see justice done for all parties injured by the revived feud. Therefore, the Iron Throne hereby demotes House Tully from Lord Paramount to Lord Vassal of the Riverlands. Lord Edgar of House Tully has been sentenced to the Wall for his House’s failures. Lord Hoster of House Tully will inherit Riverrun upon his sixteenth nameday and is hereby squired to Ser Robar of House Royce to learn everything he needs to be an honorable knight and lord vassal. Lord Brynden of House Tully is hereby squired to Lord Commander Duncan the Tall at his own request.”

The chatter around him was too intense for Tywin to completely follow, but the general tone seemed to be one of approval.

“Accordingly, the Iron Throne raises House Whent to House Paramount of the Riverlands under my good-brother, Lord Nithan Whent. All Riverlords present in Casterly Rock will swear their oaths to House Whent on the morrow. All Riverlords not in Casterly Rock will be sent ravens from the Iron Throne ordering them give Lord Whent their oaths upon his return to Harrenhal.”

There was a small pop of noise in reaction to that but the noble crowd quickly silenced themselves at the raising of the king’s hand.

“For the damage done to House Lannister by House Frey, the Iron Throne hereby raises Ser Jason of House Lannister to Lord of the Crossing and grants him the keep of the Twins as well as all lands, gold, and vassals-attendant to the Twins,” King Aegon said. “The Iron Throne orders the new Lord Jason and Lady Celia of House Tully wed to seal the breech caused by House Frey between House Lannister of the West, House Lannister of the Crossing, and House Tully of Riverrun.”

“Further, all Lords Paramount will sit in conference with myself to create a standard set of duties all Lords Paramount must fulfill to not be found derelict in their duties and these duties will be enacted into law. As well, the Iron Throne will be arranging marriages between Houses Paramount to further ensure Westeros-wide thinking in all leaders of the Eight Kingdoms so that peace and justice may enrich us all. My lords and ladies, step forward when your name is called.

“Lord Edwyle of House Stark.” The crowd shifted as Lord Stark came forward to stand before the king. He then turned to present himself to the gathered throng.

“Lord Stark will wed Lady Alys of House Arryn.” Lady Alys presented herself. Lord Stark offered her his arm. Once she took it, he escorted her to one side of the cleared space.

“Lord Jon of House Arryn.” The heir of House Arryn presented himself the same as Lord Stark had. “Lord Jon will wed Lady Diandra of House Tyrell.” Again, the lady took the lord’s arm but this time the lord escorted his lady to the opposite side of the freed space.

“Lord Quellon of House Greyjoy. Lord Greyjoy will wed Lady Amanza of House Tyrell.” Lord Greyjoy led his future lady over to stand beside Lord Stark making Tywin wonder if the display had been planned beyond every pairing being warned in advance of the name of their partner.

“Lord Luthor of House Tyrell. Lord Luthor will wed Lady Genna of House Lannister.” Lord Luthor led Genna over to stand next to his fellow Heir Paramount, Lord Jon, which only reinforced the idea that this display had been planned without Tywin being included.

“Lady Shella of House Whent.” The heir to House Whent was a woman, so that woman being named first made sense to Tywin.

Naming Lady Shella first also made it clear that the Iron Throne supported her placement as heir to the Riverlands. But, of course, the Iron Throne supported her placement as a future Lady Lord Paramount. King Aegon’s father, King Maekar, had negotiated for her place as heir to Harrenhal and Lady Shella was King Aegon’s niece. “Lady Shella shall wed Prince Lewyn of House Nymeros-Martell.”

Lady Shella led Prince Lewyn over to stand beside Lord Greyjoy, breaking the pattern of heirs on one side and ruling lords on the other. Tywin found himself relaxing at the sign he had not been excluded from some event planned within his own keep.

“Lord Steffon of House Baratheon.” The king’s grandson stepped forward to stand center stage. “Lord Steffon will wed Lady Branda of House Stark.” The young lady stepped forward, having arrived with a new shipment of Northern Lords just the day prior, and Lord Steffon led them over to stand next to Genna.

She was a niece of Lord Stark, not a daughter, but the Stark brother and good-sister that had created her had passed years gone and she had been raised by Lord Stark as a daughter. Tywin would not have been pleased with such a match, but Steffon was the King’s grandson and that gave the pairing more weight than such a distant match typically would.

“Lord Kevan of House Lannister, the heir of the Westerlands, will match with Lady Lyarra of House Stark,” the king said and the girl walked forward to stand alone before the gathered throng. “Lord Kevan is currently in Essos, fostering with a Keyholder of the Iron Bank, and was not available to return in time for this presentation.”

Lady Lyarra moved to stand on the same side as her pseudo father and Tywin found he had absolutely no problem with the mother of Eddard Stark from his last life marrying into House Lannister. With any luck, Lord Eddard would be born again, this time a lion rather than a wolf.

“In the same vein,” The king said. “While neither child is old enough to participate in this ceremony, the heir of Dorne, Prince Doran of House Nymeros Martell, will wed Lady Gyrri of House Lannister.”

Tywin was pleased. His sister would be a princess and that was satisfying. It was also a relief that she was a twin. If something happened to her, as was not unexpected with a child so small, Daena could step in.

“Finally, the Iron Throne is pleased to announce the match between my granddaughter, Princess Rhaella of House Targaryen and Lord Tywin of House Lannister.” His princess timed her decent from the king’s platform to match with his arrival in the cleared space—a bit of drama he appreciated. He bowed to her as heir to the throne, she curtsied to him as a Lord and Warden in his own right, and they turned together to face the crowd, linking arms as they did.

The West cheered.

-*-
“Thank you, my lords and ladies,” Aegon dismissed the gathered current and future Paramounts nobles with a wave.

Rhaella dragged Lord Lannister onto the dais with her. The lad made a show of reluctance that Aegon did not believe for a moment. Every Lannister he had ever met had an intense sense of possession when it came to Casterly Rock. Even Lannisport Lannisters. It had to chafe at him that Aegon had not allowed him into the most important ceremonial space in the Rock before this point in time.

When Rhaella set herself back in the Throne of the Heir of the Rock, Lord Lannister stood beside and slightly behind her throne. Aegon found he was pleased by the direct mirror of Rhaelle in the Queen’s Throne with Lord Baratheon in the shadow of her throne.

Lord Lannister’s private guardsmen—Ser Grunar Tarly and his squire, Barristan Selmy—silently moved to stand behind their lordling. Seeing the Lord Paramount of the West flanked by an heir from the Reach and a second heir from the Stormlands was quite strange, no matter how much it supported Aegon’s goals for Westeros that all of the Kingdoms would stand closer and stronger together.

It made him wonder if the old gods had warned the Young Lion of his intentions before he had told the lad himself. Mayhaps that was the true reason for the lost knowledge the lad had returned to House Targaryen. It would certainly explain his willingness to part with such secrets.

And why he had taken sworn swords from regions other than his own before Aegon had even arrived to Casterly Rock.

“To honor the Vale’s traditions of marriage, Lord Stark and Lady Alys will wed in three days. To honor the Reach’s traditions of children marrying in the order the were born, Lord Jon of House Arryn and Lady Diandra of House Tyrell will wed three days after that. To honor the Iron Islands’ tradition of a boy becoming a man the day he commands his own ship through battle, rather than at the age of six-and-ten or knighthood, Lord Greyjoy and Lady Amanza of House Tyrell will marry three days after the wedding of Heir Arryn.”

That would give them plenty of time to ensure Casterly Rock’s septon survived his castigating isolation well enough to be the living sacrifice hatching stone eggs required.

“All three pairs have decided to honor the North’s tradition of being wed beneath the weirwood tree. I call upon all members of Houses Paramount currently present in Casterly Rock to witness these events.” Casterly Rock’s Stone Garden would not hold many more than the number of Paramount nobles currently present in the Rock.

“Further, in the vein of drawing the Realm closer together through our traditions, the Kingsguard is expanding. The sacred numbers to the Old Gods are three and four. To honor the revival of the Old Ways many among us are experiencing, twelve of the finest knights of the Realm will be honored with the White Cloak and charged with the security of the Iron Throne.

“Allow me to introduce the two newest members of my Kingsguard,” Aegon nodded to the majordomo at the door across the ballroom from him. His two newest white cloaks stepped through and paced up the length of the room to kneel before the dais. “Ser Jeor of House Mormont and Ser Marrick of House Manderly. Ser Marrick is a knight in the traditions of the Faith of the Seven. Ser Jeor is a blooded warrior who was granted knighthood by the vows he has taken to the Iron Throne.”

That nearly caused an uproar, but only nearly. There were too many nobles that had converted or were converting away from the Faith for there to be a true ruckus over this change.

“This history being made,” he told them. “After over two hundred years as a single kingdom united, Northern traditions that were driven out by the Andal Invaders are returning to the South. I know I am not alone in the belief that the return of these traditions will enrich the culture of all of Westeros.”

He waited as the Old Way Converts clapped. There might have been some pointed looks at those that refused to even learn the old ways but he said nothing.

As long as things stayed in a place of polite judgement of either side to the other, it was fine.

If things got violent, that would be his problem.

“Another tradition I encourage future generations to embrace is the Rhoynish tradition of absolute primogeniture. Only the gods can choose the gender of our firstborn children. When the gods decide we need a female heir, it is not our place to disagree.” The Dornish contingent were nodding their agreement. That was nice, but expected. “Clearly, this generation of Heirs Paramount is set. I, for one, would hate to waste my time making matches between my lords and ladies for them all to immediately change,” he offered lightly.

He received a smattering of polite laughter for his efforts. Which, good enough.

“However, every House Paramount that changes to absolute primogeniture for the next generation and enforces this change within their territory, will be granted the right to use the Rhoynish titles of Prince and Princess.” He very carefully did not smile at the many speaking looks being traded around the room.

“One final matter and we will retire to the Golden Hall for dinner.

“As you all should know, House Targaryen is larger than it has been since the Dance of Dragons pared our House down to three. In an effort to prevent a second Dance and to clarify the line of succession within House Targaryen, all members of House Targaryen that are not in the line of succession will henceforth be addressed as Lord or Lady. For example, Lady Daenora Targaryen who was a member of the line of succession when she was married to my older brother, Prince Aerion, but is no longer a directly in line for inheritance of the Iron Throne now that she is married to Lord Jasper of House Arryn.”

He spotted a few nods around the room, letting him know his message was clear.

“This also includes both of my sons, Lord Duncan and Lord Jaehaerys, as well as my daughter, Lady Shaera, all of whom failed in their duty to their King and the Realm by marrying for love rather than honor the arranged marriages their King made for them.” It hurt. Honestly, it did, just to say the words, but, “Any member of any House that would put their personal desires ahead of the good of the Realm has no place upon or near the Iron Throne.”

The crowd was shocked silent.

Duncan had been explicitly disinherited when House Baratheon had rebelled after he rejected their daughter as his future queen, but Jaehaerys and Shaera had not been. Neither the Riverlands nor the Reach had rebelled over the matter, but that had been luck.

Now he understood that House Tully’s peaceful acceptance of the royal insult was because House Tully had not had the standing in their own territory to rebel. House Tyrell’s peaceful acceptance had been because they had not had the general to lead their forces. Now, House Tully had faced justice for their own failures, but House Tyrell had been left without recourse for the original insult.

House Tyrell had not demanded justice for their slight but, in his mind, that made them more worthy to see justice done for them, not less.

He took the opportunity that his shocked-silent nobles presented him with and kept speaking. “As of now, the heir to the Iron Throne is my daughter, Princess Rhaelle, who has proven herself dutiful to the Iron Throne and the Realm.”

His youngest had confirmed her pregnancy to him just that very day. After seven years content with one son, Rhaelle had gotten pregnant within three moons of his order that she have more children. Shaera, on the other hand, had not shared a bedchamber with her husband since receiving that same order, further proving to him that she deserved no chance to stand as queen in any possible future.

“As Princess Rhaelle’s one child is the only viable heir to Storm’s End at this time, the person after her in the line of succession is my granddaughter, Princess Rhaella.” He stood. Rhaelle and Rhaella immediately popped to their feet in a clear display of respect for his place as king. “Now, let us dine.”

Discussion filled the room.

-*-

“My Lord, do you have time for a report?”

Tywin opened his eyes to see Lady Ellyn standing in the godswood with him. He felt what he could only label generalized encouragement from Tybolt so he nodded and waved her to sit on the root across from him. Tybolt would not encourage him to do anything that would offend the gods, particularly not during his habitual vigil of the gods.

Mayhaps the Gods of Stream and Stone wanted to hear his Whisperer’s report as well.

“What do you have?”

“There is some disappointment in the West that they will be losing you as Lord Paramount and Warden. It is actually equal to the excitement of finally having a Westerman on the Iron Throne.”

Tywin nodded, he would not be on the Iron Throne, exactly. Not as he was when he had been Hand, but Prince Consort was a stronger and closer tie to House Targaryen than any Small Council position could ever be. And, if he had his way, he would be remembered as being as essential to High Queen Rhaella I’s rule as Queen Alysanne had been to King Jaehaerys I.

Though, he was not certain what he would do if the gods blessed them with thirteen children.

A great deal of fostering, probably.

“There is some mild dissent about Lord Kevan marrying a niece rather than a daughter of another Lord Paramount,” Lady Ellyn warned.

“Counter that with the knowledge of the Stark Legacy,” he ordered. “Eight thousand years of continuous rule is not something any other noble lineage in the known world can claim.”

“Are you willing to foster in Winterfell for at least a short period?” she asked. “To further show the value that you place on the West’s pending connection to the North.”

Considering that his future wife would certainly be heading North sooner rather than later, he was certainly willing to visit. He had never seen Winterfell himself; it was entirely past time he changed that. “I will visit,” he allowed. “Dependent on finding a caretaker for the West that I can trust.”

“That will work for me.”

“Status of the projects I gave you?”

“I solidified our control of the West first and have started securing positions in the Reach, the Vale, and the Riverlands. The North is proving resistant to my efforts, we may have to establish our own businesses through third parties and take control of the already established positions at a later date.”

Tywin was amused. They were discussing whorehouses with all the seriousness of a war. It was fitting, too. “I will increase your seed funding,” he told her. Establishing new was more expensive than acquiring old. “Be prepared to lose gold in the North in the near term.”

“Of course, my lord,” she agreed. “The Reach will make up for it.” She huffed. “Fools seem eager to give away their resources for a bit of gold.”

“The Reach has never had to go without,” he reminded her. “Even during war, they are well fed with fat coffers.” Nothing had made that clearer to him than the War of Five Kings. House Tyrell did not deserve their surplus—the gods knew they had never put it to use as effectively as they could have.

With a bit of ambition and the resources the gods had given them, they could have been the secret rulers of the West, the North, the Iron Islands, and Dorne while still openly ruling the Reach. They could have rendered the Iron Throne nothing more than a powerless symbol and yet they had feasted and feted—plotting useless, foolish, intricate plots the entire time instead.

Lady Ellyn nodded. “I have found several boys I like for the Citadel project. Lannister bastards, all of them.”

Sending such boys to forge their chains, they both knew but she did not say, would ensure there would be no Lannister version of the Blackfyre Rebellions. Tywin heartily approved. “We should sponsor all such boys to the Citadel.” Or the Wall, he was not terribly picky.

“I have the three of an age to squire waiting in the hall.”

Tywin nodded. That was a good age to send boys off at, the standard, actually. Any younger and the Citadel would not accept them. “I will order Maester Luwin to begin preparing any younger boys you choose for a Citadel education.”

“Learning to read before they go would certainly ease things for them,” she agreed. “Maester Luwin is popular in the Rock. So much so people think your future wife is planning to steal him from you.”

Tywin was pleased. Maester Luwin specialized in the care of women and pregnancies. For his wife and the maester to be friendly, or invested in each other, was only to the good of their future children. “I will send for another maester.” Tywin frowned. Casterly Rock was entirely too large and too populated to be adequately cared for by a single maester. “Or three.”

“Send Maester Keeran home as soon as you can,” she advised. “Or he will earn a great deal more than the punch in the face he was already gifted.”

“Someone struck him?” Tywin demanded. That should have been reported to him immediately.

“His face is bruised,” Lady Ellyn told him. “But no one is claiming the deed and he will not speak of it.”

Tybolt tugged on his mind and Tywin closed his eyes. For a moment, he was Tybolt laying in a den he had made for himself and his mate. Then his vision took a step back and took on a softer edge—a memory.

He prowled the jungle level his lad had Maester Keeran building for himself and his mate. He smelled a poison, sweet and sickly, corrupting his mate’s scent and roared in fury. A startled exclamation had him bursting through the undergrowth to find Maester Keeran kneeling over his mate’s body. The fool had the sense to back away as he moved forward. He sniffed first his mate. Man hands had touched her belly and head. The smell of the poison was quickly fading under her fury. He could smell the man coming toward him—brave while his back is turned. A flick of his tail sent the man flying, face first into a tree. The crunch and pained scream made on contact satisfied him enough to allow the man to flee.

Tywin burst out laughing. “The fool maester was damaged by a Western Lion not even trying,” he told Lady Ellyn.

Maester Keeran trying to poison a Western Lion within Casterly Rock was clearly a problem and an attack on House Lannister, no matter what he had been trying to accomplish.

“Banefort!” he called and his master at arms appeared around the edge of the entrance to the Stone Garden. “Arrest Maester Keeran and secure him to his rooms,” he ordered. “I will deal with him later.”

“Aye, milord.”

“The boys?” he asked Lady Ellyn, getting her back on track.

“Of course.” She stood, curtsied, and went to the entrance of the cave herself. She returned with three boys—one of which was very familiar. “Rhoderic, Oswyle, and Pycelle Hill are the oldest three of the boys I have chosen.”

“How are we related?” he asked, just managing not to stare at Pycelle, his loyal minion in another life. He had used the man’s love for him to his advantage in another life, but mayhaps that love had not been what he had assumed it was.

“Rhoderic and Oswyle are twins.” They did not look it. “Your grandfather’s youngest sons. Pycelle is your father’s firstborn son.”

Tywin was shocked but he did not show it, nodding instead. “All three of you wish to forge chains at the Citadel?”

“We do,” Rhoderic answered.

“Our father promised he would send me on my twelfth nameday,” Pycelle said. “He passed the day after.”

Tywin nodded his acceptance. “I cannot keep our father’s promise to you for him but I would send all three of you to the Citadel for myself. I do have a favor to ask each of you. Lady Ellyn will explain them to you individually. They will not take away from your lessons or studies and there will be no obligation between us once you have earned you chains and chosen keeps.

“That is generous, my lord,” Oswyle offered. “Very generous.”

Tywin dismissed his gratitude with a wave. “You are blood of my blood. I may not be able to call you family but a foundation for success free from our mutual father is the least I can give you. If you know of any more of our natural family that would do well at the Citadel, tell Lady Ellyn. She is managing this project for me.”

“A project of favors,” Rhoderic said with a considering frown.

“It will be explained,” Lady Ellyn interjected. “You will meet me for luncheon in my rooms,” she ordered. It was a dismissal and all three young men were intelligent enough to take it as such.

“Mayhaps we should consider other apprenticeships for other members of my natural family,” he told Lady Ellyn. “Not all of them will be interested in the Citadel and the favor of the talented is not to be dismissed.”

“I will add it to my duties,” she said. “Rhoderic seems the best connected of the natural-born Lannisters. Mayhaps he will help me make the necessary connections for my own work.”

“Males and females,” he reminded her. “With the King’s changes both could become a source of challenge and I see no reason females should not begin being trained to fulfill their own potential.” Better than leaving it to rot as he had to with Cersei. She would have been a fine Warrior Queen of the West had she been born in a different time. As it was, her denied potential had driven her entirely mad.

“Of course, my lord.” Lady Ellyn frowned. “My son’s own bodyguard, Ser Hurdon, passed a whisper to me that I have not yet had time to verify but mayhaps action should be taken soonest.”

“What is the nature of this whisper?” Tywin wondered. The only thing that should drive a man of the West to haste over prudence should be a threat to House Targaryen.

“Lady Shaera—” Lady Ellyn seemed entirely pleased with the former-princess’s public demotion. “—is looking for a way to be rid of someone. Ser Hurdon said he overheard the hiring of a ship. When I asked my little helpers, they reported mention of poison, yet none could name names.”

Poisons diluted or in small doses could do a number of things to a person, including encouraging sleep or imitating an illness. And a ship could get rid of someone in a way that would not be kinslaying.

Ironborn had been slavers.

It would not take much effort by an Ironborn to be rid of a person in a way they could never be recovered.

The most likely, in his mind, was Princess Rhaella who was small and entirely portable over Princess Rhaelle or King Aegon who were both well-guarded.

He stood. “We must take this to the king.”

Lady Ellyn stood and took his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “With comportment, my lord.”

He did not argue with her because appearances were important. Running through the Rock like a panicked child would not serve him. He summoned a guard to walk with him with a gesture.

“My lord,” the Faceless Guardsman was the first to respond.

“Order all entrances and exits to the Rock locked down until further notice. And tell my uncle, Lord Jason, keep all ships docked in the Sea Cavern. Further ships may enter but none may leave without the permission on the king.”

“Aye, my lord,” more than one guard acknowledged.

“Go,” he ordered. The guards left at a decent clip.

There were a frustrating number of levels between the Stone Garden and the Lord’s Solar that the king had claimed for himself. He spent the entire trip alternately cursing himself out for not considering how the king’s proudest and most rebellious spawn would react to being disinherited, and planning what to do to that hellspawn should she have already laid hands on his princess.

As they turned the final corner between them and the Lord’s Solar, Tywin heard a furious hiss.

“Let!” was all Princess Rhaella was able to say as her mother took a hold of her shoulders and shook her.

“Knock on the door, alert the king,” he ordered Lady Ellyn.

She was pale, clearly shaken by the familial violence, but nodded and dropped his arm to move forward with more speed.

Lady Shaera released Princess Rhaella and she dropped to the floor.

Tywin drew the long dagger he carried in place of the sword he was not strong enough to wield and stepped between mother and daughter. “That is enough.”

“You would draw a weapon on me?” Lady Shaera demanded. “I am a pri—”

“A disinherited woman of no greater rank than mine,” he interrupted. “Wardens answer only to the King and his Hand.”

“I am the king’s daughter!” Lady Shaera reached forward as though she would shove him aside. He cut her palm and she jerked back with a furious gasp.

“She is the king’s heir and my future bride,” he told the woman. “I will not allow you to harm her.”

“I will have your head for this!”

“On who’s authority?” a new voice asked. White cloaks rushed forward to take control of Lady Shaera and Tywin turned to see the king standing in the doorway to his solar, looking entirely furious.

Tywin knelt to attend his princess, trusting the king to discipline his own daughter. “Are you well?”

“Shaken,” Princess Rhaella said softly. “She— She is mad. My mother is mad.”

He pulled his princess into the shelter of his body. “You are safe now. None will harm you. I will not let them.” His princess began to cry which he understood. She was young and the violent betrayal of one of your own parents was not an easy thing, no matter your age at the time.

“Can you lift her?” King Aegon asked him softly.

Tywin shook his head silently. He wished he could. If he was an adult, he certainly could, but physically he was merely eleven and not up to the task.

The king nodded to someone behind him.

Plate-covered arms scooped them both up and Duncan the Tall carried them together into the Lord’s Solar.

“We have much to discuss,” the king said and Tywin had to agree.

 

Chapter Eight

“In the name of King Aegon of House Targaryen, the Fifth of his name; Lord of the Eight Kingdoms of Westeros, King of the First Men, the Rhyonar, and the Andals; and Protector of the Realm, I, Lord Tywin of House Lannister; Lord of Casterly Rock; Shield of Lannisport; and Warden of the West name you, Walder of House Frey guilty of murder, conspiracy, and treason. What say you?”

Tywin stood on a stone ledge over the Sunset Sea—the place Kings of the Rock had been executing criminals for time immemorial—holding the largest, sharpest sword he could currently manage.

Lord Stark had offered him the use of Ice for this specific event, as a sign of their new unity. Unfortunately, he could not lift the damn thing as an eleven-year-old. It had been a struggle as an adult, if he were to be honest about it. Starks were beasts for not only carrying that thing around but actually using it in combat.

“I never killed anybody,” Walder Frey denied. Then he spit at him. In front of the King, Lords Paramount, and the gods.

“So, you admit to your role in conspiracy and treason,” Tywin concluded and signaled the guards.

Walder Frey struggled and raved as the guards bent him over the stone.

Tywin took his head in a single, heavy stroke. He had never been more satisfied in his life.

Then he threw Walder Frey’s head into the sea. Without signal or order, the guards sent the betrayer’s body over the ledge after it, denying him the respect of a proper burial. Again, he had never been more satisfied than that in his life.

He caught his sister’s eyes. Her entire being was shining with her pride and faith in him. For the third time, Tywin had never felt more satisfied.

In any life.

-*-

“Is this necessary, Sire?”

“Reading?” Aegon asked as he looked up from the book laid out in front of him. “It is a pleasure more than anything, but it can provide necessary insight.”

“The pyre,” Dunk corrected.

Aegon stared at him. There was real concern in the face of his most trusted. Was Dunk afraid of dragons? “House Targaryen needs dragons to secure our place,” he reminded his dearest friend. “The changes you and I have made have weakened our position on the Iron Throne. My family’s lives and the peace of Westeros depend on the rebirth of dragons.”

“It is kinslaying,” Dunk declared.

Suddenly, Aegon understood the source of Dunk’s distress. “You fear for Shaera?”

“I fear for you,” Dunk disagreed. “Kinslayers are cursed by the gods themselves. Their lives are rarely worth living, even accidental kinslayers.”

“You mean my father.” He had always hated the way people dismissed his father as a kinslayer.

Maekar Targaryen had been a good king, a strong warrior, and the best father he could be while sitting the Iron Throne without a queen. As Aegon had also lost his own queen to the birth of his youngest child—years before he sat the Iron Throne, Aegon sympathized with his father greatly. The hate his father had borne for himself and from others grated on him, even know, so many years later.

Uncle Baelor had been killed by an equipment malfunction in a fight started by Aegon’s own brother, Aerion Brightflame. If anyone had murdered Uncle Baelor, it had been Aerion the Unreasonable.

“Sire.”

Aegon blinked his eyes back into focus. “There will be no kinslaying upon that pyre,” he assured his friend.

“But you said—” Dunk cut himself off with a frown.

“Shaera committed treason by striking one of my heirs,” Aegon said. “And so, I gave her a choice. She could spend her days cloistered and silent as a devotee to the Seven, or she could climb on the pyre of her own free will and ensure our bloodline’s connection to the dragons that hatch.”

“With her life,” Dunk stressed.

“She does not believe she will burn,” he said. “Fire cannot harm a dragon, is a stringent belief of the blood of my blood and ancient wisdom.”

Dunk did not look appeased.

“The magic of House Targaryen is the domain of our women,” he said in an attempt to soothe his dearest friend. “Daella, Daenora, and I chose the rituals that will be completed but Daella and Daenora wove them into one. Shaera, Daella, and Daenora will soon start the process with Daenora burning all of the plant life in the courtyard that they will be using as a ritual sacrifice to prepare the ritual grounds.

“Shaera will be lighting the ritual pyre. Shaera will give herself and the other living sacrifices the ceremonial wine.”

A wine that was composed of enough of various tranquilizing fluids potent enough to put a full team of horses into a deep sleep. He hoped it would be enough to prevent an excessive amount of screaming from the living sacrifices that would be placed on the pyre.

It would be less traumatic for young Rhaella that way.

She had only just turned seven and while the dragon-in-the-egg was already exerting a great deal on influence on her personality, Shaera was still the girl’s mother.

Aegon knew Dunk well enough to be certain by the mere shift of the knight’s shoulders that he was still not pleased by their current plans. He would have to remove Dunk from Casterly Rock for all of their own good.

And for the good of House Targaryen.

“I have a mission for you,” he told his stalwart friend.

“A mission?”

“I need you to go to the Wall,” he explained. “Specifically, to Castle Black. Lord Commander Rivers—” also known as Bloodraven, his great uncle and a staunch supporter of House Targaryen “—has agreed to return Dark Sister to House Targaryen. He said he would leave it with my brother, Aemon, for a man of suitable rank and skill to retrieve.”

Aegon had written his older brother for advice on returning all prestige possible to House Targaryen to further secure their position. Aemon had taken it upon himself to convince Lord Bloodraven to part with the sword of Queen Visenya herself, the last of House Targaryen’s two Valyrian steel swords.

The other, Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, had disappeared into Essos with the sons of another of Aegon’s nuncles, Bloodraven’s half-brother, Deamon Blackfyre.

Dunk took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “It would be my honor to return a relic of such meaning and power to House Targaryen.”

Aegon nodded, relieved by Dunk’s clear relief. “I do not have enough Dragon Guard here to send a contingent with you worthy of the task. Lord Lannister will be rounding out your retinue with his Lion Guard. And Lord Stark’s Wolf Guard will go with you as well.” Or they would once they knew what he was about. “You will need take our noble prisoners for the Wall with you.

“I will arrange a meeting for you with Lord Stark to plot the best route through the North for your expedition. I am willing to send your sworn brother, Ser Jeor, with you as a guide but I can already tell you that you will be traveling by boat for a good portion of the trip,” he grinned.

Ser Duncan the Tall was worthy of his name and hated sailing because of it. Ships were rarely built with someone of Dunk’s stature in mind and they both knew it.

“I will be sleeping on the deck,” Dunk muttered.

Aegon ignored the comment since he probably was not meant to hear it.

“How soon can Lord Lannister have a ship ready to sail?”

“Three days,” Aegon answered.

While he had not actually requested Lord Lannister prepare for the expedition yet, he had the young lord’s measure. He could order the expedition leave today and Lord Lannister would have the ship loaded and leaving on the evening tide. Three days would be plenty of time for the necessary meetings.

And the unnecessary ones that were bound to happen regardless.

More importantly, no matter which tide he saw Dunk off on, on the third day, Dunk would be leagues away before the dark of the moon—a ritual requirement that would be met on the fourth day from today.

“As you will, My King.”

-*-

“It should be me.”

Tywin looked up from his bucket of water. Arms practice, for him, was more about learning to use his now much smaller body than learning tricks from the same Arms Master he had had since he was actually ten—but he still had to do the work. And the work required him to hydrate.

“Excuse me, My Prince?”

Aerys crossed his arms and pouted. It was probably supposed to be a glare, but it was entirely a pout. Tywin was hard pressed not to laugh.

“It should be me. I should be heir. I should be marrying my sister. Mother promised. Our son will be the hero of prophecy. The Prince Who Was Promised.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow at Aerys. “I would not want my son to be the hero of a prophecy,” he admitted.

Aerys’s eyes light up like he had won something.

“Prophesied heroes tend to get a solid case of dead,” Tywin pointed out. “I want my son to live. I want my line to continue.”

Aerys rolled his eyes—uncouth behavior, honestly. “You would not understand. You are too…” Aerys trailed off. Tywin would bet dragons to daydreams his former-friend was going to call him too common.

“Are you questioning the wisdom of His Grace the King?” he asked.

Aerys did not answer. Tywin had not expected he would. The only safe answer to that question was no but that answer would clearly be false in their current circumstances.

“Mayhaps the king knows something you do not,” Tywin offered. “Mayhaps you are this Prince who was Promised.”

Aerys jolted as if struck. “Me?”

“What are the requirements to meet the prophecy?” Tywin had heard several versions of this prophecy in two different lifetimes, but he had no idea what version Aerys had heard.

Aerys stammered a handful of false starts.

“I assumed he is a prince?” Tywin asked leadingly.

“Yes!” Aerys took hold of the offered rope with both hands. “A prince! Of my parents’ line! That is why Mother promised Rhaella to me!”

“Unfortunately, the will of a lady does not overwrite the will of a king,” Tywin pointed out.

Aerys’ face puckered at the reminder of his mother’s reduced rank.

Not that it would matter long. Lady Shaera would be dead soon—one way or another. She was a threat to his wife. He could not allow such a person to live.

Not again.

“Mayhaps your grandfather is passing the burden of ruling to the women of your House to facilitate the prophecy.

“Are there any other requirements?” Tywin asked. “Other than being a prince?”

“He is a great warrior!” Aerys declared.

Tywin pretended to consider that. “The only thing between you and becoming a great warrior is some effort.”

“He—!” Aerys cut himself off and blinked at him stupidly. “What?”

“You are nine now, are you not? Your arms training should have started by now.”

“I—” Aerys glanced guiltily toward Tywin’s arms master. “Mother will not allow me to do arms training.”

“I suppose she does not want her son to be a hero of prophecy either,” he offered lightly.

Aerys gaped.

Then Aerys glared.

Finally, he drew himself up and marched over to where the Sword of Morning, Lord Jorvan of House Dayne, was watching the line drills.

Tywin watched as they exchanged a handful of words. Lord Dayne summoned two of the white swords of the Kingsguard over to them and the lot of them started picking over practice gear and outfitting the prince.

Tywin shook his head. Some people never changed and, as always, manipulating Aerys was simply too easy. He did not, for a second, believe Aerys was some great hero of prophecy. Though, in truth, Tywin would not be offended if Aerys ran off and got himself killed for the sake of said prophecy.

At this point, he felt like prophecy owed him that.

His own training done; Tywin stuck around to watch the Kingsguard instruct his new friend. Aerys was awkward and awful but so was everyone else when they started taking up a new skill.

He was considering offering Aerys the instruction of one of the Water Dancers he had authorized Kevan to hire and bring back to Casterly Rock when he spotted smoke. It was coming from the heights—specifically in the area he knew to contain the Lannister family levels and their private gardens. The quality of the smoke told him whomever was fucking about up there were burning healthy, wet plants and had to bite back a sigh.

Certainly, hatching dragons would require sacrifice but did that have to include his grandmother’s golden roses? The plants on the family level had been cultivated to grow upon the heights for hundreds of years. Now, the Ladies of House Lannister would have to start again.

Great.

Idly, he wondered how many of the bulls he had provided the king had gone into the making of that ritual fire before he decided it did not matter.

If the king needed more bulls, there would be more bulls.

“FIRE!” one of the off-duty guardsmen had noticed the fire. “FI—”

“STOP!” he roared as best he could. Being a child had lost its shine when he had been a child. Being a child now, after being a man, was difficult and frustrating.

The spotter stopped and every man on the training level turned to him.

“This is expected,” he told the lot of them. “Ignore it. Carry on.”

Aerys, of all people, sat down beside him, silently backing him up. Tywin nodded to the princeling and handed him the water scoop from his private bucket.

“You heard the Warden,” Lord Commander Duncan commanded—needlessly, and frustratingly, right as the man were about to obey Tywin alone.

Tywin kept himself calm. He reminded himself that the Lord Commander was a common born lad from Flea Bottom. He did not understand the intricacies of rank. He did not understand that he had just undercut Tywin’s authority rather than supporting it as he was probably trying to.

Mayhaps he could convince King Aegon to send the man on a quest. Standing in the shadow of the throne had not taught the man much. Fortunately, there were always other options.

“How do you feel about sailing?” Tywin asked Aerys.

“What?” Aerys asked stupidly.

He had to give the boy some credit, he told himself sternly. The question must have seemed entirely out of the blue.

“Sailing,” Tywin repeated. “King’s Landing is a port city. Certainly, you have been on a ship.”

“I have not, actually,” Aerys admitted. “Mother—” Aerys cut himself off sharply, glaring into space.

With any luck, the prince was realizing how unhelpful his mother’s restrictions on him were. A realization long past due and one he had hoped for years his Baratheon grandsons from his previous life would have had in regard to their own mother.

“Let us go sailing,” Tywin urged. He was needed in his solar, truly, but Aerys was currently open to his suggestions and one must strike while the iron was hot.

“Yes!” Aerys agreed and off they went.

-*-

“Is this the last one, then?”

Aegon turned to see the young Lord Lannister lingering outside of the stable that once held three glorious bulls. “Saved the best for last,” he quipped. The bull had a rich red coat with golden mane and tail tuft.

“The other two prepared the ritual space,” Lord Tywin guessed.

“They did,” he confirmed. “Casterly Rock will become a source of fire magic for a time.”

“Your Grace, tell me you are not turning my keep into a volcano.” Lord Tywin pinched the bridge of his nose in an uncommon show of frustration. “Sincerely. I need this favor from you. My King.”

The lad was so worried, Aegon nearly laughed. “No, no. No volcanoes, I swear it by the old gods and the new.”

Lord Tywin let out an audible sigh of relief.

“There will be a bonfire upon the heights. A magical bonfire that will—for a time—burn on fire magic and fuel the development of the hatchlings, should the gods grant us success in our magical endeavors.”

Lord Tywin nodded. “Fire for blood, blood for fire.”

Recognizing one of the oft repeated phrases from his family’s spell book, Aegon smiled. “Only death can pay for life,” he corrected.

Lord Tywin shot him a shrewd look. “Prophecy is a sword without a hilt. It will bite your prick off, every time.”

Aegon laughed, surprised. That had to be Lannister ancestral wisdom because it certainly was not known to House Targaryen. “I do not do this for a prophecy, but for the security of my House. For the future of the Realm.”

“Then it is worth doing well,” Lord Tywin agreed gravely. The lad did most things gravely. Hopefully his marriage to Rhaella would bring smiles more often to his face. “Unfortunately, the black and red bull I ordered is still on its way to Casterly Rock. I had to reach out to the Dornish Marches to find one. House Tarly sold him to me. However, it will be another moon before he arrives.”

“Lannister colors will work well enough for this,” he said, though a bull of Targaryen colors would have been a stronger omen and a more fitting sacrifice.

Still, House Lannister would be joining with House Targaryen soon enough. Rhaella had made it clear she would have no other and, once she was queen, not even he would be able to argue with her all that much.

And he would never argue with her in public.

“It is yours either way, My King,” Lord Tywin said.

Aegon was pleased. He was certain the ladies of his House would find a use for the bull soon enough. “I am surprised we have yet to have beef for dinner,” he offered. “I know my sisters gave the carcasses to the kitchens.”

“The entirety of both bulls are being used by various artisans and crafters within Casterly Rock,” Lord Tywin assured. “I have given the majority of meat from the bulls to the Lion and Dragon Guard—red meat serves us all better nourishing those most likely to bleed in our defense.”

Aegon nodded, he got that. “A bull’s fighting spirit and drive nurture those that live by the sword the most.”

“Several prime cuts of the will be available at the head table for our next feast, Your Grace.”

“That will be soon,” Aegon warned. “And you will be seated at the High Table should all go as I expect.”

“I will aid my queen in all endeavors,” Lord Tywin promised.

But Aegon already knew that. He certainly would do his best to aid and support Queen Rhaella in any way he could.

Fortunately, there were some very fitting words he had heard more than once while touring the Reach in his youth. “So say we all.”

“So say we all.”

-*-

“I still think it should be me,” Aerys said. Not like he meant it but more like he thought he should.

Tywin looked up from the trade agreement Lord Whent had offered him between the West and the Riverlands. Prince Aerys was reclining on Tywin’s favorite couch—the one he had stolen from his father’s solar before the King had arrived at Casterly Rock.

It had become the prince’s habit to lounge and complain in his general vicinity when the prince was neither invested in martial training nor learning to sail.

To his surprise, Aerys had become genuinely obsessed with both.

“Have you not already named the ship you decided your sister will give you upon your majority?” Tywin asked.

Aerys swelled with pride. “The Queen Betha,” he confirmed. “For my grandmother.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow at him in an attempt to goad the prince into deeper thought.

“Shut up.” Aerys huffed. “My Lord.”

Tywin laughed out loud. Kicking Aerys’s ass in the training ring on a regular basis had so many benefits. For him personally, it was cathartic, but it had given the lad real respect for him, too. It was not fair, mayhaps, due to their very different circumstances, but Tywin had never cared about fair when it came to seeking the most benefit for his family.

“I think Rhaella thinks you are in love with Genna.”

Tywin’s mirth died brutally. “What?”

“She was concerned by the looks you and Genna shared at the beheading.” Aerys shrugged. “So, she is spending more time with her.”

“I thought they were friends,” Tywin mayhaps did not mean to say out loud.

“Girls.” Aerys offered and rolled his eyes dismissively.

“Walder Frey had made himself a direct threat to my family,” Tywin said. “Particularly, he was a threat to my sister. I was protecting my sister—as is my gods-given duty. Same as I will protect mine and Rhaella’s children.”

Aerys considered that. “I do not believe she would accept such reassurance from me.”

Tywin agreed. “Because you were too cruel to her for too long.”

Aerys glared at him but there was no heat to it. They all knew he had been a monster to his sister. Tywin was just relieved that Aerys had come to accept this as a failing of his own on his own.

“I will spend more time with Rhaella to assure her of my affections,” he promised. He would also use the time to figure out who the hell thought it was a good idea to make a seven-year-old Targaryen jealous. And hang them.

By their entrails, preferably.

“Have you considered your fostering?” Tywin asked.

Aerys frowned. “I am fostering with the Sword of Morning.”

“Are you?” Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Or did the King ask his sister to take care of you while he was busy?”

“Huh,” Aerys considered that. “You think I could pick?”

“If you chose well,” Tywin said encouragingly. “And made a solid argument to the king.”

“Which could make grandfather like me more,” Aerys said in a tone that sounded like he was thinking out loud. “Mayhaps he might come to trust me, if I choose well and further his goals.”

Aerys was quiet for a few moments. “Who would you recommend?”

Tywin pretended to consider that. “Your grandfather is building new connections between your House and the other noble houses of Westeros, which we should keep in mind, but you should also choose a House that can support your interests in both knighthood and sailing.”

“House Velaryon immediately comes to mind,” Aerys pointed out. “But grandfather wants new connections, you said. And House Velaryon has been allied with House Targaryen forever. They have been Master of Ships forever.” Aerys tilted his head. “Though, it is probably time that our Houses married again to renew the blood connection between us.”

That was more insightful than anything Tywin had heard from Aerys when he had been both a grown man and king.

Had the lack of the discipline of knighthood in his previous life caused Aerys to lose his mind? Certainly, it had to be a factor, if the mere taste of true discipline Aerys had now was the cause of this much change in his mental process.

“You are not yet betrothed; you should mention a Velaryon match and your reasons for it to the King.”

Aerys nodded.

“House Baratheon sails—and well, obviously, their keep is on Shipbreaker Bay—and they have a history of knighthood. But—” Tywin stopped to see if Aerys could follow his logic.

“But their Lady is my aunt, their heir is my cousin. Grandfather wants to build new connections.”

Exactly. He was nearly proud.

“House Lannister has also served as Master of Ships.” During the Dance of the Dragons and for the greens, but still. It counted. “But I am not old enough to foster you.”

“You fostering me would rather put a damper on our friendship,” Aerys pointed out. It was almost a quip. Quick and off the cuff.

Tywin was surprised. Mayhaps this Aerys would be a different man than the last one.

“I am jealous of you,” Tywin offered. It was true, after a fashion, but also a calculated confession.

Aerys fell off of the couch in his haste to sit up.

“What?” the younger boy demanded from the floor.

Tywin huffed and threw down the quill he clearly was not using any time soon. “You are not the heir. You are not the spare. But you are a male born to the highest rank and status in Westeros. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“What?” Aerys demanded again. Harder.

“You can marry a beautiful woman, if you want. Your family will surely arrange it and whoever they choose will fill the halls of all the gods with their gratitude over the match. If you are persuasive, you could even choose your bride.” Tywin scrubbed a hand through his hair in a deliberate show of frustration. “Or you could join your sister’s Queensguard. Or run off to the Citadel. Or join the Night’s Watch.

“You could fuck off to Essos, if you wanted to—plenty of your forebearers did. Coming back would be your choice. You have rank, and wealth, but no responsibility.

“Meanwhile, my entire life is planned.” He rocked back in his chair aggressively. “Yes, I am a lord and a warden and I will marry a beautiful woman but I have to clean up my father’s messes which no one will ever thank me for. By the time people here start respecting me personally rather than for my rank, I will have to give it all up, go to King’s Landing, and start again. But that second time, I will not be the highest authority in the keep.

“The Red Keep will never be my keep.

“I do not get to go out and be a squire. I do not get to explore Essos or personally find out what is on the other side of the Sunset Sea.” Two separate things Aerys had recently mentioned day dreams of. “I do not get choices.”

He was breathing hard when he stopped. Aerys was staring with his mouth hanging open.

Mayhaps, he had meant his little rant more than he had intended.

“Apologies,” he muttered, looking away.

“No, no, you are right. My life is great. I am entirely lucky.”

Tywin snorted.

Aerys giggled a bit, cleared his throat and asked. “So, where are we fostering?”

“We?” Tywin asked. He would have sworn they had just covered this.

“Clearly, you need to live through me, so we have to make this choice together,” Aerys said. “Somewhere I can write you regularly of my—our—adventures.”

That was more amusing than it should be.

“House Manderly and House Redwyne both sail and squire,” he pointed out. “The Old Gods have a lot of sway right now so I would add House Mormont as a possibility.”

Aerys gasped like he had an epiphany. Tywin waited for him to voice it.

When he did not, Tywin continued. “House Mormont does not train knights, however, I have heard it said that every Bear Islander is a warrior. They could train you and you could earn a knighthood later, if you want it.”

“But,” Aerys drew the word out. “Grandfather wants bonds with Paramount Houses, in particular. And, it could be argued, that he is encouraging not just the worship of the Old Gods, but religious diversity for all of Westeros as he has not yet declared himself for the Old Gods. Combine that with fighting and sailing and that leaves us with one option.”

Clever, clever. “House Greyjoy,” Tywin supplied.

“Yes!” Aerys grinned at him.

It was charming. It reminded him of back when he was actually a child and actually friends with Aerys.

“Lord Greyjoy is a beast with both sword and trident,” Aerys said, wandering over toward the side table Tywin had laden with refreshment. “And he can use the bow.

“He has the most experience at naval combat of any Westerosi Lord and there is no way the new Lady Greyjoy will not be surrounded by knights and armsmen from the Reach for the rest of her life. They could certainly add a knightly element to my fostering.”

Tywin could not argue with any of Aerys’s points. Except. “They would consider you a greenlander. Ironborn have never been kind to greenlanders.”

“A decade or so with the Queen’s brother will force them to change their opinions.”

“Or teach them to keep those opinions to themselves,” Tywin countered because that was far more likely, in his mind. “Only if you prove to be vicious and competent.”

Aerys poured himself a cup of Tywin’s lime water—a habit he stole and adapted from a Baratheon that did not yet live and probably never would.

“I can be vicious and competent,” the prince eventually said.

One of those, Tywin knew for a fact was true. The other…he found himself—reluctantly and against his better judgment—believing could also be true.

Still. “You certainly will not survive fostering with Quellon Greyjoy as anything less.”

Aerys held up his goblet. “To vicious competence.”

Tywin held his drink up in return. “To vicious competence.”

 

 

Chapter Nine

“The Gardner Kings had the Thorns of Highgarden instead of Kingsguard,” Lord Luthor told them.

Them being Lord Luthor and his match, Genna, as well as Tywin and his match, Princess Rhaella. They were, all of them, lounging—for lack of a better word—in the godswood, at the feet of the heart tree.

“Because Thorns protect roses,” Genna guessed.

Lord Luthor smiled at Genna and nodded. It was terribly inappropriate, even if they had been matched by the king himself. Luthor Tyrell was five-and-ten. Genna was eight.

“How many Thorns did House Gardener keep?” Rhaella asked.

“Twelve,” Lord Luthor said. “Six for the king, six for the queen. Though they could be deployed in sets of four during wartime when the heir took to the battlefield.”

Rhaella shot him a speaking look and Tywin nodded. “I see the wisdom in it. And the number twelve does not intrinsically favor any one religion.”

“Only because the Old Gods do not have a single, formal religion for their believers to follow,” Genna disagreed gently. “Though, Kevan might have a different story to tell when he returns from Essos. He has had a great deal to say about all of the temples to different gods that exist in Braavos.”

“When will he be returning?” Lord Luthor asked him.

Tywin scoffed. “Soon. He requested permission to sail to Asshai. I, of course, denied him.”

“Good way to get himself sacrificed to some dark god,” Lord Luthor pointed out. “If the rumors are true,” he allowed. “Lord Kevan is nine, is he not?”

“Ten, now,” Tywin corrected. “He will take my place as Warden of the West when I marry our queen.” Tywin nodded respectfully to Rhaella. She beamed at him in return.

“You seem entirely convinced she will rule after King Aegon,” Lord Luthor pointed out. “Why? What do you know that we do not?”

Tywin briefly considered pointing out that if he did know something they did not, he would never be able to tell them, but he had learned long ago that the best way to keep a secret was to keep anyone from knowing it existed. Instead, he said, “House Targaryen has tried to put a queen on the Iron Throne before.”

Lord Luthor acknowledged his very valid point with a nod.

“And I cannot believe our king would specifically make my match and publicly state his intent to remove me from my place as Warden of the West without any wrongdoing on my part while matching my younger brother with the daughter of another Warden, if he were not entirely certain it was necessary. I have to believe that he somehow knows my princess will be queen. I could not say how he is so certain, but he must be and I have faith that he is correct.”

Lord Luthor would probably see him as a fool until his faith was proven true but that could not be helped.

Princess Rhaella, Tywin noted, did not say a word about the dragons they both knew would be hatching in the dark of the moon—either that night or the next. He knew she knew that he knew. He knew she knew that he had returned Fire and Blood to her family. But she said nothing.

Clearly, she was following the will of her king and grandfather.

Lord Luthor just nodded with a considering frown. “I have asked King Aegon to remove House Tyrell as Warden of the South.”

Tywin could not have heard that correctly. He asked “What?” at the same time Rhaella did.

“The Reach is not actually the most southron authority in Westeros,” Lord Luthor shrugged. “That would be Dorne. Dorne has the most challenging terrain for fighting wars in the south, as the North is in the north. It makes the most sense to have natives that know the land lead any wars we must fight in the far north or far south. Leaving the Wardenship in Tyrell hands is sentiment and misplaced pride. Disrespectful. It should have been given to House Martell the moment they joined with the rest of us.”

“Not that House Baratheon or House Tyrell would have accepted Martell Wardenship when they did join the rest of us,” Tywin pointed out. “The Blackfyre Rebellions started because King Daeron II took a Dornish wife.” Partially, at least.

Lord Luthor acknowledged that with a tip of his head. “That was nearly a hundred years ago. This is now.”

“Now, we need to show faith in Dorne and decrease hostilities between Marcher Houses,” Rhaella agreed. “Mayhaps weave matches between House Caron, House Dondarrion, House Selmy, and House Swann from the Stormlands with House Tarly and Peake in the Reach and House Yronwood and Dayne in Dorne.” Rhaella turned to him. “Am I missing any?”

“House Wyl in Dorne,” he said.

“House Manwoody in Dorne,” Lord Luthor added.

“Seems I need to improve my Dornish geography,” his princess said lightly.

“Mayhaps we all should,” Genna agreed. “Greater understanding leads to lesser hate.”

Tywin was not alone in his nodding. That was probably the wisest thing his sister had ever said.

“I do not mean to be indelicate,” Genna started which meant she absolutely meant to be indelicate. “But House Tyrell is not best known for their strategic choices.”

Thankfully, Lord Luthor snorted, clearly amused. “No, we are not. Neither is House Hightower, truth be known. All of House Hightower’s historical military victories were decided by sheer numbers. House Tarly has long been the strategic backbone of the Reach.

“I wanted to foster with them, but my mother refused to hear of it.” Lord Luthor treated them all to a wry smile. “It was by far too close to Dorne for her comfort.”

“I would not be offended if our heir fostered with them,” Genna told him. “Regardless of that heir’s gender.”

“I am unsure House Tarly would be willing to teach a female heir the art of war,” Lord Luthor said. “But we can negotiate that deal when the time comes.”

“Agreed.”

“There is always the North,” Tywin felt the need to point out. “They have ruled the Lands of Winter for over eight thousand years so they clearly have a great deal to teach all of us if we can let go of our Southron Pride long enough to learn it. And they have had more than one ruling Queen of Winter in that time.”

“Did House Stark’s Queens of Winter go to war?” Rhaella asked.

“According to Lord Stark, yes.”

His princess nodded. “I will foster with House Stark.”

Tywin was relieved.

-*-

“Are you prepared?” Shaera asked, standing between him and the doorway like a guard.

“I am,” Aegon answered along with the other four members of his family involved in the ritual.

The room beyond the door was a highly ornate bathing room—a project Aegon knew the previous Lord Lannister had left half-finished. Aegon and his sisters had covered everything not relevant to their ritual needs in yards upon yards of black silk and blocked the drain on the giant golden stone bathing pool.

Shaera and his sisters had filled the pool with only the gods knew what. It was wine-dark with all manner of flower petals floating on the surface and crushed herbs swirling in the depths.

Rhaella as the first to be claimed by a dragon of this new generation stripped and walked up one side of the pool into the wash. She completed the series of ritual motions the women of his House had them all practicing with liquid-filled hands. At the end, she finished the sequence with a full body dunk in the unknown fluids before she walked up and out the other side of the pool.

His daughter, Shaera, met her own daughter on the far side of the pool with a plain, white shift and helped Rhaella slip it on.

Daenora Targaryen, his goodsister and cousin, and the second Targaryen to be claimed by a dragon went next. Into the bath, ritual motions, dunk, and exit into white shift.

Third was Mordred Dayne, his nephew, also claimed by a dragon-in-the-egg.

Fourth was Mordred’s mother, his sister, Daella.

Aegon himself was last.

The ritual motions were easy to remember after doing them so many times a day for the last three days. He did notice, however, that his hair held on to none of the wine-dark liquid after his submersion. Daella’s had not either but all three future dragon riders’ hair had and he wondered what that was about. Was it just a coincidence? He wondered what ritual significance their wine-stained hair might have.

Shaera led the line of them through a portal that was clearly meant to hold a stained-glass window, but was currently empty, directly out to the courtyard they had prepared for the ritual.

Aegon went to fetch the Lannister-colored bull and brought it into the wooden frame they had made to anchor the ritual pyre.

Rhaella fed the bull an apple while Shaera presented him with the blade that they would be using for all of the bloodletting necessary to the ritual. It was as long as his forearm from the elbow to the tip of his longest finger and made from the finest castle forged steel. The hilt was made of twisted but smooth dragonglass.

The bull accepted Rhaella’s affection even as he slid the knife under his throat. Shaera was there with a large vessel to catch the blood he freed when he slit the bull’s throat.

It took all of them save Shaera to fold the bull down within the ritual frame and then turn him over.

Aegon slit the bull’s belly, deep. The warmth of the bull’s fleeing life steamed into the night air.

Rhaella nestled her bronze and gold dragon egg near the bull’s heart. Then she took the ritual blade from him and cut off the ends of her hair that were still red from the bath. That hair got laid over her egg.

Daenora was next. Her egg was truly the most beautiful of the three with its gradient blues. The ends were the dark blue, nearly black, of a storm-dark sea fading to the happy blue-green of the Summer Sea towards the center. Over that were swirling stripes of blue-silver like the gusts of a winter wind.

Daenora, also, cut the wine-soaked ends of her silver hair and laid them across her egg.

Finally, Mordred slid his solid black egg—one of the three House Targaryen had from Balerion the Black Dread himself—into the bull’s open abdomen and covered it with the bloodied silver hair he cut from his own head.

Aegon and Daella backed out of the inner ritual space at that point, their tasks complete. Aegon moved to stand at sunset, representing House Targaryen’s dragon-less past. Daella moved to stand at sunrise, representing House Targaryen’s future being in the hands of their women.

Shaera, Rhaella, Daenora, and Mordred moved six wooden platforms into a hexagon formation around the ritual frame and sacrificed bull within it. The platforms were tilted so that one sacrifice’s feet was under the head of the next, allowing for a tight formation.

Half of the platforms already had bodies of the deceased in them; Lord Tytos Lannister, Ser Gerold Hightower, and Casterly Rock’s previous maester, Maester Curtass. They were dressed in the finest of apparel. Ser Gerold’s white scale armor gleamed in the light of the oil lamps and Maester Curtass had surely never worn a robe so fine in his life.

Shaera led the living sacrifices out to their platforms.

First, came Septon Lawren, who had done his part to foment rebellion within the Rock due to Lord Tywin’s obvious yet unspoken preference for the old gods. The man had holy blood dedicated to the Seven that would empower and sanctify their ritual when burnt.

Then, Aenys Frey who, being named for the second King of the Targaryen dynasty, was himself a pseudo-dragonlord. And, as with practically all children of the ancient Houses of Westeros, he had king’s blood that would also empower the ritual.

They both stumbled along, silently compliant, behind Shaera in turn. Aegon could not say if they were drugged or if their behavior was a product of the magic that he could feel rising—oppressive and biting—in the night.

Shaera took the vessel she had caught some of the bull’s blood in and began drawing runes on Lord Tytos Lannister’s face. She completed her task with three small pours of the liquid over Lord Tytos’s mouth.

She did the same with Aenys Frey, next. The only difference was that he was forced to drink the three small pours Shaera gave him.

The pattern continued with Ser Gerold, then Septon Lawren, and finally Maester Curtass.

While Shaera did her part, Rhaella and Mordred filled the center of the ritual frame with bundles of dried grasses bound together with thin, dry strips of bark.

Daenora went along behind Shaera splashing to entire construction with oils. She also filled the small trench they had dug in the ground of the ritual space with oil before placing a nub of a candle in a pool of oil.

Shaera finished her task with herself, drawing runes on her person and then drinking the last of the ritual drink in three solid pours.

Shaera glanced over all the work House Targaryen had done and declared, “It is time!”

The three known dragon riders retreated from the inner ritual space and took up positions between the pyre and the outer ritual circle Aegon and Daella were anchoring.

Shaera knelt and lit the nub of a candle floating in its sea of oil. Then climbed onto her wooden platform within the pyre of her own free will.

That bit of candle burnt forever.

Aegon was distracted from watching the candle’s flame by a glint of red in the night-black sky. A comet. The Red Comet that the women of his House had seen as a powerful portent for hundreds of years had come to hang low in the sky.

Fire shot up from the ritual space to meet it as the candle’s flame met oil.

The entire trench of oil rolled with flame, waving a welcome to greet the Red Comet, before it found the pyre and that nearly exploded in flame as well.

When the comet reached its lowest point—so close Aegon felt he should be able to reach out and touch it—a great crack split the night.

It was quickly followed by two more world-altering cracks.

Aegon held his breath as shapes began to grow and move within the pyre.

The first to emerge was easily the size of the bull they had sacrificed to begin the ritual. When it was far enough from the light of the flame for him to see its true color, he could tell that the dragon was mostly bronze. The dragon’s ridge spikes and wing membranes were gold, as Rhaella had dreamed, but there were also the beginnings of golden, boney ridges covering the dragon’s face.

Aegon hoped those ridges meant his granddaughter’s dragon would never know the danger of an arrow to the eye as so many dragons had learned the hard way in their House’s history.

Rhaella greeted the dragon with a cheer and a hug around the base of its neck. Then she produced their ritual knife—from where, he could not say—and slashed her own palm from the base of her first finger, diagonal to her wrist. The cut was deep enough to be worrying. It immediately filled with blood.

Without hesitation, his granddaughter placed her hand bleeding side down on the dragon’s snout. Contact between them made a sound like meat searing in a pan over a roaring flame.

When she removed her hand, the cut was healed. Its place was marked by a scar that looked years healed. On the dragon’s snout was a perfectly matching scar.

As if it was made to cradle Rhaella’s scar.

The second dragon to emerge was just as breathtaking as he expected it to be though it was clearly smaller than the first. The top of the dragon was the same gradient of ocean blues as the dragon’s egg. The underside was a swirl of blues and whites and silver.

Camouflage, Aegon realized upon his second look. The dragon had camouflage to go unnoticed in the sky itself.

Daenora greeted this dragon and she too cut her palm. This pair’s blood bond settled with matching scar and indent as well.

Finally, the solid black dragon emerged from the flame. He was smaller than the other two, just the size of a great hound and he immediately honed in on Mordred with a decisive dedication that would do any hunting beast proud.

As Mordred sealed their dragon bond with a bloody sear, Aegon stared up at the comet with a grateful tear.

Yes, his reign was over, but he could not bring himself to mourn the loss.

This was the beginning of something new.

This was the beginning of something beautiful.

-*-

The silence in the Lion Hall was glorious.

The Hall was filled to the brim with the highest-ranking nobles from all parts of Westeros. People that freely and frequently gave their opinion on everything because it was expected and sometimes even necessary—but not one of them said a word.

The silence was heavy and ringing as Tywin walked with his future wife down the length of the hall to the dais across the end. Technically, she was escorting him, in the Stormlands fashion. She held her hand out before them; arm slightly bent. Tywin’s hand was laid over hers, fingers folded into her grip. The position was uncomfortable—physically speaking—but it made sense. She was the queen. No one outranked her, legally. No one had the right to escort her anywhere, socially.

Not even her husband.

Behind them came Tybolt and Rhaella’s bronze-and-gold lizard. They were of nearly equal size already showing the clear and unmitigated success House Targaryen had found in their ritual magic.

Behind the Great Beasts came the king. Former king, Aegon V, as it would soon be announced.

Then came Princess Daenora of House Targaryen. She was escorting her own husband, Lord Jasper Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale and a Warden in his own right, in the Stormlands fashion as well. Behind them came Princess Daenora’s beautiful blue lizard. The blue beauty was clearly not as large as and therefore younger than Queen Rhaella’s.

No one would be able to argue that.

It wasn’t as large as a Western Lion. Not even as large as a direwolf, nor a horse, but it was larger than any hound he had ever seen.

After that, came Prince Mordred of House Targaryen, formerly of House Dayne, with his mother, Lady Dealla of House Targaryen on his arm in the much more comfortable, common, and proper fashion.

Behind them came Prince Mordred’s black beast—intimidating because of the history of black dragons in Westeros but not all that imposing physically. The Beast was the size of an average hound and clearly the youngest of a species where greater size equaled greater age and power.

Tywin had to admit that he was relieved that the other dragons were so much smaller than his wife’s. No one could legitimately argue against her placement. And if they tried, Rhaella’s Great Beast was large enough to roast them and carry her away to safety. Once they got a proper saddle on it, of course.

Rhaella guided him into the Throne of the Queen of the Rock as the ranking person between them should and then took her own seat on the Throne of the King of the Rock.

Silently—as they had agreed and planned—she gestured for her grandfather, King Aegon V to take the center of dais in front of them and address the rabble.

“Recent events have made the issue of inheritance a large and looming concern—as the crimes like House Frey’s should. Every lord in this keep have spoken to me personally about their intentions for the future leader of their House.” King Aegon V shook his head dramatically. “And many lords outside of this keep have sent me lengthy correspondence on the same matter.”

There were some polite chuckles offered at the king’s attempt at levity.

“House Targaryen has long been ruled by the Rite of the Dragon. First internally, by the will of Aegon I and later in the explicit laws of the Realm. Many of my ancestors expanded those laws, particularly when there were dragons scaled and fire-breathing were no longer there to guide them.

“House Targaryen is pleased to announce that has changed. Dragons have returned to House Targaryen and the Realm of Westeros. The first dragon, born within the dark of the moon, has bonded to my granddaughter, our new Queen, Rhaella of House Targaryen. All hail Queen Rhaella of House Targaryen, the First of her Name; Lord of the Eight Kingdoms of Westeros; Ruler of the First Men, the Rhyonar, and the Andals; the First Dragonrider of Westeros!”

“Hail!” many called. “Long live the queen!” Rhaella’s dragon bellowed its approval. “Long live the queen!” The shouts grew louder as they continued, more and more lords and ladies joining the call.

Tywin squeezed his future wife’s hand and they exchanged pleased looks.

Queen Rhaella held up a small hand and her Great Beast bellowed, reinforcing her request for silence.

Aegon V bowed to Queen Rhaella and retreated from the center of the dais.

“This is the dawn of a new age,” she told them all. “The return of dragons and the first uncontested ruling queen of Westeros illuminate our future. We have much to discuss, but tradition states we must begin my rein with your oaths of fealty.” She turned to him with a smile. “We will begin with the West.”

“As you will, my queen,” Tywin agreed and left the dais.

He pulled his sword and knelt, laying the blade before him. His family—Kevan, Genna, and their mother, Lady Jeyne holding little Tygette—joined him. Together as one, they spoke the vow, the only variation being their individual names.

“The Iron Throne thanks House Lannister for their great loyalty and service—future, present, and past—as Wardens of the West.” She dismissed them with a silent wave of her hand and Tywin returned to her side.

House Lannister was replaced by House Marbrand. The House of his mother’s birth gave their vow and were replaced by House Stackspear, the House of Uncle Jason’s first wife. House Stackspear was replaced by House Tarbeck in turn and on and on it went until all of the West had sworn their loyalty.

“The North,” Queen Rhaella chose next.

And it made sense to him. House Stark were Wardens, who should swear their loyalty first because of their increased rank over other House Paramounts, and Rhaella had already agreed that she would foster in Winterfell when the inevitable War of the Dragons broke out with Essos.

Every member of House Stark currently residing in Casterly Rock knelt before their queen and made their vows.

“The Iron Throne thanks House Stark for their fidelity and service—future, present, and past—as Wardens of the North.”

After House Stark, every other Northern House in Casterly Rock—all three of them—made their vows to the queen in turn.

Tywin knew that there would inevitably be a tourney to celebrate recent events or, mayhaps to celebrate the first anniversary of recent events—he was already planning the spectacle. The prizes would be so large as to draw contenders from every inch of Westeros and all of them would have to vow their loyalty to the queen before they did anything else so he was not bothered by the currently small selection of nobles from some of Westeros’s most ancient kingdoms.

He would catch them all for his wife, even if he had to ride out and fetch them himself.

The Vale went third with House Arryn being confirmed as Wardens of the East.

Then, in a move that made a majority of the hall gasp at the implications, Queen Rhaella called. “Now Dorne.”

Princess Meria and her uncle, Prince Markos, Aegon V’s Master of Coin, knelt to give their vows on behalf of House Nymeros Martell. Prince Mors V would have to come to make his vows personally, but that was what his tourney was for.

“The Iron Throne thanks House Nymeros Martell for their devotion and service—future and present—as Wardens of the South.”

Murmurs rose among the gathered throng as discussion of this new development was had. There were no shouts of outrage though the Marcher Lords present looked to be holding themselves back only out of fear of their Queen’s Guardian Beast.

The Dornish lords and ladies, however, were smiling as they knelt to give their vows.

Not that Tywin had expected a different reaction to the new honor that was just laid upon their Paramount leader and, by extension, laid upon them.

“The Reach,” Queen Rhaella called when Dorne was done, making it clear that there were no hard feelings from the Iron Throne towards House Tyrell and also unofficially favoring the Reach on nearly the same level as the Wardens that had proceeded them.

There were a nauseating number of Reacher lords present—more than there were Lords of the West, actually—but Tywin could not claim that surprised them. The Reach was larger than all other kingdoms save the North with less distance to travel and hardship to endure to arrive at Casterly Rock than most Northerners could claim. And he had never met a Reacher that would not give up their own life blood to spend time in the presence of royalty in the hope of receiving any sort of social advantage.

“The Iron Islands,” Queen Rhaella called next.

That was also unusual. More, it signaled a change. An increase in prestige and recognition for House Greyjoy. Typically, the Iron Islands were the last to be recognized at events such as this. Most times they did not bother to attend these events at all and House Targaryen had been content with their distance as long as they were silent and compliant.

Bringing them up the line of recognition could make them an actual player in the Game of Thrones, should Lord Quellon make the right moves in the future.

And, with a scheming Tyrell on his arm, Lord Greyjoy could hardly do anything else.

Due to the sheer mobility of the Ironborn, every House of the Iron Islands made their vows, one after another.

“Riverlands,” Queen Rhaella called.

They had discussed it. She knew Lord Whent was her grandfather’s goodbrother and recognized his daughters were blood of her blood but she felt that she should only formally recognize family as members of House Targaryen if they were related within a certain degree to herself which he understood.

House Targaryen was supposed to be special. They were the regents of Westeros and the riders of dragons. They had to expand House Targaryen’s blood connections for the stability of the realm but use of the Targaryen name and distribution of the greatest benefits attached to that name had to be limited to ensure House Targaryen remained special. To maintain their rank and superiority.

The man had already received his Lord Paramount status because of his relationship to King Aegon. That was enough. Queen Rhaella could put distance between them safely without dishonoring her predecessor.

Lord Nithan of House Whent and his two daughters present knelt and gave their vows. Their thoroughly sworn vassals followed after them, one by one, including Tywin’s own uncle, Lord Jason of the Crossing.

“Crownlands.”

The Crownlands, technically, did not have a Lord Paramount. The closest thing they had was the ruler of Dragonstone, who had only ever been the heir of House Targaryen at this point in history.

Only House Targaryen ruled the Crownlands, and they did so uncontested as such the Crownlands normally did not get their own slot, as it were, in events like these, but there were too many of them present to ignore. Recognizing them as their own pseudo-kingdom underscored House Targaryen’s real and direct power over the people of Westeros.

Mayhaps they should have their own Lord Paramount. Or the ruler of Dragonstone should be recognized on the same level as a Lord Paramount. It would technically be a decrease in rank for the heir to the Iron Throne, but an increase in responsibility and possibly a good training tool for his firstborn.

Tywin would have to think about it and mayhaps make his case to his wife after they were legally wed.

“The Stormlands,” Queen Rhaella called.

That was clever.

Usually, the last Lord Paramount called was the Iron Islands and it was very nearly a dishonor. An afterthought.

Placing House Baratheon—long standing relatives of House Targaryen that the Royal House had married into multiple times since the Conquering—in that place, marked a transition from nobles to royals, strangers to family. House Baratheon’s lady was the Queen’s aunt.

Queen Rhaella did not have to mention it, they all knew.

And, of course, Lady Rhaelle of House Targaryen swore herself to her queen as exactly that. Leaving no room for confusion or ambiguity.

“House Targaryen,” Queen Rhaella called at long last.

Another change and one he explicitly approved of. Typically, Houses swore their fealty to their new leader privately. It was considered private business. But House Targaryen were the royal family. And dragonriders. And facing their first female leader in 120 years. The first entirely uncontested ruling queen.

House Targaryen publicly swearing themselves to Queen Rhaella would only ease possible tension in Westeros. It was a deft move; one Tywin had no hand in arranging, for once.

It was the queen’s own idea.

He could not have been prouder—nor more relieved—as one by one the members of House Targaryen, starting with Princess Daenora, eventually going to the queen’s father’s Lord Jaehaerys the Dragonless, and ending with King Aegon V—knelt and swore their loyalty to his future wife.

“Thank you, House Targaryen.” Queen Rhaella nodded to them and all of her immediate family bowed. She dismissed them with another silent wave—clearly a favorite move of their new queen as she had used it with everyone.

“I will meet with all of my Lords Paramount and many besides in the days to come,” Rhaella promised. “For now,” she stood. “Allow me to introduce the First Dragon of Westeros.” She moved to the edge of the dais and was immediately joined by her bronze-and-gold bond mate.

“In Old Valyria, dragons were named after gods. Dragons were gods, in many ways, and no man feared that which he could ride. This was the fault of Old Valyria that led to her Doom. House Targaryen, by and large, had continued this tradition, but no more. House Targaryen are the line of Westerosi kings, we will name our dragons in the Westerosi fashion. Knights in Westeros name their steads for virtues that they hold dear. Henceforth, the princess and princesses of House Targaryen will do the same with their dragons.

“As queen of Westeros, I am the bedrock on which our great nation stands. I must be steadfast for the health and safety of the Realm. Therefore, my dragon will be steadfast as well. It is my pleasure to present to the gathered nobles of Westeros, the First Dragon of Westeros Taenys the Bronze, Dragon of the Queen.” Queen Rhaella gestured smoothly to her dragon.

Taenys reared up, wings thrown wide, and blew fire in a grand display over all of their heads.

The crowd cheered.

 

 

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