The sun gradually rose higher, and noon arrived.
**The Throne Room.**
Viserys sat upon the Iron Throne, with all the members of the Small Council standing on either side of the hall.
Leonor held a letter in his hands and read it aloud.
*"House Bracken has secretly moved boundary markers and allowed their livestock to graze on House Blackwood's land under the cover of night..."*
The letter came from House Tully of Riverrun.
Just a few days prior, another conflict had erupted between House Blackwood and House Bracken.
Both houses had mobilized their soldiers, gathering at the border and preparing for battle.
The old Lord Tully of Riverrun was taken aback and hastily sent envoys to mediate, while also dispatching an urgent message to King's Landing.
Viserys rubbed his temples, his head pounding. He interrupted, "Just tell me the result—did they fight or not?"
He truly didn't understand.
For the first decade or so of his reign, the kingdom had been peaceful.
Yet, trouble seemed to pile up all at once.
First, the Triarchy invaded the Stepstones, followed by the rebellion of the mountain clans in the Vale.
Now, even as the Triarchy's pirates had just been repelled, Dorne's intentions remained unclear.
And on top of all that, unrest in the Riverlands was flaring up again.
It was enough to give any young king a headache.
Leonor hesitated briefly before answering, "They fought. Both sides sent in over a thousand men, and there were significant casualties."
"Those damned fools!"
Viserys erupted in anger, his voice echoing through the hall. "Didn't they just agree to a truce? The war in the Stepstones isn't even over yet, and they've already broken their word!"
Cold sweat beaded on Leonor's forehead as he explained, "Your Grace, this was inevitable."
"Both houses did agree to a ceasefire and even committed troops to the royal campaign."
"But their hatred runs deep, passed down for generations. It's not something that can be erased so easily."
Viserys snapped, "Then what do you suggest? Should we send envoys to mediate again?"
Last time, Leonor himself had gone to broker peace.
Yet less than two months later, the two houses were at each other's throats again.
Leonor hesitated before replying with resignation, "For now, the only option is to mediate once more."
House Blackwood and House Bracken were among the most powerful noble families in the Riverlands.
Both controlled vast, fertile lands and maintained thousands of troops.
With the realm still at war, the crown needed their manpower and resources.
Viserys clenched his fists, his veins bulging with frustration. Words caught in his throat.
By now, both houses had suffered casualties.
This wasn't a matter that could simply be resolved through negotiation.
A heavy silence filled the hall, so profound that even the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
Viserys's chest rose and fell as he took deep, furious breaths, each one audible to those around him.
The members of the Small Council remained silent. None had a viable solution.
The feudal system of Westeros granted nobles dominion over their own lands.
The king granted them their holdings, but they ruled as lords in their own right.
When two noble houses clashed, as long as no innocent parties were affected, the crown had no legitimate reason to intervene.
The most they could do was attempt mediation.
And whether the nobles chose to listen or not was entirely up to them.
If they refused, the fighting would simply continue.
As for deploying the royal army to suppress the conflict?
What justification would there be?
Disobeying the king's orders? Waging war without the crown's sanction?
It all sounded authoritative on paper, but in practice, it meant little.
The nobles of Westeros followed the law of the strong.
Might made right.
Knights were respected because of their martial prowess.
Strength translated directly into status and honor.
If the king forbade nobles from waging war, how were lesser knights supposed to rise in the world?
Would there even be law and order left?
Watching their father's rising anger, Rhaenyra nudged Rhaegar's arm and whispered, "Rhaegar, think of something."
Rhaegar blinked in surprise, his expression innocent.
Did he look like some kind of master strategist?
The war in the Stepstones was still ongoing, and his focus remained on the defenses of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows.
Dorne was also stirring, requiring constant vigilance.
How was he supposed to concern himself with the petty squabbles of the Riverlands?
Rhaenyra leaned closer and murmured, "Don't you have spies in the Riverlands?"
Rhaegar cast a glance at their father on the throne, then whispered back, "I recalled most of them to King's Landing. Besides, spies can't do much about a war between two great noble houses."
House Blackwood and House Bracken had been bitter enemies for generations.
During the Age of Heroes, House Blackwood had ruled as kings in the Riverlands.
House Bracken had been their vassals.
But times changed, and House Blackwood gradually declined, losing the support of their people.
House Bracken seized the opportunity, rebelled, and overthrew their former rulers, setting the stage for centuries of blood feud.
For over a thousand years, they had fought countless wars, brokered numerous peace treaties, and even intermarried on occasion.
Yet the hatred between them never truly faded.
Their liege lords had intervened multiple times, but no resolution ever lasted.
Rhaenyra, well-versed in history, gave Rhaegar a pointed look. "Then what should we do? Should I fly Syrax there and mediate?"
Since Aegon the Conqueror had forged the Targaryen dynasty, the nobility of Westeros had always had a complicated relationship with House Targaryen.
At times, they swore unwavering loyalty.
At other times, they rose in rebellion.
This cycle had continued until the late reign of King Jaehaerys I, when things finally began to settle.
Viserys had inherited his grandfather's political legacy, ruling over a relatively peaceful realm.
But after so many years of stability, the nobles of Westeros were growing restless again.
Perhaps it was time to remind them what it meant to face a Targaryen dragon.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "A war between noble houses isn't something we can stop by flying dragons over them."
"Unless, of course, we intend to destroy one of them entirely."
The siblings' hushed whispers reached Viserys' ears.
The old father snorted coldly and said displeased, "Rhaegar, if you have something to say, say it to my face."
He let his daughter, Rhaenyra, off the hook.
After all, girls were thin-skinned. Taking out his anger on his son was enough.
Rhaegar clicked his tongue and shot a glance at Rhaenyra, who looked apologetic.
Bracing himself, he stepped forward, clasped his hands in front of his stomach, and hesitated, at a loss for words.
What could he say?
Deploy troops from Riverrun to intimidate the two families?
After thinking for a moment, Rhaegar spoke softly, "Father, since the two families cannot be reconciled, why not ask Lord Tully to send troops to put pressure on them?"
Despite House Tully of Riverrun being somewhat of a paper tiger, they were still the ducal house of the Riverlands.
Although their management of vassals was a mess, their soldiers and military equipment were the best among all the Riverlands nobles.
Viserys rubbed his temples and said irritably, "If it were that simple, would I even need to ask you?"
Every noble house was like an ancestral deity.
Only by winning them over could they be relied upon at crucial moments.
If they were offended, even if they didn't react immediately, there was no telling what kind of scheming they'd do behind the scenes.
His great-grandfather, Aenys I, his great-uncle Maegor I, and his grandfather Jaehaerys I had all suffered losses in this regard.
Those insular local nobles had schemed against them time and again.
Rhaegar shrugged and stepped back into the ranks.
His mind was occupied with thoughts of the Stepstones and Dorne—he had no energy to worry about the Riverlands.
Viserys continued to vent his frustration while the councilors offered their advice.
In the end, Otto's proposal was accepted:
"Let the two families fight for a while. Once they've worn each other out, then step in and mediate."
Otto truly lived up to his reputation as a former Hand of the King—he was a master at playing the balancing act.
And, as expected, this was exactly what Viserys wanted to hear.
Delaying a problem for one more day meant, in his mind, that the problem didn't exist yet.
Rhaegar slapped his forehead, his expression bitter.
With the matter settled, Viserys dismissed the council.
Originally, he had planned to have Rhaegar meet with the Dornish envoy, but since he was in a foul mood, he had no interest in receiving them.
The meeting was postponed by a day.
---
**The Dragonpit**
"Screeeech…"
Dreamfyre lay sprawled on the ground, stretching her neck as she yawned, lazily flicking her tail.
"Dreamfyre, get up and take me for a ride!"
Helaena sat astride the dragon's back, patting her scales.
The young girl wore a blue dress, matching Dreamfyre's blue scales—girl and dragon seemed almost as one.
An elderly dragonkeeper stood in front of Dreamfyre, a saddle half his height placed beside him. Nervously, he said, "Princess, please step down from the dragon."
Dreamfyre had a terrible temper.
The Dragonkeepers couldn't even get close enough to strap on the saddle.
No one knew where Helaena found the courage, but she had climbed onto Dreamfyre's back, using the dragon's folded wing as a foothold.
It had been quite the struggle, but she had succeeded.
Clutching one of Dreamfyre's spines, her face flushed from exertion, Helaena urged, "Dreamfyre, listen to me."
She couldn't understand why Dreamfyre was so disobedient.
Not like her—she always listened to her mother.
"Screeeech…"
As if sensing the girl's thoughts, Dreamfyre let out a disdainful cry and shut her eyes, intending to go back to sleep.
Helaena pouted in frustration, raising her tiny fists and pounding them against Dreamfyre's back.
Thud. Thud.
Dreamfyre didn't even notice, but Helaena's hands turned red and swollen.
"Dreamfyre, just take me for one flight. Let them see that I'm not to be trifled with."
Tears welled up in Helaena's eyes as she crawled onto Dreamfyre's head.
She was not happy.
Everyone thought she was mentally unstable and whispered behind her back.
Her brother Aegon hated her, always teasing her or ignoring her.
Her sister Rhaenyra didn't like her either—when she pinched her cheeks, she did it too hard.
Even though Rhaenyra never said anything, Helaena, being sensitive, could feel it.
Then there was her father, Viserys.
To him, only Rhaenyra and Rhaegar mattered.
Occasionally, he would notice Aegon because he had bonded with Sunfyre, or Daeron, who was clever and quick-witted.
She and Aemond, stuck in the middle of all their siblings, were like invisible ghosts—overlooked and unwanted.
Lying beside Dreamfyre's horns, Helaena sniffled and declared determinedly, "Brother said I can be a dragonrider. I will tame you."
In her young heart, only Rhaegar cared for her, encouraged her.
If her brother said she could do it, then she had to do it.
Even if she couldn't, she *had* to.
"Dreamfyre, get up! Fly! Fly!!"
With a sudden burst of courage, Helaena stood up, hugged one of Dreamfyre's curved horns, and shouted with her eyes shut tight.
At this moment, she poured all her determination into her voice.
She would tame Dreamfyre and prove her worth.
She was just as much a Targaryen as Rhaegar, Rhaenyra, and Aegon.
*Thump!*
Dreamfyre lifted her head, her tail slapping the obsidian floor as she turned to glance at the little girl perched atop her.
At last, she had sensed something inexplicable.
It didn't understand what that feeling was.
But its previous master, Rhaenya, possessed that feeling.
Shaking its body slightly, Dreamfyre slowly rose from the ground. Spreading its wings fully, it gave a tentative flap.
"Dreamfyre, take off!"
Helena's trembling voice rang out once again.
At this moment, she was crouched on top of Dreamfyre's head, her hands and feet tightly wrapped around one of its horns, too scared to even open her eyes.
(End of Chapter)