The flickering light of oil lamps cast long shadows on the carved stone walls. The lords and advisors of the realm sat around the polished table, the air thick with the scent of parchment, wax, and quiet tension.
Seated at the table were Septon Barth, the Hand of the King, his calm eyes sharp with intellect. Beside him, Grand Maester Elysar adjusted his chain with quiet patience.
Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, sat with a small ledger clutched to his chest. Prince Aemon Targaryen, Master of Laws, watched with a composed, if distant, gaze.
Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Ships, stood to speak, his voice steady and authoritative. At the end, seated beside the king's chair, was Queen Alysanne, silent but attentive.
Corlys began, "Your Grace, the brutal civil war in Myr has spread chaos across the city and beyond. Rape, hangings, killings, civilians caught in the middle of the carnage."
Septon Barth frowned. "What of the other Free Cities? What is their stance?"
"They have chosen neutrality," Corlys answered. "Despite the chaos, not one has offered support to either faction."
Prince Aemon leaned forward, voice cool. "Then what does the Master of Ships suggest by bringing this matter before the council?"
Corlys met Aemon's eyes without hesitation. "According to our sources, the conflict is between two rival merchant-political factions. If we move now, we can negotiate favorable terms, trade routes, harbor rights, perhaps exclusive contracts, in return for helping one side."
Lyman Beesbury interjected, looking anxious. "And what of the cost? Gold, ships, soldiers, it won't come cheap. Our coffers are not limitless, my lord."
Corlys's tone sharpened slightly. "Our coffers won't matter if trade through the Narrow Sea continues to decline. Myr's ports are key to multiple trade lanes. We've already seen delays in shipments. This will bleed into Westeros if left unchecked."
Septon Barth considered the words carefully, then turned to Queen Alysanne. "Your Grace?"
The Queen spoke after a pause. "I understand Lord Corlys's concerns, but Westeros must not be drawn into the feuds of the Free Cities. This is not our war. Let them burn or settle it themselves, we have no need to interfere."
There was a quiet murmur of agreement around the table.
Prince Aemon nodded. "Let us focus on keeping Westerosi shores safe, not wading into foreign blood feuds."
Corlys's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.
King Jaehaerys, who had been listening in thoughtful silence, finally spoke. His voice was calm but carried the weight of finality.
"We do not involve ourselves in the wars of merchants and power-hungry factions," he said, glancing at each of the council members. "The Free Cities have long played their games, and they will continue to do so, with or without our interference."
"But Your Grace," Corlys said, his tone measured but firm, "we risk losing influence. If we wait too long, another power, Braavos, perhaps, or Pentos, might intervene and gain the upper hand in trade."
Jaehaerys looked at him, eyes sharp but not unkind. "And if we act rashly, we may gain nothing but corpses and a drain on our coin. Westeros is not yet ready for foreign war, not when our own stability still requires tending."
Corlys held his tongue, though his dissatisfaction was plain. Septon Barth gave the king a small, approving nod.
"We shall reinforce our ports and keep a close watch on all traffic through the Narrow Sea," the king continued. "If the war spills toward our shores, we will act accordingly. Until then, no swords, no ships, and no gold leaves Westerosi soil for the sake of a Free City's greed."
Queen Alysanne added gently, "We must not become a kingdom ruled by profit. Let our strength come from peace, not war."
Prince Aemon folded his hands. "A wise decision, Your Grace."
"Then it is settled," Jaehaerys said, rising from his chair. "We will not involve ourselves. This council is adjourned."
The chairs scraped quietly as the lords stood and bowed, the chamber emptying slowly, only the quiet crackle of the hearth remained.
Later That Night – In the King's Private Chambers
King Jaehaerys sat beside the fire, a cup of warm wine in his hand, Queen Alysanne opposite him in a cushioned chair. The day's council had worn on both of them, and the weight of ruling never truly eased.
The king sighed, glancing toward the window. "Baelon has barely been seen in the capital these past weeks."
The queen's voice was soft. "He's taken new lovers, it seems… and spends most of his time elsewhere. I hear he prefers the quiet of the countryside, or perhaps the noise of it."
Jaehaerys shook his head with tired affection. "He was never one to sit still."
Then, shifting topics with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, King Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair and asked, "And the boys? How are Viserys, Daemon, and little Aegon doing in the Dragonpit? I told them to begin their training, try to bond with a dragon, claim one of their own."
Queen Alysanne's expression softened, her eyes reflecting both pride and concern. "Viserys and Daemon have been trying. They watch the dragons closely, spend time in the pit almost daily. But so far, no bond has formed. Dragons are willful creatures, especially the older ones."
Jaehaerys nodded slowly, considering that. "And Aegon?"
Alysanne let out a quiet laugh. "He's been watching as well, more silent than usual when among the dragons. But he's only seven, Jaehaerys. He's still young."
The king's eyes twinkled with quiet amusement. "Young, yes, but already built like a young knight squire. Taller than most boys his age."
"With that appetite and all that energy," Alysanne said with affectionate exasperation, "we'll have a strong knight soon enough."
He stood slowly and walked to the window, gazing out at the distant rooftops of King's Landing beyond the Red Keep. The horizon was tinged in the fading orange of twilight. His voice was quiet now, more to himself than anyone else. "Let's hope they claim their dragons soon… the world is changing."
Alysanne joined him at the window, her hand brushing gently against his. "They will. In time. Our blood still sings to the dragons."
Jaehaerys gave a faint nod, the weight of foresight and kingship pressing behind his steady gaze. "Let's hope it sings loudly enough."
A few months passed in uneasy silence. No further rumors surfaced, no whispers echoed through the streets, and the enemy, whoever they were, made no new move. But Aegon's sense of unease never faded. The quiet felt unnatural, like the stillness before a storm.
He remained alert, watchful.
During this time, he had compiled a list of possible suspects, noble houses with enough power, influence, and ambition to orchestrate such a subtle attack. At the top of his list were the Hightowers.
He couldn't help but remember the version of history he had seen in the TV series, how the Hightowers had carefully manipulated King Viserys, how they had worked to isolate Daemon, casting him in a darker and darker light. Maybe, in the show, Daemon had earned that reputation - cruel, unstable, dangerous. But the Daemon he knew now… he wasn't like that. Not yet.
Yes, his brother was prideful. Yes, he had a temper and was sometimes aggressive. But he wasn't cruel. Not without reason. He fought hard, but he fought with purpose. And Aegon knew that a man like Daemon, if pushed the wrong way, could become exactly what the realm feared, if someone was deliberately trying to shape him into that monster.
That thought chilled him.
So Aegon stayed cautious. He watched. He listened. He smiled when he needed to, and kept his suspicions close to his chest. The enemy had gone quiet, but Aegon knew silence didn't mean surrender. It meant they were waiting. Planning. Preparing for their next move.
Inside the Red Keep's vast and shadowed library, nestled between towering shelves of dust-covered tomes, the faint rustle of turning pages echoed in the stillness. Aegon moved slowly down one of the aisles, fingertips gliding over ancient spines, eyes scanning titles faded with age. Somewhere nearby, the soft footsteps of a maester approached.
"Looking for anything in particular, my prince?" the old man asked politely, his voice warm with curiosity.
Aegon didn't even glance up. "No," he replied quietly, "just reading. Searching for something interesting."
The maester hesitated, clearly hoping to continue the conversation, but Aegon cut him off gently. "I prefer silence."
"I understand," the maester said after a pause, voice tinged with disappointment. He gave a small bow and slowly walked away, leaving Aegon alone once more in the dim, dusty quiet.
These days, Aegon had been spending hours here, hoping to stumble across something, anything, related to magic. But the deeper he searched, the more barren the trail became.
Books on Valyria spoke of sorcery, yes, of enchanted steel, binding spells, and fire-wielding priests, but every mention was vague, poetic, or buried in myth. Nothing practical. Nothing instructional. No spells, no rituals, no guides.
It was becoming clear: magic in Valyria had been rare, even at its height. And whatever written knowledge had existed likely perished with the Doom. The great secrets, if they had ever been written down at all, were now smoke and ash.
Frustrated, he closed his eyes and summoned his class tree. A faint flicker pulsed in his vision, a new branch had formed. With a single leaf.
[Class : Knight's Squire (Tier 1)]
[Prerequisites :
- STR ≥ 6 (satisfied)
- DEX ≥ 6 (satisfied)
- CON ≥ 6 (satisfied)
- Trained in swordplay and horsemanship for at least 1 year under a recognized knight or armsmaster (satisfied)
- Participated in live training drills or mock combat (satisfied) ]
[Level 10 (MAX) ]
[ Trait: Squire's Instincts
(+100% weapon handling efficiency)
(+50% bonus to balance and grip while riding)
(+50% less likely to flinch or fall when struck, unseated, or overwhelmed) ]
He had wrapped the class weeks ago, applying the loose trait that had lingered in his pool, then immediately pushed it to level 10 using experience reserves.
It had cost him 14,000 EXP, a heavy investment that had nearly drained his entire stash. But it was worth it. The bonuses from the class were very useful, enhancing his survivability and combat finesse in ways that weren't flashy but mattered.
His moves had become much more refined, enough that he was confident to easily best his past self in a few moves.
Fortunately, his EXP still grew steadily, about 140 to 180 per day, most of it earned during his time patrolling the city with the gold cloaks.
And interestingly, the spread of rumors had added to that total.
The more public the perception of his actions, the more EXP he seemed to receive.
More the impact, more the reward, he mused.
With a quiet sigh, he slid the book he'd been holding back onto the shelf and stepped away, his thoughts drifting as he exited the library.