- 23 AC -
The heavy oak doors of the council chamber within Aegonfort were shut tight, but they could not keep out the oppressive heat of the summer, nor the rising political pressure.
At the head of the heavy wooden table sat King Aegon I Targaryen. Despite being only 50, he had already felt politics and the burden of the crown carve deep lines into his face. His mind constantly weighed the delicate balance between his family's ancient Valyrian heritage and the traditions of the continent he had conquered.
To his right sat Queen Visenya, the warrior queen. Her posture was rigid; her violet eyes assessed the room and its occupants as if it were a battlefield. Opposite her sat the two anxious figures of Crown Prince Aenys Targaryen and his wife, Lady Alyssa Velaryon.
The recent birth of their daughter, Rhaena, had brought joy to the royal family and the realm, but it had also birthed a dangerous question that now hung above them like a sword over the small council: Who was next in the line of succession?
Maegor, the King's second son, was now one-and-ten name days. Did he fall behind a newborn girl in the line of succession?
"The whispers in Aegonfort have already spread to the streets of King's Landing, and from there to the great houses," stated Ser Osmund Strong, the current Hand of the King.
Osmund had been charged with overseeing and raising the walls around King's Landing and was doing a good job of it. The grizzled knight leaned forward, his massive hands resting on the table.
"The lords look to the Crown for clarity and weakness. A succession left to assumption is a succession that ends in bloodshed and chaos."
"There need be no assumption, nor any blood," Queen Visenya countered smoothly. "The solution is simple, Aegon. Betroth the newborn Rhaena to Maegor. It binds our lines, unites both their claims, and keeps the dragon's blood pure."
A suffocating silence fell over the chamber. Lady Alyssa paled, clutching the edge of the table. She, like most others in all of Westeros, had heard about Maegor, and thinking about having her newborn, her precious daughter, married to him wasn't something she wanted to see.
Naturally, there was also another matter to think about. If Maegor married Rhaena and they united their claims, then he would be King.
"A betrothal? Now?" asked Lord Triston Massey, the Master of Laws.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between the King and Queen, not wanting to say the wrong thing and be on the wrong side of the argument.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but Westerosi law and custom do not easily digest such unions. To bind an uncle to his newborn niece..."
"Is the Valyrian way," Visenya interrupted the man.
Her voice cut through the room like Valyrian steel. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him, knowing what he was doing and hating it. She was a warrior and a smart woman; she hated politics and what it had already become.
"Look upon your King. Aegon and I are brother and sister. We wed, we conquered, and we rule. In fact, Aegon married both of us sisters. If the realm can stomach a brother lying with his sisters, why should it choke on an uncle wedding his niece when she comes of age and flowers?"
"Because the realm is still swallowing, Your Grace, and its stomach is delicate," murmured Grand Maester Gawen.
He adjusted the heavy chain he had earned at the Citadel, looking entirely too weary and old for the debate. He was the kind of man who spoke and then claimed that he was merely old, so no one should take offence to it.
"I receive ravens daily from the Citadel and Oldtown. The Faith tolerates the Conquest's legacy since it was the will of the gods, but they view it as a singular exception, not a precedent to be repeated indefinitely. Inbreeding can have ill effects on t-the health of... the, the... ah, progeny."
"Oh? Which progeny are you talking about? Surely Aenys, because Maegor could break your spine by spitting in your general direction, Grand Maester," Visenya spat, making the old man pale.
"Visenya," Aegon warned his sister. He didn't appreciate her jab at his firstborn son he had with his beloved Rhaenys.
And although he didn't like it, one had to agree that it was true. At birth, Aenys had been small, with spindly limbs and small, watery eyes. He was weak and sickly and slow to grow, but once he had been given the hatchling Quicksilver, Aenys began to thrive. And even now, at six-and-ten name days, Aenys was not as tall as his father, slender and weedy at the same time.
Still, compared to Maegor, who was 5 years younger and had almost reached the same height as Aenys had, it was embarrassing.
"My daughter is a babe!" Prince Aenys finally interjected.
Naturally, he didn't like being mocked this way either. His voice trembled with a mix of anxiety and resentment. He looked pleadingly at his father, asking him to say something and do the 'right' thing.
"And Maegor is... he is one-and-ten, yes, but he is already a man grown in size and... and... temper. It is too soon to bind them. She will be a soft and precious girl and he--"
"Yes? Say it, nephew," Visenya said.
Lord Aethan Velaryon, the Master of Ships and Lord of the Tides, spoke up next. As a Velaryon and kin to Lady Alyssa, his loyalties were delicately split. At least openly. He also knew what had happened on Dragonstone and the rumours that continued to spread about the young Maegor, so he didn't want to see Alyssa's daughter married to that.
"Prince Aenys speaks true," Lord Aethan said carefully. "The girl is fragile. To pledge her to the Prince of Dragonstone so soon... it feels like a forceful hand, one that might stir unease amongst the lords who already fear Targaryen tradition."
"Fear is what keeps the King's Peace," Visenya sneered.
Before the Queen could verbally flatten the Master of Ships, a new voice entered the fray. The High Septon, a man wrapped in cloth-of-silver and crystal, rose from his seat. He had travelled from the Starry Sept in Oldtown specifically for this occasion, and his presence was a heavy political weight in the room.
"Your Graces," the High Septon began, his tone dripping with practised, smooth righteousness. "The Seven who are One look down upon this realm with love, but also with judgment. Incest is an abomination in the eyes of the Gods. The Faith bowed to the Conqueror's... unique marital arrangements as a relic of a bygone era and because my predecessor had foreseen your Grace's arrival as the will of the Seven.
But to perpetuate such unions? To enforce traditions so antithetical to the beliefs of the very people you rule?"
He paused, for dramatic effect, letting the implication linger beneath the 'holy' rhetoric. He breathed heavily, as if it were hard for him to say this, and shook his head.
"It would not be wise to test the devotion of millions and the patience of the gods."
Visenya's jaw tightened as she heard the slimy and 100% made-up words that came out of the High Septon's mouth.
"And what does the Faith suggest, Your High Holiness? That we dilute the blood of the dragon to appease septons? Shall we bow to the opinions of the masses we rule? Should we serve them and wipe their bottoms as well?"
"I suggest a match that binds the Iron Throne to the realm, rather than to itself, and continue to isolate yourself," the High Septon countered smoothly. "I propose a union that would appease the Gods and the faithful, secure the loyalty of the Reach, and honour the crown."
"And who would that be?" Aegon asked.
"My own niece, Lady Ceryse of House Hightower."
"BAH!" Visenya spat, unable to believe the audacity of that man.
Lord Triston Massey raised an eyebrow.
"Lady Ceryse is one-and-twenty. Prince Maegor is but one-and-ten."
"A difference of years is nothing in the eyes of the Father and the Mother," the High Septon replied swiftly. "She is a woman grown, of impeccable virtue and grace. She will temper the young prince's fiery disposition and bear him strong heirs when he comes of age. It is a union of dragon and tower."
The council members murmured among themselves, the political reality of the proposal dawning on them. Lord Strong nodded slowly, seeing the stability it offered. At the same time, Grand Maester Gawen seemed visibly relieved by a solution that did not involve incest and allowed them to suggest a partner for the young Rhaena that would be favourable to the Citadel.
King Aegon remained silent, his gaze fixed on the table. Visenya's argument was sound in the context of Valyria, but Aegon was not ruling Valyria. He was ruling Westeros, and they had to remember that. It was hard as it was now to rule the Andals and the First Men, with their customs and their demands.
The Faith of the Seven was a powerful group within the 7 kingdoms, and it was not really something he could afford to upset without being prepared for repercussions. Had this been 20 years ago, he wouldn't have thought about it for a moment, but now that it was, and he was feeling the burden the crown carried... it was different.
Deep down, beneath his Conqueror's crown, Aegon sought to connect with his subjects, to appear appealing to the masses rather than remaining an alien god hovering above them on a dragon. He loved that feeling, but in his mind, that didn't really unite and strengthen his rule.
Aegon believed that he needed the Faith, and he needed the lords to see House Targaryen as their rightful monarchs, not just their conquerors who held them hostage.
In short, Aegon had lost his edge and made another compromise.
"It is a shrewd proposal," Aegon finally said, his voice quiet but strong. "A union with House Hightower secures the peace. It shows the realm that we respect its traditions, while we still keep ours."
"Aegon! You can't seriously give this stupid--" Visenya hissed, but was interrupted.
"The matter is settled," Aegon declared, standing from his seat.
The council immediately rose with him.
"Maegor will wed Lady Ceryse Hightower. Send word to Oldtown. As soon as my son comes of age, we shall hold hte ceremony there."
"In Oldtown! Brother! We are Targaryens and wed under Valyrian customs, that's--"
"That's enough!!" Aegon raised his voice.
He had an angry look on his face. Visenya understood that he was cross and was now unloading his stress onto her. She sneered in disgust at his reaction, finding him pathetic and having lost his strength and Targaryen Pride.
"Urgh. You bend to these sheep. The dragon has lost its teeth."
"Visenya!" Aegon said.
Visenya ignored the decorum and walked out of the Small Council chamber without looking back. This showed great disrespect toward the King, whom you weren't allowed to turn your back on.
"VISENYA!! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE!!" Aegon shouted, but she didn't listen and left.
She stormed through Aegonfort, making her way towards Vhagar. Now it was on her to tell this news to Maegor, and she loathed that. But most of all, she hated the fact that her magnificent dragon was now going to have to suffer for his father's weakness.
And then there was her immense jealousy. She had managed to use her powerful will and stop bedding men—all that despite Maegor's presence only growing more powerful over the years.
The magic flowing in the young dragon's blood was driving the older dragoness insane.