Chapter 5: Rhaegar Sends His Regards
The brief farce between the red and golden lions ended quickly, yet it tore open once more the blood-soaked gulf between them, laid bare for all to see.
On one side stood Lord Roger Reyne, the Red Lion—red-bearded, lips curled in a smug half-smile.
On the other stood Ser Jason Lannister, golden-haired and rigid with fury, with his nephew Ser Tywin Lannister beside him, eyes cold as cut steel.
It was a struggle that had festered for decades.
Under Lord Tytos Lannister—the Laughing Lion—the arrogance and greed of House Reyne had reached their peak. They borrowed gold from Casterly Rock, then repaid their liege with mockery and contempt, again and again.
It was playing with fire.
Between great lords and their powerful bannermen, such tensions were not uncommon. In the Riverlands, House Frey had grown rich from the Twins and begun to covet Riverrun itself. In the Reach, houses like Hightower and Redwyne often rivaled House Tyrell in all but title.
But rarely did such conflicts grow so open and venomous.
Between the Red Lion and the Golden Lion, there could be no peaceful retreat.
Ser Tywin's gaze lingered on Lord Roger only for a moment before he looked away, the chill in his eyes hidden beneath a mask of calm. He caught sight of his brother Kevan in the ranks and gave a subtle shake of his head, signaling him not to step forward.
Kevan was Lord Roger's squire—but first and foremost, he was a Lannister.
Power was a leaping flame, a crown of gold, and a blade that cut both wielder and foe.
It was never merely a game.
Those who grasped power without the strength to hold it were often the first to be burned.
In that instant, Ser Tywin made his decision.
House Reyne would be erased—root and branch.
The legacy of the Lannisters was too deep, too proud, to be gnawed away by rebellious vassals. After Lord Tytos, the Red Lion would learn what it meant to face the true lion of the west.
Tywin's eyes drifted, unbidden, to Joanna Lannister.
The young lady stood beside Princess Rhaella, radiant and gentle, her beauty soft as moonlight. For a fleeting moment, Tywin allowed himself to imagine a different future—one where he and Joanna stood together, their children bright as gold, their house unchallenged.
If the years aligned… Prince Rhaegar would make a fine match.
King Jaehaerys II watched the silent confrontation with weary eyes. To march west and crush the Reynes now was impossible; the realm could not afford a second war with the Stepstones aflame.
And truth be told, a divided great house was not entirely unwelcome to King's Landing.
Let them weaken one another.
The Iron Throne would reap the benefit.
Cradled in his mother's arms, Rhaegar observed it all quietly.
The turning of Tywin Lannister's fate had begun. House Reyne's doom was no longer a matter of if, but when.
Blood called to blood. Kin turned upon kin.
Westeros was a land where men devoured men.
House Durrandon. House Hoare. House Strong.
All had vanished into the long river of history.
As long as the strong preyed upon the weak, war would never end.
And when the great houses turned their hunger upward, even House Targaryen was not beyond their reach.
Without dragons, the Iron Throne had lost its unquestioned voice.
Royal authority waned with every passing year.
Without dragons… decline was inevitable.
Until one day, some great alliance might rise to cast the dragons down altogether.
A chime echoed softly in Rhaegar's mind.
[Achievement Unlocked]
Game of Thrones (Minor Player): You witnessed the infighting between the Red and Golden Lions. Your Player Aptitude has slightly increased.
Warmth stirred faintly within him.
The branches of his inner tree seemed to grow stronger, leaf by leaf.
House Blackfyre and House Targaryen were already locked in a struggle that could never be reconciled.
This war—this campaign against the Ninepenny Kings—was a war of justice against chaos.
From the realm's perspective, it was a gathering of heroes.
Across the Stepstones gathered pirates, exiles, mercenaries, and madmen:
Old Mother, the pirate queen.
Samarro Saan, the so-called Last Valyrian of Lys.
Jhala Quhaca, the Ebony Prince of the Summer Isles.
Lemore Lester, a famed sellsword captain.
Spotted Tom, the Butcher of the Disputed Lands.
Ser Derrick Fossoway, the Rotten Apple, disgraced and exiled.
Nine Eyes, leader of the Merry Men.
And Aquilo Adarys, the Silver-Tongued magister of Tyrosh.
At their head stood Maelys Blackfyre, the Monstrous—last of his line, captain-general of the Golden Company.
Even knowing how history would unfold, Rhaegar felt a flicker of solemn resolve.
These men would decide the fate of the dynasty.
He stirred in Princess Rhaella's arms.
She startled slightly. "Rhaegar? What is it?"
King Jaehaerys noticed the movement. "The prince seems restless."
"You wish to greet them?" Princess Rhaella asked softly, astonished at her son's intent.
Perhaps the gods had tossed the coin for this child—and it had landed on greatness.
At the Old King's nod, she stepped forward.
Rhaegar raised his tiny fist.
One by one, he brushed it gently against the hands of the warriors before him—Lord Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the King; Ser Jason Lannister; Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull of the Kingsguard; Lord Hoster Tully; and behind them, Ser Brynden Tully and the young Ser Barristan Selmy.
"This child," Lord Ormund declared, voice thick with emotion, "will one day forge deeds unseen in our age."
The soldiers erupted.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live House Targaryen!"
Their voices rolled like thunder.
Another chime rang.
[Achievement Unlocked]
Game of Thrones (Minor Player): Your salute has inspired the host. Player Aptitude slightly increased.
Lucky One: Your fortune subtly blesses those you acknowledge.
Ser Barristan stood straighter than ever, face flushed with pride.
"Prince," he said hoarsely, "I swear—I will never fail such trust."
Rhaegar felt a quiet satisfaction.
Barristan Selmy—strong, upright, uncorrupted.
A hero worth binding to the chariot of fate.
Not yet a Kingsguard. Not yet worn down by years.
This was the right moment.
While the blade was still sharp.
While the knight was still pure.
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