From across the great hall, high on the royal dais, Prince Baelor Breakspear took a sip from his silver goblet, his dark eyes drifting over to the warm hearth where his young son was sitting. He watched Valarr laughing easily with the heirs of Oldtown, Highgarden, and Nightsong, seamlessly bridging the bitter divide between the Reach and the Stormlands with effortless grace.
Baelor turned to his brother Maekar, a rare, quiet smile gracing his lips. "Look at him, Maekar. The boy hasn't reached his seventh nameday, yet he holds court better than half the lords in this room."
Maekar grunted, his dark eyes observing his nephew among the highborn youths. "He has your charm, Brother. Let us hope he learns to hold a sword just as well when the time comes."
"He will," Baelor said softly, his gaze remaining on his son. "He will need to."
Back at the hearth, Valarr took a small sip of watered wine, watching the young nobles debate their favorite tourney champions. Beneath his pleasant, youthful demeanor, his mind was already calculating his next steps.
Step one is complete, Valarr thought, his eyes glinting in the hearthfire's glow. I have secured their interest. Over the next few days, I will bind these boys to me. When the realm inevitably splits and blood begins to flow, the next generation of lords will remember who listened to them at Summerhall—and they will choose the Red Dragon over the Black Dragon.
These boys might seem like mere children now, lacking major importance in the grand tapestry of current politics, but the seats they were destined to inherit held the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.
Take young Lyonel Tyrell, for instance. His father, Lord Leo 'Longthorn' Tyrell, would eventually stand as one of the most formidable pillars of support for House Targaryen during the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Building a genuine, early bond with Lyonel would ensure that Highgarden's loyalty didn't waver when the real test arrived.
Then there was Abelar Hightower. In the original timeline, House Hightower played a dangerous double game during the uprising, hedging their bets by placing sons in both the Targaryen and Blackfyre camps. If I can secure the Hightowers completely, Valarr mused, we lock down the wealth, faith, and influence of Oldtown. With both the Rose and the Tower fully behind the Crown, crushing any rebellious Reach lords like the Peakes or Osgreys will become infinitely easier.
Valarr's eyes then drifted to two other boys in the circle: his cousin Manfred Dondarrion and young Pearse Caron.
Manfred, heir to Blackhaven, was tied to Valarr through his mother, Princess Jena Dondarrion. He was not so sharp, but fiercely loyal, and held the proud blood of the Marches in his veins. As the heir to one of the most influential houses in the Stormlands, Manfred was far more than a political pawn. With proper nurturing, he would become a vital bridge to growing Valarr's authority throughout the region, evolving in time into his most trusted inner-circle companion and a fiercely loyal man.
Beside Manfred sat Pearse Caron, the heir to Nightsong. Valarr knew that in the years to come, Pearse would grow into a legendary lord and a renowned warrior of the Marches, famous across the realm for his skill with both sword and harp. Winning the friendship of Nightsong's future master meant securing the strategic heart of the Marches—the very gateway between the Reach and the Stormlands.
"Prince Valarr," Manfred spoke up, breaking into his cousin's thoughts with an eager grin, "when the squires take the yard tomorrow, you must sit with us in the lower stands! My father brought three fine warhorses from Blackhaven, and I want to show you the charger he promised to give me when I turn ten."
"I would be honored, Manfred," Valarr replied warmly, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Though only if Pearse here promises to tell us which of the Marcher knight's squires actually has a chance in the lists."
Pearse Caron sat up straighter, his young face beaming at the Prince's gesture. "My money is on the knight of Harvest Hall, My Prince! I'll point them all out to you tomorrow."
"Then it's settled," Valarr said, raising his cup of watered wine toward the group. "To tomorrow's games, and to good company."
The young heirs raised their goblets in unison, their boyish laughter mingling with the swell of harps and flutes in the great hall. Standing at the center of their attention, Valarr smiled gently. The seeds of his future faction had been planted deep within the heart of Summerhall, and they would soon grow into an iron shield for the Crown.
The celebration continued late into the evening, but as the music began to soften and the older lords grew heavier with drink, Princess Jena signaled for Valarr to return to her side. Valarr excused himself gracefully from the circle of young heirs, leaving them with warm promises for the morning's festivities.
Escorted back to his chambers by Ser Olyver Stokesworth, Valarr waited until the heavy oak door clicked shut and the guard took up his post outside. Dropping his cheerful smile, Valarr walked over to the tall, arched window overlooking the courtyard.
Down below, torchlight flickered against the stone walls of Summerhall. Patrols of Targaryen men-at-arms walked the battlements, their steel breastplates glinting in the dark. On the surface, the realm was at peace, unified under King Daeron's benevolent rule to celebrate a newborn prince. But beneath that tranquility, Valarr could practically feel the invisible threads of conspiracy tightening across Westeros.
Daemon Blackfyre may not be here tonight, Valarr thought, resting his hand against the cold stone sill, but his shadows are everywhere. Bittersteel is whispering in the ears of bitter lords, and Bloodraven is watching through every bird perched on the battlements.
Valarr closed his eyes, mapping out the years ahead. Winning over the young heirs was only the foundation. Soon, he would need to subtly influence his father Baelor and uncle Maekar without giving away the true depth of his knowledge. He needed to find a way to reach his cousin Daeron before the boy's mind was broken by terrifying visions, and he needed to start gathering his own covert network of loyal eyes and ears.
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A/N: Please drop some power stones and review this book.
Also please comment your opinions and ideas as there are not much information about this period of time.