Chapter 17: The Dragon's Peace and The Regent's Crown
The royal fleet's journey back to King's Landing was less a procession of mourning than a silent, weighted passage. The somber black sails hid a complex tapestry of emotions: grief for Laena, relief for a crisis averted, and the simmering resentments of Queen Alicent. Yet, beneath it all, was the omnipresent, unyielding will of Crown Prince Raegon, already shaping the future with powers no other man possessed.
Prince Raegon: The Architect's Gaze and The Dragon Whisperer
The faint whispers of rats in the ship's hold had brought him news of Aemond's restlessness, confirming what he already knew. Raegon had allowed the claim, a test of will and a calculated step in his grand design. He would guide the chaos, not let it consume them. With the strength coursing through his veins and the ancient understanding gifted by Rob, he moved not merely as a man, but as a force.
The roar of Vhagar tore through the pre-dawn stillness on Driftmark, immense and unmistakable. Raegon was already moving, his strides swift and silent through the dark corridors of High Tide. His steps were unnaturally quiet, his movements fluid and precise, the result of a physical mastery that surpassed any knight in the realm. He felt the ripple of awakening panic in the castle, the frantic heartbeats of servants and guards. In the other history, this was where the eye was lost. Where the true fracturing began. But not here. Not now. He would not allow it.
He reached the beach as the first skirmishes broke out, the younger princes and princesses a furious knot of flailing limbs and shouted accusations. Aemond, radiant with triumph atop Vhagar, was already being swarmed by his own children, Jacaerys and Aelor, and Daemon's daughters, Baela and Rhaena. Jacaerys, fiery as ever, lunged. Raegon saw the glint of something, a desperate lunge from one of his own sons that could have turned disastrous.
"Enough!" The word left his lips, not a shout, but a low, vibrating command that seized the very air. It was more than just a voice; it was an innate projection of dominance, born of his unique gift. The chaos stilled, the children freezing, their youthful anger still simmering but overridden by instinctive obedience to his presence. Aemond, still flushed with the adrenaline of his claim, froze mid-step, his newly claimed dragon looming behind him. Jacaerys and Aelor, who deeply respected their eldest brother Raegon, immediately backed away, their faces still red with fury, but their anger overridden by obedience.
King Viserys arrived then, confused and distressed, followed by Queen Alicent, her face contorted with dawning fear. She saw her son, Aemond, on the immense beast, and then the cluster of angry children. Her eyes darted, searching for wounds.
Raegon stepped forward, his very presence radiating an aura of absolute control. He looked first at Aemond, his gaze firm and knowing. "You have Vhagar," he stated, acknowledging the monumental feat, "as you wished. But your impatience caused this disturbance. You were told to wait." Then he turned to Jacaerys, Aelor, Baela, and Rhaena. "And you," his voice unwavering, "this is a day of grief. Dragons are not toys to be snatched. Vhagar chose her rider. You will show respect to her choice, and to your kin."
Queen Alicent, her initial fear giving way to indignant anger, began to speak, "My son! He could have been—"
Raegon cut her off, his voice carrying an unchallengeable finality. "No one has been gravely harmed, Queen Alicent. Aemond claimed his dragon, a testament to his will. The children squabbled, as children do. It is done. This is a time for unity, not recrimination. The King will hear no more of this." His quiet firmness, backed by his powerful presence and the sheer force of his will, quelled any further arguments, though a flicker of resentment hardened in Alicent's eyes. The children, however, exchanged glances and nodded, understanding that their brother Raegon's word was law. The game continued, the pieces now moved precisely where he wanted them, without the devastating collateral damage of the 'other' path.
The Dragon's Awe and the Regent's Power
Later that day, as the family slowly retreated from the beach, Raegon found himself drawn to Vhagar. The monstrous dragon, still restless after her flight and the dawn's confrontation, was a simmering volcano of ancient power. Aemond stood proudly beside her, his chest puffed out, but there was a flicker of apprehension in his eyes as he watched the beast's movements. Raegon walked past Aemond, his gaze fixed on Vhagar. He raised a hand, not in command, but in a gesture of profound understanding and acknowledgment. He spoke to her, in a low, rumbling Valyrian that was barely audible to Aemond, words only a dragon could truly understand through the unique connection gifted to him. It was not a plea, but a recognition of her age, her might, and her new bond.
Vhagar, who had snarled at lesser men, lowered her massive head, her golden eyes fixed on Raegon. A deep, guttural sound, not a challenge but an acknowledgement, vibrated from her chest. Raegon lightly touched her snout, the rough scales warm beneath his fingers. He felt her power, her raw strength, and a profound sense of ancient wisdom flowing through their shared, arcane bond. She understood him, as he understood her, not merely as a master to a beast, but as an ancient soul to an ancient soul. He was the dominant fire, the true dragonlord, recognized by all dragons, claimed or not. Even a claimed beast knew her place in the hierarchy.
"She is magnificent, Aemond," Raegon said, turning back to his half-brother, his voice flat. "Respect her. Command her, yes, but never forget the power you now wield, nor the greater power that guides us all." Aemond stared, a mix of awe and bewilderment on his face. Raegon had just communed with a beast that dwarfed even Alduin, a dragon who had lived longer than all of them, and Vhagar had bowed to his quiet will. It was a subtle display of power, more potent than any shout.
The Price of Impatience: A Brother's Counsel
Back within the familiar, echoing stone of the Red Keep, the immediate aftermath of Driftmark required Raegon's firm hand. His physical stamina, seemingly limitless, allowed him to move from crisis to governance without a moment's pause. Before formal councils, before addressing court, he gathered all the children involved in the Vhagar incident—his own sons, Jacaerys and Aelor, his half-brother Aemond, and Daemon's daughters, Baela and Rhaena. He seated them in a private solar, the light from the tall windows painting their young faces with solemnity.
"What happened on Driftmark," Raegon began, his voice calm, yet resonating with an authority that none of them dared challenge, "was a display of raw power and undisciplined emotion. Aemond's claim was bold, but his timing was impatient. Your reactions," he looked at Jacaerys and Aelor, "though born of loyalty, were reckless. You are princes and princesses. Your actions have consequences not just for yourselves, but for the realm."
He let his gaze settle on his eldest son, Jacaerys. "Jacaerys," he said, his voice softening slightly, "you are the eldest of my sons. You carry a great name, and a heavy burden. Your anger, while understandable, must be tempered with wisdom. A true leader controls his passions, not the other way around. Do you understand?"
Jacaerys, at nine years of age, nodded, his jaw tight with youthful contrition. "Yes, Father. I acted without thought."
Raegon nodded, a flicker of approval in his dark eyes. "Good. Learn from it. All of you. Respect is earned, and it is given. It is not taken with violence. Vhagar has her rider. Let there be no more strife." He left them with that, knowing the lesson, delivered by his quiet authority rather than a hand's wrath, would sink deeper.
The King's Shadow, The Regent's Dawn
King Viserys I's health, already fragile, seemed to have taken a precipitous decline since Laena's funeral. The lingering damp of Driftmark, coupled with the emotional strain of the family tension, weighed heavily upon him. His cough worsened, his breath grew shallow, and his once-booming voice faded to a whisper. He rarely left his chambers, content to watch the world through the soft haze of milk of the poppy.
As Crown Prince and Hand, Raegon seamlessly stepped into the void. His mind, capable of processing information at an astonishing rate, allowed him to absorb countless reports, analyze complex political maneuvers, and make decisions with unparalleled speed and accuracy. He issued royal decrees, heard petitions, presided over councils, and directed the flow of the kingdom's business with an efficiency and foresight that astounded the court. Viserys, in his moments of lucidity, recognized it.
One evening, Raegon found his father awake, gazing out at the setting sun from his window. "Raegon," Viserys rasped, a faint smile on his lips. "You move the pieces with such ease. It is as if you were born for this. My time... it is done. I am King in name only. It is your time, my son. Your time has come." He took Raegon's hand, his grip weak. "I will simply watch now. Watch my grandchildren grow, free from the burdens of the Crown, until my death. You are the King now, Raegon. In all but name."
From that day forward, Raegon was effectively the Prince Regent, ruling the Seven Kingdoms with a steady, unseen hand, his father's blessing cementing his already unassailable power.
Whispers to Alduin:
Many nights, after the final parchment had been signed and the last candle dimmed, Raegon would seek out the Dragonpit. His footsteps, light and precise, barely disturbed the dust. Alduin, ever growing, ever immense, would stir at his approach, a low rumble vibrating through the very earth. Raegon would often sit beside him, leaning against his warm scales, the dragon's great head lowering to rest near him. It wasn't conversation in the human sense, but a communion of minds, a shared understanding forged over decades. Raegon would pour out the day's burdens, the court's intricacies, the Queen's subtle challenges, the endless needs of the realm. Alduin would listen, his vast, ancient intelligence absorbing it all, offering silent comfort, a primal reassurance of power. Raegon knew, in these moments, that he was never truly alone in his heavy duties.
Alicent's Gambit and Viserys's Resignation
Queen Alicent, however, saw the shifting sands beneath her feet. With Viserys fading, Raegon's power was absolute, and her sons, though respected by Raegon, remained outside the direct line of succession. She needed alliances, strong ones.
She approached Viserys during one of his rare, slightly more lucid moments. "My King," she began, her voice soft and deferential, "our son, Prince Aegor, is growing into a fine young man. Perhaps it is time to consider a betrothal for him. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock have a suitable daughter, Lady Myra. It would strengthen the realm to bind the West to us..."
Viserys, his eyes clouded, merely waved a dismissive hand. "Alicent... my son Raegon is Hand. He is the Crown Prince. All such matters are now his to decide. I have ruled enough. Speak to Raegon."
Alicent's jaw tightened. Even in his decline, Viserys was giving all power to Raegon. She would have to approach the Prince directly, a prospect that filled her with a mixture of dread and cold resolve. She knew Raegon saw through her, but she also knew he was a man of logic and stability. A strong match for Aegor might yet serve his grand design.
Daemon's Return and a Proposed Union
Days after the royal family's return to the capital, a solitary dragon, Caraxes, descended upon the Dragonpit. Prince Daemon Targaryen, gaunt but with a renewed glint in his eye, had come. He sought Raegon in his solar, a place where the true business of the kingdom was conducted.
"Your offer stands?" Daemon rasped, his voice still hoarse from grief and the sea air.
Raegon merely nodded. "It does. Master of Laws. The Crown needs a strong hand, a shrewd mind. Yours."
Daemon considered him, his gaze piercing. "You keep a tight leash on this realm, Raegon. A king without a crown."
"For stability," Raegon countered, unflinching. "For the future. For the Targaryens. Your daughters, Baela and Rhaena, are of our blood. They need a secure place."
Daemon's eyes softened for a moment. "They do. They are all I have left." He paused, then: "I accept. I will be your Master of Laws, Crown Prince. Let us see if your order can hold the chaos at bay."
With Daemon's acceptance, a powerful, volatile piece was brought under Raegon's direct influence. Now, Raegon moved to cement another alliance. "My uncle," Raegon began, "my son Jacaerys is now nine. Your eldest daughter, Baela, is six. There is a way to bind our houses, our future, irrevocably."
Daemon's eyes narrowed, understanding dawning. An engagement. For Baela, his fierce, bold child. "To whom?"
"To Jacaerys," Raegon stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He is my eldest son, my heir. A future King, and the rider of Vermithor. A union that strengthens both our houses and secures the future of the Crown through the true Targaryen line. It would also tie your daughters more closely to the King's blood, for their protection and advancement."
Daemon was silent for a long moment, then a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. "A grand design, nephew. You weave quite the web. An engagement for my eldest daughter to your heir... I agree, Crown Prince. It is a formidable match."
Rhaenys's Journey and a Brother's Choice
News of the impending betrothal reached Princess Rhaenys Targaryen on Driftmark, and shortly thereafter, Meleys was seen landing in King's Landing. Rhaenys came not to protest, but to participate in the negotiations for her granddaughter's future. She met with Raegon, her face severe, but her gaze sharp.
"So, the Dragon's Hand consolidates his power," Rhaenys observed dryly.
Raegon inclined his head. "For the betterment of the realm, Princess. And for our family. The engagement of Baela to Jacaerys will secure the future of both our lines. And as promised, Princess, my wife, Rhaenyra, will ensure Syrax's next clutch will yield two eggs for Baela and Rhaena. They will fly."
Rhaenys nodded. "You keep your promises, Raegon. A rare quality. I shall ensure the Velaryon end of this bargain is met."
Later, Raegon gathered his brothers in his solar: Prince Aegon (now 11 years old, son of Aemma), Prince Aegor (now 10 years old, son of Alicent), and Prince Aemond (now 7 years old, son of Alicent). They stood before him, respectful of his authority.
"Your futures are important to the Crown," Raegon began, his voice even. "For too long, matches have been dictated by convenience, by obligation. But you are dragons. You are Targaryens. While your status demands you marry ladies of the kingdom, noble daughters who can bring strength and alliances, you will have a choice in who you take as your wives. This will not be decided solely by politicking. You will marry for strength, yes, but also for compatibility. This is my word." He looked at them, his gaze firm. "Understand this. Your personal happiness, within the confines of your duties, matters. But the strength of our House matters more. Choose wisely."
Aegon, Aegor, and Aemond exchanged surprised glances, then nodded, a flicker of genuine appreciation in their eyes. This was a liberation from the usual royal strictures, a gesture that earned their loyalty more than any command. Raegon's unique ability to master any weapon upon touching it meant he understood the nuances of power, balance, and leverage in a way no other could, making his counsel invaluable even to those who wielded swords.
Four Years Later (126 AC)
Four years passed under Raegon's steady, unyielding regency. The realm prospered, its various factions held in careful balance by the unseen threads of his influence. King Viserys continued his gentle decline, a shadow of a monarch, yet always with a warm smile for his grandchildren. Daemon, as Master of Laws, proved a surprisingly effective, if often ruthless, enforcer of Raegon's justice, his energies now channeled into the Crown's service.
Ages at 126 AC:
* Crown Prince Raegon: 33 years old.
* Princess Rhaenyra (Raegon's wife): 29 years old.
* Prince Jacaerys (Raegon's son): 13 years old. His betrothal to Baela was publicly announced.
* Prince Aelor (Raegon's son): 13 years old.
* Princess Visenya (Raegon's daughter): 11 years old.
* Princess Rhaella (Raegon's daughter): 11 years old.
* Prince Aenar (Raegon's son): 5 years old.
* Princess Daenys (Raegon's daughter): 5 years old.
* Prince Aegon (Raegon's full brother, Aemma's son): 15 years old. He had begun to show a quiet interest in a certain minor noble lady from the Vale, much to Alicent's subtle displeasure.
* Prince Aegor (Alicent's eldest son): 14 years old. Still unbetrothed, Alicent's hopes for a Lannister alliance remained, though Raegon had yet to act on it.
* Princess Helaena (Alicent's daughter): 13 years old. Often found in the Dragonpit, her whispers to Dreamfyre increasing in complexity. She looked to Raegon as a true source of stability.
* Prince Aemond (Alicent's son): 11 years old. Now a formidable young rider, training fiercely with Vhagar under Raegon's watchful, guiding eye. His control over Vhagar was absolute, a testament to Raegon's continued tutelage and the raw power of the ancient beast.
* Lady Baela Targaryen (Daemon's daughter): 10 years old. Fierce and spirited, she had taken to her lessons as Jacaerys's betrothed with a surprising, if sometimes rebellious, grace. Her own dragon, Moondancer, was growing swiftly.
* Lady Rhaena Targaryen (Daemon's daughter): 10 years old. Quieter than her sister, she now nurtured two newly hatched dragon eggs, gifted from Syrax's clutch, their tiny heads already poking through their shells, promising her future mounts.
The peace of the realm, painstakingly maintained by Raegon's unseen hand, felt robust. Yet, beneath the surface, the ambitious schemes of Queen Alicent, though muted by Raegon's dominance, remained a simmering undercurrent, a potential storm gathering on a distant horizon.