Prince Rhaegar did not remain long in Lord Ormund's arms before the door was gently knocked upon.
Princess Rhaella arrived, accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting, and took the child away.
A lovable infant.
The future of the dragonlords.
Beloved by all who saw him.
But the fate of the realm would be decided by men wielding swords.
They still had war plans to finalize—
A child had no place in such discussions.
Princess Rhaella possessed silver hair and blue eyes. Her sapphire gown only enhanced her beauty. Tall and elegant, she carried herself with natural grace.
The great houses of Westeros were remarkably successful at breeding beauty—
Handsome men, beautiful women.
Yet the beauty of House Targaryen surpassed them all.
Still, a faint melancholy always lingered between the princess's brows.
A respectable mother.
And a helpless wife.
It was said that in her youth, Rhaella had once fallen in love with a lowborn knight.
That knight had crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty.
But the gulf of status in Westeros was as vast as heaven and earth.
The marriages of great nobles were never theirs to decide.
Rhaella accepted her fate and married Aerys—
A man she did not truly love.
Rhaegar could only sigh inwardly.
Damn this feudal society.
"Marriage of equal rank" was welded shut like iron.
His great-uncle, Prince Duncan, had married Jenny of Oldstones—a common woman—
Choosing love over the throne, and paying for it with his inheritance.
To challenge this rigid hierarchy was to make enemies of nearly every noble in Westeros.
Titles and lands granted the nobility enormous benefits.
They would never allow anyone to overturn this system.
As Rhaegar's thoughts churned, he suddenly sensed a change in his tree-shaped interface.
Under Achievements, a new entry appeared.
[Rhaegar Targaryen]
Identity: The Last Dragonlord
Aptitude:
Knightly Talent (A born warrior)
Steel Heart, Song Soul (The union of strength and beauty; balance in knowledge, combat, and art)
Sleeping Dragon (You have yet to awaken the dragon within)
Charisma:
Lovable Dragonlord
Achievements:
Game of Thrones (Novice Player — You have witnessed the grand stage of power, slightly increasing your player aptitude)
Warrior (Novice Warrior — Repeated observation of combat has slightly increased your warrior aptitude)
Collection:
None
So observing councils and decisions could also strengthen the power achievement.
The shadow of authority allowed even small figures to radiate immense brilliance.
Since I am a dragon, Rhaegar thought,
then I will enter this game of power.
Princess Rhaella carried him out of the Tower of the Hand. Not far away, two beautiful noblewomen were waiting.
One was Joanna Lannister—golden-haired, blue-eyed, slender, fair-skinned. A true lioness of rare beauty.
The other wore a yellow gown, with black hair and dark eyes—Princess Elia of Dorne, sister of the Red Viper and Prince Doran.
Elia was the middle child, yet she had once been Rhaella's close companion in her youth. Even after marriage and childbirth, she still returned to King's Landing from time to time to visit her friends.
The ladies surrounded Rhaella and the baby, chatting softly.
Men conquered the world.
Women conquered the men.
"May the Seven bless them," Princess Elia said gently,
"and grant them a glorious victory over those Blackfyre bastards."
They could not help with what was being discussed inside the tower.
All they could do was pray that the men would win the war.
The next day—
At the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, banners filled the sky.
A black field bearing the red three-headed dragon.
A crimson field with a golden lion.
A golden banner with a charging stag.
Red-and-blue waves marked with a black trout.
Silver cloth emblazoned with a red lion.
Far out on the river, longships were moored.
The ruler of the Iron Islands—rare among ironborn for abandoning the Old Way—had provided a hundred ships to support the crown.
House Lannister had committed the most resources to this war:
One thousand knights.
Ten thousand foot soldiers.
Several of Lord Tytos's children marched with the host as well.
Ravens wheeled through the skies above King's Landing as soldiers stood in tight formation.
Brightly dressed knights took the front—most from landed families, some knights themselves. Cloaks flowed behind them, family sigils painted proudly upon their armor.
The largest force by far belonged to the Lannisters.
Crimson cloaks.
Roaring morale.
Lions filled with fury and pride.
Yet upon closer inspection, the lion host was clearly divided.
Red lions and gold lions stood apart.
Knights and soldiers bearing the red lion of House Reyne stared coldly at the Lannister ranks.
At the very front, King Jaehaerys II handed the war banner—
Three-headed blood dragon entwined with the crowned stag—
To Lord Ormund Baratheon.
Closest to the king stood Queen Shaera.
Then Prince Aerys.
Steffon Baratheon, heir to the Stormlands.
Tywin Lannister, heir to the Westerlands.
Then came Princess Rhaella, holding Prince Rhaegar, flanked by Lady Joanna and Princess Elia.
A campaign of war was no small matter.
It was necessary for the soldiers to see the future heir.
It was equally necessary to display the unity of House Targaryen—
And the loyalty of the stag and the lion to the Iron Throne.
Summerhall's shadow had not destroyed the dragons.
The dragons would still soar.
Rhaegar swept his gaze across the scene.
House Targaryen was truly dwindling.
Even counting the princess married into House Baratheon, the direct bloodline numbered barely six or seven.
King Jaehaerys II and Queen Shaera were both in poor health.
They did not have many years left.
Rhaegar watched carefully.
This was a true grand stage.
Best to memorize the faces of these nobles early.
Below Lord Ormund stood:
Ser Jason Lannister, commander of the Westerlands forces.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull—tall and broad, clad in a white cloak, sword in hand. Captain of the Kingsguard. A knight of absolute loyalty.
Lord Hoster Tully, ruler of Riverrun—utterly unremarkable save for his red hair. Mediocre, sharp-tongued, and difficult to like.
This campaign in the Stepstones would decide the fate of the dynasty.
To improve the odds of victory, Jaehaerys had dispatched the White Bull himself.
These four formed the highest command council of the war.
Below them stood figures such as Brynden "Blackfish" Tully and Ser Barristan Selmy.
Ser Barristan was tall and sharp-eyed. Though still young, his name already echoed across the Seven Kingdoms.
His flawless swordsmanship and fearless courage were widely praised.
Only one question remained—
Would he inherit Harvest Hall, or take the white cloak?
Ser Jason Lannister stood at the very front of the lion host—
Golden-haired, blue-eyed, tall and lean. Clearly a man born with martial talent.
His elder brother, the Laughing Lion, remained in Casterly Rock with his mistress—
Pushing his brother and children to the front instead.
"May the Seven grant you victory," King Jaehaerys II declared.
"Long live the king!"
"Long live the king!"
The soldiers' thunderous cries brought a faint flush to the king's pale face.
Then—
An ugly note appeared.
Count Roger Reyne, when returning the king's salute, stepped forward several paces—
Standing alongside Ser Jason, forcibly inserting himself into the four-man command tier.
Even in the Westerlands, where the Red Lion's power ran deep,
Overshadowing one's liege was blatant arrogance.
This Roger Reyne is courting death, Rhaegar thought coldly.
Tywin's expression changed instantly.
A flash of killing intent passed through his eyes.
The Red Lions had drained the true lion's wealth through whores and manipulation—
And now they grew greedier still, seeking to eclipse House Lannister entirely.
Tywin said nothing.
Ser Jason's face darkened even more.
His eyes burned like an enraged lion.
"Count Roger," he said coldly,
"perhaps you should remember where you stand."
"Step back, Count Roger," King Jaehaerys II ordered.
The chaos of the Westerlands was no secret to him.
The Reyne–Tarbeck alliance eyed House Lannister like predators, steadily gnawing away at its power.
Aegon V had intervened three times to stabilize the situation.
Yet each time the crown withdrew, disorder returned.
Now, with the realm at war against the Ninepenny Kings, Jaehaerys simply lacked the strength to rein in two feuding lions.
"As you command, Your Grace," Roger said with a laugh, retreating sheepishly.
"Forgive an old man's failing eyesight."
Humiliating the lions in public—
That alone satisfied him.
"Count Roger," Tywin said at last, his voice hard as iron,
"A Lannister always pays his debt."
"That may be so," Roger replied with a hearty laugh, utterly unbothered.
"But Lord Tywin—your father, Lord Tytos, always said that words are like the wind. A man should be generous of heart."
The warning slid off him like rain.