The year is 105 AC. Twenty-eight years have passed since the North declared its independence and named itself ASGARD, forever altering the political landscape of Westeros. The realm, still reeling from the unprecedented defeat of the Targaryens, often whispered of the 'King in the North' and the mysterious power that toppled dragons.
The architect of this new era, Theon Stark, the Mighty Wolf, had, five years prior in 100 AC, stepped down from the throne, passing the crown to his son, Artor Stark. Many Northern lords had protested, urging Theon to rule until his dying breath, a testament to his revered status. Yet, Theon had remained resolute. "I have done my duties to the people of the North," he'd argued, his light grey eyes showing the wisdom of age and the longing for quiet. "In old age, I would enjoy my peace." And so, the unwilling king, who had secured their freedom, retired, leaving a realm transformed.
The North had flourished under two decades of independent rule and Theon's visionary policies. The concrete roads, a marvel of Northern engineering, now stretched like veins across the vast kingdom, connecting every village and town. Travel, trade, and communication, once arduous, were now swifter and safer, knitting the disparate regions of the North closer together.
The military might of the North had swelled to formidable levels. The legendary Wolf Pack, Theon's elite personal guard, still numbered around 30,000 hardened warriors, their loyalty absolute. The overall Northern army had increased to a staggering 100,000 seasoned soldiers, a force capable of defending their vast borders against any threat. Complementing this land power was a formidable new naval presence: 30,000 dedicated navy soldiers manning a fleet of 500 ships. These were not merely coastal patrols, but true warships, built for defense and projection of Northern power, a direct result of the lessons learned at the Neck. The Company of Rose consisting of 10,000 members also moved from essos back to north after invitation from theon stark and joined the asgardian army.
The quality of life for the common folk had seen remarkable improvements. Thanks to the College of Winterhold, which had opened its doors to all eligible Northerners, knowledge and healing were no longer scarce commodities. Now, every town boasted its own hospital, staffed by skilled healers who had earned their place through rigorous education at the College. This widespread access to medical care drastically improved public health and reduced mortality rates.
Governance at the local level was also revolutionized. Mayors now oversaw every town, accountable for local administration and development. This ensured competence and responsiveness, fostering a sense of shared responsibility and local pride. Furthermore, guilds for farmers, fishermen, merchants, blacksmiths, masons, and other trades had been established. These guilds provided structure, protection, and opportunities for their members, regulating quality, training apprentices, and ensuring fair practices, further bolstering the North's burgeoning economy and social stability.
The North, once merely a frozen wild, was now a vibrant, thriving kingdom of ASGARD, a testament to its hard-won independence and the legacy of its quiet, determined king.
While the North, under the wise rule of Artor Stark and the guiding hand of his retired father, Theon Stark, blossomed into a beacon of prosperity and stability, the same could not be said for the South. The years that followed the Humiliation at Moat Cailin were marked by a slow, agonizing decline in Targaryen authority and a gnawing uncertainty that permeated every corner of the Six Kingdoms.
The reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, once lauded as long and prosperous, had, in its twilight, been cruelly marred by a succession crisis. The "Wise King" had outlived all of his sons, including his intended heirs, the valiant Prince Aemon and the fiery Prince Baelon. The very son whose life he had paid so dearly to ransom from the North had, in time, been claimed by other fates.
To resolve the looming crisis, Jaehaerys, in a desperate bid to preserve the realm's unity, convened the Great Council of 101 AC. This landmark event saw the lords of Westeros gather in unprecedented numbers to decide who would inherit the Iron Throne. The choice ultimately narrowed to two main contenders:
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen: The daughter of Prince Aemon, Jaehaerys's eldest son. Her claim was based on direct descent from the elder line. Prince Viserys Targaryen: The eldest son of Prince Baelon, Jaehaerys's second son. His claim was based on male primogeniture, the deeply entrenched tradition that male heirs inherit before females, even if the female is from an older line.
The Great Council, swayed by centuries of tradition and the perceived strength of male leadership, ultimately voted overwhelmingly in favor of Viserys. This decision, a bitter blow to Princess Rhaenys, cemented the principle of male succession in Westeros, a precedent that would echo through history.
Now, in 105 AC, Viserys Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne. His reign, while not yet tested by open rebellion on the scale of the Northern war, is characterized by a king who yearns for peace and stability, yet lacks the iron will and strategic cunning of his grandfather. The enormous debt incurred by the Northern ransom still weighs heavily on the Crown's treasury, and the spectre of Northern independence serves as a constant, humiliating reminder of Targaryen fallibility.
In a bid to bolster his image, to celebrate the future of his dynasty, and perhaps to distract from the lingering shadows of defeat, King Viserys is hosting a grand tourney in King's Landing. The cause for celebration is the impending birth of his heir, a hopeful sign of continued Targaryen rule. From the North of Dorne to the South of Neck, all the lords and knights have gathered in the capital, their banners fluttering in the hot breeze. They come to participate, to feast, to jostle for favor, and to whisper about the state of the realm, their eyes perhaps straying northwards, wondering what secrets lie beyond Moat Cailin and the thriving, independent land of the once-tamed North.
King Viserys's tournament to celebrate the impending birth of his heir was a spectacle of both chivalry and brutal realism, starkly contrasted by the tragic events unfolding behind the scenes.
The tourney grounds in King's Landing were a riot of color and sound. Banners of every noble house flapped in the breeze, emblazoned with their sigils – the roaring lion of Lannister, the stag of Baratheon, the rose of Tyrell, the falcon of Arryn, the trout of Tully, and the Kraken of Greyjoy. Tents of richly dyed silk and velvet were pitched for the highborn, while the common folk pressed eagerly against the ropes, cheering for their favorite knights.
The air was thick with the scent of dust, sweat, and roasting meat, accompanied by the blare of trumpets and the roar of the crowd. Knights, bedecked in gleaming armor and brightly painted shields, rode out on their destriers, lances couched, ready to shatter against their opponents in the joust. The jousting itself was visceral and unforgiving; splinters of wood flew, armor crumpled, and knights were unhorsed with bone-jarring force. It was a true test of skill and courage, but also a dangerous display, with injuries and even deaths not uncommon.
Among the prominent participants was Prince Daemon Targaryen, King Viserys's younger brother and the presumptive heir. He was a formidable jouster, clad in his distinctive Valyrian steel armor, and was a crowd favorite, riding with a reckless abandon that thrilled the spectators. He jousted against and defeated several highborn knights, including Ser Gwayne Hightower, the brother of Alicent Hightower.
However, the true star of the tourney emerged from unexpected quarters: Ser Criston Cole, a common-born knight from the Stormlands, fighting under the banner of Lord Dondarrion. His armor was plain, his shield unadorned, but his skill was undeniable. He systematically unhorsed some of the most renowned knights, culminating in a dramatic tilt against Prince Daemon himself, where he ultimately emerged victorious, shattering Daemon's lance and unhorsing him.
The melee, too, was a chaotic, brutal affair. Knights engaged in close-quarters combat with blunted weapons, but the violence was real. Limbs were twisted, bones were broken, and blood was drawn, showcasing the raw, unflinching brutality that lay beneath the chivalric veneer.
Amidst the cheers and the clashing steel, the focus of the royal box was on Queen Aemma Arryn, King Viserys's wife, heavily pregnant with what he desperately hoped would be his male heir. Viserys, oblivious to the grim realities unfolding within his own chambers, was outwardly joyful, convinced this child would secure his legacy. His daughter, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, watched the proceedings with a mixture of boredom and fascination, occasionally exchanging glances with her close friend, Alicent Hightower, who would later become her stepmother and rival.
Unbeknownst to the revelers, the celebratory atmosphere was a cruel counterpoint to the horror unfolding in the Red Keep. As knights battled for glory on the field, Queen Aemma was enduring a horrific, ultimately fatal, childbirth. The joyous clamor of the tournament was intercut with the agonizing screams of the Queen, creating a chilling juxtaposition that underscored the precariousness of life and the brutal cost of succession in the Targaryen dynasty. The heir, a boy named Baelon, would be born, but only at the cost of his mother's life, and he himself would die within a day, turning the celebratory tournament into a grim monument to Viserys's desperate longing for a male heir.
King Viserys's ill-fated heir's tournament thus concluded not in triumph, but in a profound and public tragedy. The news of Queen Aemma's death, swiftly followed by that of the newborn Prince Baelon, cast a long, dark shadow over King's Landing. The grand festivities evaporated, replaced by a somber quiet, the flapping banners now seeming to mourn rather than celebrate.
The immediate aftermath was a period of intense grief and palpable uncertainty within the Red Keep. Viserys, utterly devastated by the loss of his wife and the son he had so desperately desired, retreated into a shroud of despair. His dream of a male heir, so vividly celebrated on the tourney grounds, had dissolved into ash.
This left the succession once again in question, a gaping wound in the heart of the realm, still reeling from the Northern secession and the depletion of its treasury. The precedent set by the Great Council of 101 AC, favoring male over female, now hung like a heavy sword over Princess Rhaenyra's head. Despite being the King's only living child, her path to the throne was far from clear, challenged by the very tradition that had placed her father on it.
Whispers began almost immediately. Lord Corlys Velaryon, the "Sea Snake," a powerful and ambitious figure, saw an opportunity to bind the Houses of Targaryen and Velaryon even closer, perhaps even to subtly challenge the recent Great Council's decision. His wife, Princess Rhaenys, the "Queen Who Never Was," felt the sting of past injustice anew, her own claim having been overlooked. She watched her cousin Viserys with a mixture of pity and a sharp, calculating gaze.
Meanwhile, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, observed all with shrewd, calculating eyes. With Queen Aemma gone and the King vulnerable, Otto saw a chance to further his own house's influence. He subtly, yet persistently, began to push his own daughter, Alicent Hightower, into the King's orbit, hoping to secure her place, and thereby his own, at the heart of royal power. The seeds of future conflict were sown amidst the ashes of Viserys's shattered hopes.
The realm itself watched with bated breath. The lavish tournament, meant to project strength and stability, had instead highlighted the fragility of the Targaryen line. The North, now sovereign and thriving, stood as a stark reminder of what could happen when the Crown faltered. Lords across the Six Kingdoms, having witnessed the vulnerability of their liege, began to consider their own interests more closely, their loyalty to the distant Iron Throne no longer as absolute as it once seemed. The future of Westeros, once thought secure under the dragons, was now a turbulent sea, and the winds of change were blowing hard from all directions.