Red Keep — Rhaenyra's Apartments, Night
Later, Rhaenyra returned to her chambers, trying to hold herself together.
Alicent was there waiting.
The moment their eyes met, Rhaenyra collapsed into her arms. Her composure broke, and the two girls sank to the floor together, grief washing over them.
---
Red Keep — Small Council Chamber, Night
The atmosphere in the council chamber was heavy, draped in grief and quiet dread. The Iron Throne loomed distant in the back of their minds, but no one dared speak of it—yet. King Viserys entered at last, clad in mourning black. His steps were slow, his back bent under invisible weight. His eyes were swollen from sleepless nights and unspoken sorrow. He looked older than his years—worn thin by loss.
The council members rose briefly, then sat in silence. Viserys noticed a conspicuous absence.
"Where is Rhaenyra?" he asked, his voice tired but sharp with fatherly instinct.
Otto Hightower exchanged a glance with Grand Maester Mellos. They had arranged for her absence. She would not be allowed to hear what was to come.
Otto drew a steadying breath. "Your Grace... Forgive the timing, but the matter is urgent."
Viserys looked at him, expression darkening. "What matter?"
"The issue of succession," Otto replied.
A murmur rippled through the room. Lord Corlys Velaryon—the Sea Snake—stared at Otto, clearly displeased. Lyonel Strong furrowed his brow. Neither had been warned of this discussion.
Viserys said nothing, but his eyes lifted to meet Otto's.
"Your recent tragedies," Otto continued delicately, "have left the question of an heir unresolved."
The Sea Snake's voice cut through the gloom. "The king has an heir, Lord Hand."
Otto ignored the remark, forging ahead. "Painful as this moment is, it would be irresponsible not to ensure the line of succession is clear—for the realm's security."
Lyonel Strong, always direct, shook his head. "The law already provides clarity. Precedent has been set."
Otto met the Master of Laws with calm defiance.
The Sea Snake's voice took on a sharper edge. "Shall we say the name, then? Daemon Targaryen."
Still, the king gave no reaction. His silence was both a shield and a battlefield.
Otto turned slightly toward the Grand Maester, who gave a nod of agreement. Their collusion was evident.
Mellos cleared his throat. "Prince Daemon has not shown the wisdom or restraint Your Grace is known for."
Strong, unmoved, replied, "Daemon is not the king."
"Not yet," Otto added ominously. "But all it would take is one more unfortunate twist of fate."
That turn of phrase lingered in the air like a foul scent. Viserys's eyes narrowed.
Lyman Beesbury, cautious and weary, muttered, "Let us hope we've seen the last of such misfortunes."
"If Daemon remains heir without challenge," Mellos said, "the realm may be unsettled."
"The realm?" Corlys countered. "Or this council?"
Otto didn't flinch. "None here can say what Daemon would do as king, but we all know the depth of his ambition. He turned the City Watch into his own loyal guard—two thousand strong."
Viserys rose sharply, the spell of his quiet mourning broken.
"An army you allowed him to build, Otto!" he shouted. "I named him Master of Laws—you called him a tyrant. I made him Master of Coin—you claimed he would bankrupt the kingdom. The Gold Cloaks were your idea!"
"A compromise," Otto said. "But Daemon should not be in the capital. He should return to his wife at Runestone."
"He is my brother," Viserys said firmly. "My blood. He belongs at court."
Otto looked to Mellos again.
Mellos stepped in softly. "Then let him remain. But should another tragedy befall you—accidentally or... otherwise—"
Viserys cut him off, a bitter smile curling at his lips. "Otherwise? Are you accusing my brother of plotting to kill me?"
Silence answered him. The king's amusement soured into anger. His gaze scanned the room—no one denied the suggestion.
He exhaled, low and dark. "Daemon may be ambitious, yes. But he has no patience for rule. He would not last a moon on the throne."
"There has never been a man," Otto said carefully, "who lacked the patience to wield absolute power."
Mellos spoke again, more forcefully. "Your Grace, it would not be unheard of to name a successor formally, should the worst come to pass."
Strong leaned forward. "Who else could claim it?"
Otto didn't hesitate. "Your daughter. Rhaenyra."
Strong scoffed. "No woman has ever ruled from the Iron Throne."
"That is only tradition," Mellos argued. "Not law."
Strong barked, "And if it's tradition and stability this council values, then perhaps we shouldn't shatter a century of both by naming a girl!"
Lyman Beesbury finally raised his voice. "King Jaehaerys solved a similar dilemma with the Great Council at Harrenhal. Perhaps such a course should be considered again. Let the lords decide—Rhaenyra or Daemon."
"If it came to that," Mellos warned, "the lords would favor Daemon. He's male, and elder."
"As is the law," Strong added.
Otto's tone sharpened. "Daemon would be another Maegor the Cruel—or worse. This council's duty is to protect the king and realm alike."
He turned to Viserys. "I speak only the truth, as I see it. And I know others here feel the same. We all prayed Queen Aemma would bear you a male heir. The gods had other plans."
Lyonel Strong now turned to the king directly, his voice measured and sincere.
"Your grandfather called the Great Council to prevent bloodshed. He respected law and precedent. I beg you, do not discard them."
A heavy silence pressed down on them. When Viserys spoke, it was with deep weariness.
"I will not choose between my brother and my daughter."
The Sea Snake stepped in. "You need not, Your Grace. There are other claimants."
Strong's eyes narrowed. "Such as your wife, Lord Corlys? The one they called The Queen Who Never Was?"
Corlys bristled. "Rhaenys was the daughter of Jaehaerys' eldest son. Her claim was strong—and she has a son of her own now. A dragonrider. His mount is the mightiest in the world."
Otto looked as though the ground beneath him had shifted. "Just moments ago, you supported Daemon."
Strong said coldly, "If we cannot agree on an heir in this chamber, how can we expect the lords of Westeros to?"
Viserys stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly behind him. The others followed, startled by the raw fury on his face.
"My wife and son are dead," the king seethed. "I will not endure vultures picking over their bones."
Without another word, he turned and stormed out, leaving the council in stunned silence.
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To be continued...