Chapter 18: The Triarchy's Return and the Dragon's Council
Four years had passed since Raegon became the effective Prince Regent, years of meticulous governance and unparalleled prosperity. The Red Keep, once a crucible of simmering resentments, now hummed with a different energy, largely due to Raegon's absolute control. Yet, even his foresight could not prevent every shadow from resurfacing, nor could his ambition be contained by the existing boundaries of the realm.
The Resurgence of the Triarchy
News, carried by fast ships and nervous whispers, reached King's Landing: the Triarchy had resurfaced. The pirate alliance, once crushed by Daemon Targaryen, had reformed under new, ruthless leadership, harassing merchant ships in the Narrow Sea and threatening the vital trade routes to Essos. This was more than a mere nuisance; it was a direct challenge to the Crown's authority and, more importantly, to the burgeoning wealth Raegon had so painstakingly cultivated.
The Crown of Gold: Raegon's Economic Empire
While the court marveled at the kingdom's newfound stability, few truly understood the depth of its prosperity. Since his teenage years, Raegon had subtly woven a vast web of commercial enterprises. He had not merely invested; he had built. He'd funded and overseen the construction of efficient, deep-water ports in strategic locations, often in quiet coves away from traditional trade hubs, then established seamless shipping lanes and sophisticated trade networks with merchants across Essos and beyond. He'd invested in innovative mining techniques in the Westerlands, bringing forgotten veins to light, and in vast agricultural projects in the Reach, ensuring abundant harvests. The crown's coffers were no longer reliant solely on taxes from lords; they flowed from a vast, private economic empire, managed by a carefully selected cadre of loyal, skilled commoners and minor nobles who answered only to him.
This private wealth, seamlessly integrated into the Crown's finances, meant that House Targaryen was now officially the richest house in the Seven Kingdoms, dwarfing even the vaunted Lannisters. It was a silent revolution, providing the Crown with unprecedented economic leverage and independence. The most visible sign of his genius, however, lay within the capital itself. The foul stench that once clung to King's Landing was gone. Raegon, utilizing a vast hidden portion of his personal wealth, had commissioned and completed an intricate sewage system, flushing waste into the sea far beyond the city walls, improving public health and cementing his quiet popularity among the common folk.
A New City, A New Branch: The Seeds of Future Targaryens
Raegon's ambition, however, knew no bounds. He looked at the vastness of Westeros, at the scattered, dwindling branches of his own family, and saw a problem. The Targaryens were dragons, meant to soar, to spread. But too many were landless, or simply without sufficient power to carve out their own destinies, constrained by the single seat of the Crown.
He envisioned a solution: a new city, a new seat, built purely for the landless, younger children of House Targaryen. A place where new branches could sprout, new lordships could be forged, loyal to the main line, but distinct in their own right. He dreamt of a second Dragonstone, perhaps on the Sunset Sea, or deep in the fertile riverlands, a place where the House of the Dragon could truly expand its roots. This would solidify Targaryen power for centuries, ensuring their dominance not just by marriage, but by sheer number and strategic presence.
But such grand designs brought grand questions. He had seen, in his fragmented visions, the devastation of the Dance of the Dragons, a civil war that had nearly extinguished his house. "What will happen if there be civil war?" he pondered, his mind racing through countless variables. "And how to stop it?" His solution was radical, unprecedented, drawn from distorted echoes of ancient, democratic bodies from another time.
The Targaryen Family Council: A Congress of Dragons
He summoned the entire adult Targaryen family. Not the Small Council, not the Great Council, but a Family Council. He had witnessed concepts like 'congress' in his past life, smaller, more intimate gatherings that debated weighty matters. This would be a microcosm, a truly unique institution.
He proposed it in a grand hall, built on the very site where Baelor the Blessed's Sept had once stood, now transformed into a magnificent new edifice he named the Targaryen Congress Hall. "All who possess the blood of the dragon," Raegon declared, his voice ringing with a subtle power that compelled attention, "will have a seat here. This Congress is for family matters, not the realm. If you have a grievance against a family member, it will be heard here. Conflicts will be resolved here, not on the battlefield. The King will always be the leader, the ultimate authority. But there will be four Senior Members of this council, chosen from among you, to guide discussions and ensure order."
This radical proposal was met with stunned silence, then cautious murmurs. It was a stripping of individual power, yet simultaneously an empowerment of the family collective. Raegon, however, had one ultimate goal in mind, forged from his past life's knowledge of the Dance of the Dragons: "I have made sure that no unworthy and mad kings come. I have made a law that all the family has a say in the House Targaryen matters." This Family Council, this Targaryen Congress, was his ultimate safeguard, a check against tyranny and madness, a guarantee that the Targaryen bloodline would never again tear itself asunder. He had seen the madness of some, the weakness of others. This council was his ultimate bulwark against such a future.
Four Years Later (126 AC)
Four years had 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.