ACT III: The Reign of Jaehaerys I — Part 2: The Severance and Exile (87 AC – 101 AC)
Chapter 18: The Rift in the Council and Corlys’s Suspicion (Mid-92 AC)
Crossing the heavy, carved oak doors leading into the Small Council Chamber, I was struck by an atmosphere so thick and suffocating it felt almost physical.
The air reeked of burnt candle, cold wax, and the bitter sweat of grief.
The faint light from the arched windows cast long, grotesque shadows across the great table, where King Jaehaerys I sat at the head, alone.
The Old King looked to have aged ten years in forty-eight hours.
His eyes, usually sharp and haughty, were sunken in dark circles and bloodshot.
His hands, resting on the wooden tabletop, trembled slightly with a tragic mixture of exhaustion and suppressed rage.
I settled into my usual seat without the slightest haste, adjusting my grey cloak over my shoulders.
The silence between us stretched for several moments, broken only by the distant crackle of a torch in the corridor.
“Who was responsible, Arthos?” Jaehaerys’s voice came out raspy, scraped from the back of his throat as if each syllable cost a painful physical effort.
“I want names.
All of them.”
“The blade that cut short Aemon’s life had many hands on the hilt, Jaehaerys,” I replied in a calm, dry tone.
“Beyond the rotten faction of the Citadel I purged in Oldtown, I encountered something infinitely more complex.
There was the direct presence of a group of sorcerers.”
Jaehaerys raised hollow eyes to me, frowning.
“Sorcerers?…
From where?
The Free City of Lys?
From Qarth?”
“I encountered the psychic projection of a Shadowbinder from Asshai,” I declared, crossing my arms.
“However, whether the entity itself was physically in Asshai, in the Shadow Lands, or three paces from us beneath the sewers of this city…
I cannot state with absolute certainty.”
The monarch slammed a violent fist against the oak table.
The dull thud echoed off the stone walls, rattling the silver goblets.
“Then send the dragons!” the king bellowed, his voice cracking in a roar of desperation.
“Send The Cannibal and Vermithor!
Burn that cursed city until it turns to ash and dust!”
“Don’t be stupid, Jaehaerys,” I shot back without changing my tone.
“The distance to the far East would require two to three weeks of uninterrupted flight on dragonback.
And even if I flew there and reduced Asshai to a vitrified wasteland, I highly doubt we would solve the problem.
We are not dealing with a mere isolated order of shadow casters.”
“What do you mean by that?” the king asked, staring at me in perplexity.
“That individual laid a mental trap specifically for me,” I explained, leaning forward.
“He knew with absolute precision that I would invade the Citadel, knew that I would use blood sorcery to extract the memories of the Archmaester of Higher Mysteries, and knew the exact second my consciousness would penetrate the man’s brain.
That level of mental manipulation and temporal divination is not something a mere Shadowbinder or common blood sorcerer can accomplish.
It requires a level of Greensight and perception of time that only exceptionally powerful greenseers possess.
We are not facing an Essosi merchant guild, Jaehaerys…
We are dealing with a global web.”
My mind turned for a brief second to the ancient legends of the North, thinking of certain ancestral entities and figures that inhabited the shadows of the weirwood web, like the shadow of a certain three-eyed crow that seemed to weave the threads of fate in the dark.
“They knew how to wait for the exact moment I took off on The Cannibal,” I continued.
“They knew precisely how to lure me away with a false alarm on Dragonstone.
That means they can see the branchings of the future in some way.”
Jaehaerys sank into his chair, burying his face in his trembling hands.
“And what do we do now, Arthos?…
How do you fight invisible enemies who can see tomorrow?”
“Now that I know of their existence and presence on the board, I can prepare accordingly,” I replied with a cold smile.
“The deadliest blade is always the one we don’t see coming.
Now that I know they hold a sword, I will watch every shadow.”
“And what of the nobles of the realm?” the king questioned, removing his hands from his face and staring at me expectantly.
“Which southern lords paid for this attack?”
“There are no direct names, Jaehaerys,” I replied truthfully.
“The conspiracy utilized dozens of disposable intermediaries.
The maesters and sorcerers struck financial deals with these lords through shadow protection networks so well-structured that every link in the chain self-destructed before my divination could reach the top.
If I started cutting off heads based solely on incomplete suspicions, I would have to execute half the Great Houses of Westeros.”
I watched the monarch fall silent.
Frustration and disgust emanated from his body like a slow poison.
It was entirely understandable: Aemon was not just his firstborn son; he was the perfect heir he had meticulously molded for decades to ensure the stability of the realm.
Bit by bit, the other members of the Small Council began taking their seats.
The official meeting commenced under a funeral atmosphere.
Jaehaerys gave a brief, diplomatic report of the execution of the culprits in Oldtown and the loss of the prince.
As the king spoke, I examined the facial reactions and heart rates of every lord present at the table through my arcane perception.
None of them showed guilt or complicity in the attack.
Which made total sense: if any councilor in that room had been involved, my sorcery would have detected their intent months ago.
When the meeting finally concluded and the lords withdrew in silence, only I, Jaehaerys, and Septon Barth remained in the room.
The old septon, stooped with age and shaken by the tragedy, adjusted his spectacles and looked at the king with compassion.
Jaehaerys looked at Barth and asked in a low tone:
“Barth…
You who know the soul and greed of this realm’s nobility better than anyone…
Do you have any suspicion as to who funded this monstrosity?”
The septon looked at me before answering the king.
“Are they truly from Asshai, Lord Vaelarys?
Is it possible for men from so far away to hold such influence in King’s Landing?”
“It is impossible to state for certain, Barth,” I replied dryly.
“Those sorcerers could be living in the subterranean tunnels beneath our feet and we would have no way of knowing.
But given the audacity of the strike, I imagine their base is in Essos.
From the shadow lands of Asshai, a man can escape the justice of any king or dragon on this continent.
It is a place where the normal rules of this world do not apply.”
Jaehaerys raised his gaze, fixing his eyes on the table with a sickly intensity.
“I suspect someone…” the king whispered.
“Who?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A man who had absolutely everything to gain from Aemon’s death,” the monarch declared, his voice icy.
“A man who possesses riches capable of buying entire mercenary armies and, above all, a man who has personally sailed to all those distant ports of Essos and the East.”
Septon Barth sighed deeply, anticipating the name.
“Are you speaking of Lord Corlys Velaryon, my king?…”
“And who else could it be?!” Jaehaerys snapped, leaning forward. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“All clues point in his direction!
The sudden marriage to Rhaenys, the unbridled ambition to elevate House Velaryon to the top of the realm, the financial capability to fund intermediaries in the South…
Everything fits!”
The Old King turned to me, eyes flashing for confirmation.
“What do you think, Arthos?”
I looked at Jaehaerys for a few seconds before answering with disdain.
“I think we will never know the truth, Jaehaerys.
The only way to extract that confirmation would be to rip off Corlys’s head and scour his brain as he dies.
And we both know you won’t do that without direct material proof.”
Jaehaerys stared at the tabletop, his mind working furiously.
But the monarch did not bear the title “The Conciliator” by mere coincidence; his cautious nature and aversion to chaos won out.
“No…
We won’t know,” the king admitted bitterly.
“I cannot execute the Lord of the Tides and risk a civil war with Driftmark and House Baratheon without irrefutable proof.”
I raised my wine glass to my lips and murmured:
“Yeah…
Looks like this time we lost, my old friend.
And we lost bad.”
Jaehaerys rose from his chair, adjusting the crown over his silver hair, and stared firmly at me before walking toward the exit.
“We lost a battle, Arthos…
But not the war.”
The next morning, I walked once more to the Council Chamber.
As I approached the double bronze doors, I realized immediately that it was going to be one of those extremely unpleasant days.
The Kingsguard kept the corridors cleared, and the tension inside could be felt from the other side of the wood.
Upon entering the room, I found myself before a heavy audience: besides the king and Septon Barth, Queen Alysanne was present—her face marked by grief and her eyes dry with anger—along with the widowed Jocelyn Baratheon, Princess Rhaenys, the young Prince Baelon, and, beside Rhaenys, the stoic figure of Lord Corlys Velaryon.
I won’t lie: laying my eyes on the Sea Snake, I felt an absurd temptation to simply step forward, grab the boy’s head, and scour his memories with my blood sorcery to end all doubt.
However, my analytical mind held me back.
The clues pointing to Corlys were too obvious…
Obvious to the point of feeling like a staged trap.
Leaving Corlys looking like the perfect culprit was the ideal checkmate orchestrated by that order from Asshai: if Jaehaerys executed Corlys without proof, the realm would shatter in a war against Driftmark and Storm’s End; if he did nothing, paranoia would devour the royal family from within.
Sometimes things were so glaring that the human mind tended to think it was wrong when it had been right all along.
It was a brilliant move by my arcane enemies.
I truly wouldn’t test that hypothesis impulsively; I would simply keep my eyes fixed on Corlys—which might be exactly what the sorcerers wanted.
And unfortunately, I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed the feeling of being challenged by a competent magical order for the first time in decades.
Jaehaerys took his place at the head of the table and opened the session.
“I never imagined I would live to witness this day and this tragic situation…” the king began, his solemn voice echoing in the silent room.
“I feel deeply frustrated and devastated, not only by the irrecoverable loss of my beloved son Aemon, but also knowing that the true architects of this crime will remain unpunished under the law of men.
However…
The realm cannot pause.
The stability of the Seven Kingdoms requires continuity, and a king needs a legitimate heir.”
Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, adjusting his posture with calculated politeness.
“Yes, my king,” the Sea Snake chimed in.
“The realm urgently needs this clarity so that the lords of Westeros can find peace and confidence in the Iron Throne.”
I glared at the boy from Driftmark with an icy gaze, cutting him off before he could continue.
“If you intend to interrupt the king just to spew commonplaces, boy…
At least have the modesty to better hide the brazen ambition shining in your eyes.”
Rhaenys and her mother Jocelyn shot me furious glares in the same instant.
Corlys’s face darkened, stepping back in silence.
Jaehaerys let out a long sigh, ignoring the jab, and faced those present.
“It pains me deeply to make this decision…
But it is strictly necessary for the good of the Seven Kingdoms and for the preservation of the peace we spent a lifetime building.
I, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, name my second son, Prince Baelon Targaryen, as my Proclaimed Heir and Prince of Dragonstone.”
The king’s declaration fell upon the room like the blow of an executioner’s axe.
The reaction was immediate and chaotic.
The few southern lords present at the back of the room nodded in veiled approval, silently celebrating the choice of a male, warrior heir.
Rhaenys stepped forward, her face flushed with outrage, and shouted uncontrollably:
“This is an absurdity!
You are stealing my rightful claim!
I am Prince Aemon’s daughter!
The crown belongs to my father’s line!”
Queen Alysanne rose from her seat in a fury, glaring at her husband with absolute scorn:
“What are you doing, Jaehaerys?!
Rhaenys is the heir by right of primogeniture!
Aemon wanted his daughter on the throne!”
Even Baelon himself stepped forward, his face visibly uncomfortable and opposed to the nomination.
“Father, please…” Baelon urged vehemently.
“This isn’t right!
Rhaenys is my brother’s daughter!
The right to inherit Dragonstone belongs to her and Aemon’s line!”
Jaehaerys slammed his palm against the table with a resounding strike, silencing the shouts in the room with the authority of an absolute monarch.
“Silence, all of you!” the Old King roared, his eyes flashing with unyielding rigidity.
“This is my final decision as King of the Seven Kingdoms, and it will not be altered by jeers or tears!
The current moment demands peace, firmness, and a battle-tested leader who can guarantee the unity of the realm!
And you, Rhaenys…
You are not that person at this moment!”
Rhaenys stared at her grandfather with tears of rage and heartache in her violet eyes.
“But, Grandsire—”
“No ‘buts’!” Jaehaerys cut her off coldly.
“The decision is made.”
Rhaenys turned her back and stormed toward the exit, brimming with fury.
Corlys Velaryon, realizing the collapse of his immediate political ambition, reached to his chest, unpinned the gold brooch identifying him as a member of the Small Council, tossed it onto the wooden table, and followed his wife out of the hall without a single word.
Alysanne glared at Jaehaerys with a look of pure disgust and disillusionment.
“If a ruler must carry a cock between his legs to govern this realm, Jaehaerys…
Then you certainly do not need me by your side at this table.”
The queen turned her back and left the room with heavy steps. This story is hosted at g.com.
Baelon let out a defeated sigh, looked at his father with profound disappointment, and withdrew immediately after.
The remaining councilors and lords left one by one, muttering hypocritical praises about how “wise and necessary” the king’s choice was.
After long minutes of an oppressive silence, only I, Septon Barth, and Jaehaerys remained in the vast, empty room.
The Old King remained seated at the head, staring at the brooch Corlys had abandoned on the table.
“Come on, Arthos…” Jaehaerys said in a weary voice, without looking at me.
“All that’s left is for you to voice your contempt for my decision too.
Tell me what you think.”
I adjusted myself in my chair and answered with absolute coldness:
“I think I wasted thirty-four years of my life locked inside this mediocre southern castle.
Staying in my Black Stone Tower in the North would have been an infinitely more productive choice.”
Jaehaerys snapped his head in my direction, his eyes red with rage.
“You know full well why I was forced to make this decision!” the king yelled.
“I do,” I replied calmly.
“But I fail to understand what the girl Rhaenys did directly against you to deserve this punishment.”
“She married that bastard Velaryon!” Jaehaerys roared, rising from his chair and pointing a finger at me.
“That ambitious boy killed my son Aemon to get his hands on this throne!
And I will not allow him to sit in this chair, even if it is the last thing I do in this life!”
I looked at the monarch and shook my head with contempt.
“And I ask you once again, Jaehaerys: what does Rhaenys have to do with any of this?
You don’t want to kill Corlys right now because you know he commands immense naval power…
But if your concern were purely strategic, you would simply wait for him to have an heir with Rhaenys and then eliminate him quietly.
Only you aren’t doing this just because of Corlys.
You are punishing Rhaenys too, simply because she had the audacity to go against your choice and marry whom she pleased.”
Jaehaerys stepped back, his breathing ragged and his mouth half-open, caught off guard by the rawness of my words.
Septon Barth chimed in with an appeasing tone, trying to mend the rift between us.
“Perhaps…
Perhaps it was the politically correct choice to maintain the crown’s stability, Arthos…”
I turned to the septon with an icy glare.
“Don’t defend this idiot, Barth.
He’s a hypocrite who spends his life pretending to care about his family, but at the first sign of crisis, he puts this cursed iron chair above his own blood.”
Jaehaerys let out a bitter, mocking laugh.
“And that is exactly the difference between a true king and an egocentric tyrant, Arthos!”
“No, Jaehaerys…” I countered, rising slowly from my chair and staring into the king’s eyes.
“That is the exact difference between a real man and a crowned coward.
For all my flaws, vices, and sorceries, I am still infinitely more honorable to my own than a scoundrel like you.”
I walked toward the bronze doors, but paused for a second before leaving, looking over my shoulder.
“You know, Jaehaerys…
Many historians and maesters in the future, reading of this era and the eventual collapse of the Targaryen dynasty, will blame the weak and incompetent monarchs who come after you.
But I vehemently disagree.
The primary responsibility for the end of House Targaryen was and always will be yours.
And what truly irritates me is knowing that in the future, I will still be forced to hear fools praise ‘Great King Jaehaerys I, the Conciliator’.”
I left the Council Chamber without looking back.
Walking through the corridors of the Red Keep, I followed the sound of raised voices echoing from the private parlor of the widowed Jocelyn.
Upon crossing the doorway, I came upon a pathetic spectacle: Rhaenys was screaming uncontrollably at her uncle Baelon, venting all her frustration on the Prince of Dragonstone, while Jocelyn, Alysanne, and Corlys watched in silence.
“And what in the hell does Baelon have to do with your grandfather’s cowardly decision, girl?” I asked in an elevated tone, entering the room.
Rhaenys stopped shouting, breathing heavily, and turned to me with tear-filled eyes.
“You were in there, Arthos!…
Tell me why!
Tell me the reason he did this to me!
I refuse to accept that it was merely because I am a woman!”
“And it really wasn’t because you are a woman, Rhaenys,” I replied naturally, making myself comfortable near the hearth.
“In truth, the fact that you carry a slit between your legs was merely the perfect excuse Jaehaerys used to appease the Andal lords on the council.”
Those present fell silent instantly.
Alysanne stepped closer, and Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, asking in a cold voice:
“Then what was the real motive, Lord Vaelarys?”
I looked directly into the Sea Snake’s eyes.
I saw in his gaze that the boy already knew the answer perfectly well, but wanted to hear it from my mouth.
“It was because of you, Corlys,” I declared without beating around the bush.
“And because of your shameless, limitless ambition.”
“But I kept my name!” Rhaenys argued vehemently.
“And if I had a son with Corlys, the child would take the Targaryen name upon inheriting the throne!”
“And that is precisely where the problem lies, Rhaenys,” I explained coldly.
“The child might use the Targaryen surname on official court documents, but he would be raised in the strongholds of Driftmark, under Velaryon naval culture, surrounded by the Velaryon family, and loyal primarily to House Velaryon.
On paper, he would be a Targaryen; in practice and in his soul, he would be a Velaryon ruling the Iron Throne.”
Corlys offered a smirk, maintaining his pride.
“People in the future do not remember arcane bloodlines, Lord Vaelarys…
People in the future remember only names and crowns.”
I tilted my head slightly, staring at the Sea Snake with an icy gaze.
“That is true, boy…
People in the future remember only names.
But we are not in the future now, are we?”
The room fell into a deathly silence.
Corlys shut his mouth in the same instant, sensing the implicit threat in my words.
I paid deep attention to Corlys’s vital aura in that moment.
There was not a trace or remnant of arcane energy indicating he had been part of the conspiracy that murdered Aemon; his political ambition had existed long before, and the heir’s death was merely an event he had tried to exploit.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t simply execute him right there without proof, and in the future it would be even harder to get rid of him, for I knew through my visions that the boy would end up giving me a beautiful jewel in the future—something I intended to claim for myself at the right moment.
In the days that followed, the rift in the royal family became irreparable.
Rhaenys and Corlys abandoned the capital for good, returning to High Tide on Driftmark accompanied by the widowed Jocelyn Baratheon.
House Baratheon of Storm’s End received the news of Rhaenys’s rights being usurped with brutal fury, severing direct diplomatic ties with the crown and isolating themselves in their lands.
Jaehaerys I, shaken by the devastating words I had hurled at him in the Council Chamber, began avoiding my presence at all costs.
The decades-long friendship we had built had completely shattered, replaced by a cold respect and a distant bitterness.
The only significant difference in the timeline compared to the original past was that Queen Alysanne, despite the violent fight with the king, chose not to move permanently to Dragonstone, remaining in the Red Keep to keep the family minimally united.
However, looking down the cold corridors of the capital, I realized with absolute clarity that the years leading up to the Great Council of 101 AC would be dark, bitter, and terribly difficult for the realm.