ACT III: The Reign of Jaehaerys I — Part 2: The Severance and Exile (87 AC – 101 AC)
I’ll mention this right away before the comments section: in this chapter, we’ll see people who are grieving saying things to the protagonist—or speaking to him harshly.
Since he isn’t an idiot, he understands that they are just grieving and doesn’t need to kill them over it.
Also, this is the penultimate chapter of this arc; the final one should be out later today, unless something unavoidable comes up.
That’s all—enjoy the read.
Chapter 21: The Queen’s Agony, the Mystical Counter-Strike, and the Collapse of Succession (100 AC – 101 AC)
The sudden death of Septon Barth caught the court of King’s Landing off guard, though not with complete surprise.
After all, the old septon already bore the weight of an advanced life worn out by tireless service to the realm.
Nevertheless, his final departure represented a devastating blow to King Jaehaerys I.
Barth had not merely been the Hand of the King through decades of prosperity; he had been the voice of reason, the loyal advisor, and the only man at court capable of reining in the monarch’s harshest impulses, forcing him to change his mind in moments of crisis.
Yet, as the wheel of fate always demands, life continued its course in the capital.
To fill the vacancy at the top of government, Jaehaerys named his second son, Prince Baelon Targaryen, as the new Hand of the King.
However, the dynamics of the council shifted drastically.
Unlike the late Aemon—who had been rigorously educated from childhood to rule and thought with absolute independence—Baelon maintained an overly passive and submissive stance toward his father.
Aemon had never feared confronting Jaehaerys head-on.
If the Old King made a wrong or unjust decision, Aemon did not hesitate to challenge him openly, caring little for the monarch’s rage.
In the end, ironically, it was precisely that unshakeable self-confidence that cost his own daughter Rhaenys her throne.
Like most confident men, Aemon never imagined he would die before his father.
In his mind, he would ascend the Iron Throne after Jaehaerys, and when his time came, it would be his grandchildren who inherited the realm.
In his vision, those future grandchildren would be properly absorbed and re-bound to House Targaryen through planned dynastic marriages within the family.
It was a terribly naive stance on Aemon’s part for failing to foresee Lord Corlys Velaryon’s unbridled ambition; but above all, it was the blind pride of Targaryen blood speaking.
In Aemon’s mind, it was unthinkable that his descendants would ever prefer to sport the identity of Driftmark over the glory of the dragon crown.
Leaving King’s Landing and its suffocating intrigues behind, I temporarily withdrew from the capital to settle infrastructure and security matters in my own northern domains.
A few days later, I found myself standing atop the Wall.
Leaning against the ancient rampart of ice, I spent hours analyzing the colossal architecture of that barrier and, above all, the mystical complexity pulsing within it.
It was fascinating to observe the arcane runes and First Men spells carved into rock and ice to sustain a structure of that magnitude.
Looking south, I could spot the distant silhouette of The Cannibal flying low over the forests of the Gift.
One of my primary objectives in that inspection was to study an arcane way to allow my dragon to cross the Wall to the north without triggering the ancient magical defenses that blocked the magical creatures.
After all, having a battle dragon of that size operating beyond the great barrier would be the ultimate weapon to pacify and subdue any rebellious wildling tribe.
And yes, I was fully aware of the mystical danger of bringing a beast into the frozen lands.
However, with me mounted on The Cannibal’s back, we had absolutely nothing to fear in this world.
The reason was simple and undeniable: I possessed the ability to channel the dragon’s own magical energy and fire affinity to empower my blood sorceries.
A Sorcerer of House Vaelarys atop his war dragon fears no entity in this realm.
However, I would not commit the stupidity of creating a permanent rift in the Wall or forcing a magical passage that could be exploited by unwanted forces before the right time.
Descending from the Wall via the iron cages of Castle Black, I crossed the iron gate heading to the far north accompanied only by my horse.
I advanced alone through the deep snow until I reached the isolated clearing where the great weirwood with its carved face stood—the sacred site where the men of the Night’s Watch were accustomed to taking their vows under the Old Gods.
As I approached the pale trunk of the tree, I came upon a small, ancient figure waiting for me atop the frozen roots.
“So, Gravel…” I began, stopping a few paces from the creature “…what did you think of my invitation?”
Gravel stared at me intently.
Her large, feline yellow eyes, characteristic of her species, reflected the cold light of the ice.
“The Song of Ice and Fire made a grand proposal…” replied the Child of the Forest, with a voice that sounded like the rustling of dry leaves in the wind.
“…However, it is not yet the time for us to accept.”
I let out a faint sigh, adjusting my fur cloak over my shoulders.
“So that is a ‘no’ for now.”
“It is a ‘not yet’,” the ancient being corrected.
“Right,” I replied with pragmatic coldness.
“Then when I permanently conquer and annex the lands where your people’s final resting place lies beyond the Wall, we will speak again.”
Gravel merely nodded her head in silence and, in the blink of an eye, slipped into the dense grove of trees, disappearing without leaving a trace in the snow.
Using my Greensight perception, I had actively sought out a Child of the Forest willing to teach me the deeper, hidden ways of weirwood magic.
I was refused, as was obvious.
But that did not shake me in the slightest degree: the refusal did not change the final outcome, it merely delayed the inevitable.
I would obtain that knowledge one way or another.
Leaving the weirwood behind, I spent the following days inspecting the villages and new settlements I had raised along that extended strip of land.
The lands were prosperous and in perfect order.
There were no reports of raiding or attacks carried out by the free folk; on the contrary, small bands of wildlings constantly appeared at the borders seeking integration.
So long as they swore fealty to House Vaelarys and agreed to abide strictly by the laws of my domain, I did not mind granting them space around my hearth.
I let out a low, quiet laugh upon hearing my own thought.
What a ridiculously traditional and northern phrase to utter.
My late mother would surely be deeply proud to see how much of her people’s culture and customs I had absorbed.
After verifying the integrity of the arcane protection glyphs along the border, I returned to the Wall and, from there, flew back to the capital.
King’s Landing remained strictly the same: a foul-smelling, stuffy, overcrowded den of foolish nobles and miserable peasants.
Yet the city lived under an aura of apparent peace.
A peace I knew to be merely the deceptive calm before a devastating storm.
A storm that would begin irreversibly with Prince Baelon’s death.
I knew perfectly well that the sorcerers and greenseers of the opposing web were mobilizing in the psychic plane to try and stop me from saving Baelon when the hour came.
But this time, I wouldn’t even lift a single finger to intervene.
Baelon had never been a close relative of mine.
First, because of a quiet jealousy the prince had harbored throughout his youth: after all, I had slept with virtually every daughter of Jaehaerys and Alysanne.
Baelon had always been in love with his sister Alyssa from a very young age; although I had never slept with Alyssa, Baelon had always kept that bitter suspicion in his chest.
After Alyssa’s untimely death, the prince avoided me almost completely.
Therefore, Baelon was not someone important or beloved enough for me to go through the colossal trouble of waging an exhausting arcane battle against an order of sorcerers to keep him alive.
Furthermore, my original plans required the late Aemon’s presence on the throne; with Aemon dead and the board shattered, Baelon’s life had become irrelevant to me.
I would let the Dance of the Dragons take its tragic course in the future, and I would play my pieces amidst the chaos.
However, before Baelon’s departure, there was another illustrious figure of the dynasty whose flame was about to go out.
Even in this altered timeline—where almost all of her children remained alive—Queen Alysanne Targaryen’s natural lifespan was coming to an end.
Giving birth so many times over the decades, in a world of archaic medicine, exacts an irreversible toll on a woman’s body.
Gradually, the matriarch’s strength withered until she could no longer leave her bed in the royal quarters.
It was during this time of agony that Jaehaerys summoned me personally to his private chamber.
“I am perfectly fine, Jae…” Alysanne murmured in bed, her voice weak and measured, trying to comfort her devastated husband.
“…I just feel a little tired.”
“I know, my love…
I know,” replied the Old King, holding his wife’s trembling hand between his own.
Jaehaerys raised his bloodshot eyes in my direction.
I knew exactly what that desperate look requested.
I approached the bed and performed a deep diagnosis on the queen’s vital flow and aura through my blood sorcery.
Upon confirming what my analytical mind had already predicted, I stepped back and declared with absolute candor:
“There is no illness gnawing at her body, Jaehaerys.
There is no plague, poison, or spell.
Alysanne is simply old.
Her body has reached the natural limit of life.”
Alysanne let out a faint, raspy laugh against the pillows.
“That is not a very courteous sentence to say to a lady, Arthos…”
I flashed a smirk and bowed my head slightly.
“I offer my most sincere apologies, my queen.
Allow me to alter the way I express that fact.”
“Don’t do that!” she interrupted, with a playful gleam in her violet eyes.
Despite the moment of levity between me and the queen, Jaehaerys found no humor in the dialogue.
The monarch stared at me with sickly urgency.
“You have already lived for more than a century and three decades, Arthos!
You were born merely three years apart from Aegon the Conqueror himself, and you possess sorceries that defy time!
There must be a way to extend Alysanne’s life!
Use your magic!”
I shook my head slowly.
“Life-extension blood sorcery exists, yes.
But it is not something simple or personal to apply to third parties, Jaehaerys.
If it were not so, my own parents would still be alive by my side today.
For preservation magic to work without destroying the host’s mind, it needs to be cultivated and adapted from youth, as I did within my own organism.
Trying to force that process onto someone who has reached an advanced age is nearly impossible.
And above all, the spell is useless when the individual does not desire to have their life extended at all costs…
Isn’t that right, Alysanne?”
The queen looked at her husband and gave a slight nod of her head.
“Yes, Jae…
Arthos is completely right.”
“But why, my love?!” Jaehaerys pleaded, tears streaming down his grey beard.
“Why refuse to fight?!”
“Because things in this world were made to have an end, Jae…” Alysanne answered softly, squeezing the king’s fingers.
“…It is precisely the end that gives meaning and value to every moment of life.”
The Old King fell silent, lowering his head in painful, defeated agreement.
Realizing that moment belonged strictly to the two of them, I quietly withdrew from the room.
As I crossed the door into the corridor, I encountered Prince Baelon leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed and face somber.
“Let me guess, Lord Vaelarys…” Baelon said in a bitter, accusatory tone.
“…You can do absolutely nothing again, correct?
Your recurring ability to never accomplish your magics when the royal family truly needs them is impressive.”
I turned to the Hand of the King and stared at him with an icy glare of disdain.
“Instead of wasting your time blaming me for limitations of nature you understand nothing about, boy…
You should be gathering your children and family to bid your mother a proper farewell.”
Without waiting for a response, I left the heir alone in the corridor.
Some people simply do not accept living on borrowed time or extending their existence through dark sorceries; when the final hour approaches, they understand that they must accept the cycle of the world with dignity.
I understood Alysanne’s choice completely because my own mother had acted the same way in the past: she had refused to have her life extended by blood rituals and, even losing her time with me and my father, preferred to follow the natural flow of destiny.
The Good Queen possessed that same nobility of spirit.
Hours later, while I remained alone in my private quarters—since both Daenerys and Viserra were in their mother’s room—I heard two sharp knocks on the door.
Without waiting for permission, the door opened and King Jaehaerys entered the room.
I looked at the monarch’s stooped figure and commented coldly:
“I believe you have infinitely more important places to be right now, don’t you think, my old friend?”
Jaehaerys stared at me, eyes flashing with desperation and contained rage.
“I won’t beat around the bush, Arthos…
I demand that you use your blood sorcery to extend Alysanne’s life.
Whatever the cost.”
I sighed, leaning back against the armchair’s backrest.
“I have already explained in detail why I will not do that, Jaehaerys.
And Alysanne made it perfectly clear that she does not wish to be subjected to any sorcery.”
“It doesn’t matter what she wishes right now!” the king shouted, taking a step forward.
“I am the Sovereign of this realm, and I am ordering it!”
“Actually, it does matter,” I countered in an imperious tone, rising slowly.
“I will never force a friend of mine into a miserable, unnatural existence against her will.
Not even if the order comes from you, Jaehaerys.”
The monarch stared at me, chest heaving with anguish.
“Farewells are painful, Jae…” I continued in a softer tone “…but they are strictly necessary.
Do not be a man so selfish as to try and chain your wife’s soul to this world by force merely to feed your own fear of loneliness.”
Jaehaerys let out a bitter laugh, his voice reduced to a trembling whisper of rancor:
“For you it’s very easy to talk about farewells and acceptance, isn’t it, Arthos?…
After all, it’s not the love of your life dying in that bed!
If it were one of your women there, what would you do?!”
I looked into the king’s eyes and answered with a raw, terrifying honesty:
“If it were one of my women…
I would keep her alive in this world even if I had to tear open the heavens and force her into existence through the darkest sorcery.
But that is because I am a selfish monster, Jaehaerys…
And you have always prided yourself on being a good man.”
Jaehaerys took a step back without uttering another single word.
I looked at his slumping shoulders and the bitterness emanating from his mind; I could feel, through my arcane perception, the exact moment he definitively blamed me for the queen’s impending death.
So this is where our decades-long friendship ends, I thought in silence as he withdrew.
Well…
I don’t blame him.
In the days that followed, the rest of the royal family landed in the capital to pay their respects.
Even Princess Rhaenys arrived accompanied by her two children, young Laena and little Laenor.
All descendants gathered in the grand chamber to bid farewell to the matriarch of the dynasty.
Queen Alysanne passed away surrounded by her family, in a rare moment of absolute peace where children played around the room and adults shared fond memories.
The first to perceive the queen’s departure was Daenerys.
The princess stood up startled from her seat and, in the exact same second, coming from the depths of the Dragonpit, the dragon Silverwing unleashed a shrill roar that cut through the capital’s skies—a lament that sounded simultaneously like deep pain and a liberating longing.
Daenerys looked toward the Pit and then at her mother’s motionless body.
Everyone in the room understood that The Good Queen was gone.
Her farewell took place as it did for all great Targaryen princes: by fire.
Daenerys commanded Silverwing to incinerate her mother’s funeral pyre before all the nobility of Westeros.
The entire realm mourned that loss with sincere grief.
Cities from North to South wept as if they had lost a mother or a direct protector.
After all, Alysanne had not borne the title “The Good Queen” out of mere whim from the maesters; she had been the architect of crucial laws protecting the women of the realm and abolishing the right of the first night.
Even in the North—the region historically most neglected by the crown—the people paid solemn tribute to the queen who had once visited their lands.
The death of Alysanne was merely the first prelude to the political storm that would soon tear the Seven Kingdoms apart.
In the following year, in 101 AC, fate dealt its final blow against Jaehaerys’s line.
I was in the solar of my Black Stone Tower in the North when I felt, through my connections of blood and sorcery, Prince Baelon Targaryen’s vital flame suddenly extinguish in the capital, victim of a fulminant appendicitis that ripped through his entrails.
At the exact second Baelon’s spirit left his body, a black raven with grey eyes landed on my window sill.
Using the bird’s mystical connection, the consciousness of the opposing web’s greenseer projected mocking words directly into my mind:
“Very well, boy…
You’ve begun to realize you can’t—”
Before the entity could conclude its arrogant provocation, I launched a brutal, devastating mental counter-attack through the very temporary connection the greenseer had established.
Using the raw force of Song of Ice and Fire, I crushed the creature’s psychic projection.
Through the shattered link, I heard the echo of a scream of pure agony coming from the depths of the weirwood net.
That bastard seems to have forgotten who I am, I thought with a cruel smile.
Just because I can’t beat them in long-term complex political conspiracies doesn’t mean this avatar from the Deep Web can come to my tower and ridicule me.
He offered his face for mockery, and I answered with a psychic punch to his jaw.
Without wasting time, I summoned Daenerys and Viserra.
We mounted our dragons—I atop The Cannibal, Daenerys atop Silverwing, and Viserra atop the Pale Queen—and sliced through the skies toward the South at full speed.
Baelon’s funeral ceremony in King’s Landing followed the traditional rituals of the royal house.
Death had taken his wife, his firstborn Aemon, and now his second heir Baelon.
The Old King was a ghost wandering among crowns.
In the days following the funeral, I attended the emergency Small Council meeting.
The atmosphere in the hall was one of mourning and extreme political tension.
Looking at the Hand of the King’s chair, I found its new occupant: Otto Hightower.
The young noble had been officially summoned to King’s Landing by Jaehaerys due to his reputation as an extremely erudite and disciplined man, in addition to carrying a direct recommendation from Prince Vaegon.
If Otto were not a man so sickly ambitious from the shadows, he could have been an excellent Hand; however, I knew his thirst for power would eventually surpass his loyalty to the crown in the future.
But there was no need to put the cart before the horse at that moment.
Jaehaerys stared at the table with vacant eyes and declared in a raspy voice:
“The gods, in their immense cruelty, have taken all my battle-tested male heirs and left this realm divided.
Now, half the lords clamor for Prince Viserys’s succession, while the other half demands Princess Rhaenys’s rights…
Today we shall decide how to resolve this fracture.
Does anyone have anything to offer?”
Several council members, led by Hand Otto Hightower himself, rushed to defend Viserys’s immediate acclamation.
They argued that naming Baelon’s son would follow Andal traditions and that the nobility of Westeros would never accept being ruled by a woman or Rhaenys’s female line.
I let out a mocking laugh from my seat, interrupting the discussion.
“If the nobility of this continent could choose freely, every lord would declare himself absolute king of his own backyard,” I countered with disdain.
“The personal opinion of the lords matters little for the stability of the dynasty!
What truly matters is whether whoever sits in that iron chair possesses the mental capacity to govern with justice and firmness.”
Otto Hightower adjusted his posture and intervened with calculated diplomacy:
“And if the realm’s nobility revolts against a decision imposed by the crown, Lord Vaelarys?”
“The executioner’s axe exists precisely to solve revolts by greedy lords, Ser Otto,” I replied, staring at him intently.
“Though I personally do not recommend using axes…
An axe doesn’t cause even a third of the dread that a war dragon’s fire produces.
And Princess Rhaenys possesses a mature dragon.”
One of the councilors at the table intervened vehemently:
“But Prince Viserys rode the legendary Balerion!
The Conqueror’s Dragon!
That alone should be seen as a divine symbol of legitimacy!”
“Balerion?…” I mocked, leaning forward.
“…The dragon that belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, and also to Maegor the Cruel?
And you genuinely think that mount is an automatic symbol of virtue and justice?
What an imbecile argument.”
The discussion in the hall began to quiet down when Jaehaerys raised his trembling hand, demanding absolute silence.
“I have heard all your opinions…” the king began, breathing with difficulty.
“…My first choice to assume the succession was Prince Vaegon.
However, my son expressly refused the crown.
But Vaegon gave me a solution: he suggested I summon all the lords great and small of this continent to Harrenhal, allowing the nobility to vote and freely choose the next sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms.
And that is exactly what I shall do.”
I watched the council members absorb the proposal.
In a matter of seconds, I saw smiles of approval appear on the faces of the southern councilors.
“I see the idea was widely well-received by this council,” the king continued.
“It is indeed a wise and conciliatory proposal, my king,” Otto Hightower praised.
Jaehaerys turned his head in my direction, staring at me with cold eyes.
“But it seems not everyone at this table agrees with the wisdom of the proposal…
Isn’t that right, Arthos?”
I adjusted myself in my chair and replied in an imperious tone:
“What I think, Jaehaerys…
is that you have gone completely mad in your old age!
What an imbecile, disastrous idea!
And knowing that this stupidity came from Vaegon’s head only proves how alienated from reality that maester has become!”
“And for what reason would that be a bad idea, Arthos?!” the king barked, slamming his fists onto the table.
“The lords of this continent are greedy, self-centered snakes!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the stone walls.
“If you allow them to choose the Sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms today, they will come to believe their mediocre opinion matters for the royal succession!
What will happen in the future when a legitimate king wishes to name an heir that goes against the lords’ will?!
Must the king bow his head, bend his knees, and accept the vassals’ imposition?!
What was Aegon’s Conquest for?!
What was all the blood spilled to make every lord on this continent kneel before the Iron Throne for?!”
“That won’t happen, Arthos!” Jaehaerys shot back, irritated.
“This moment is a national emergency!
We have two princes with exceedingly strong claims and military power to spark a civil war if they are passed over!”
“An emergency?…” I mocked with bitterness.
“…If the realm worked through this stupid democracy of yours in the past, who do you think the lords would have chosen to rule after Aegon’s death?
Weak Aenys or tyrant Maegor?”
King Jaehaerys fell silent in the same instant, staring at me with helpless rage.
He knew the answer to that question perfectly well.
I stood up slowly from my chair, adjusting my cloak.
“If you intend to carry this farce forward, Jaehaerys…
know that I will no longer be part of this political stupidity.”
The following day, in the grand Throne Room packed with nobles, King Jaehaerys I formally announced to the realm the summoning of the Great Council of Harrenhal.
I remained standing beside the royal retinue.
I reached my hand to my chest and unpinned the worked gold brooch identifying me as Master of the Arcane—a symbol of authority I had borne during forty-three years of service to the crown.
I looked at that piece of metal.
I felt no longing or regret; I knew perfectly well that Great Council would be the watershed event decreeing the beginning of the end for the dynasty.
I walked with firm steps up to the Iron Throne’s dais and hurled the brooch with force against the structure of swords.
Using a discreet spark of blood sorcery upon impact, the brooch’s metal fused and partially melted over the throne’s blades.
The grand hall sank into a deathly silence.
“As I promised you in council, Jaehaerys…
if you followed through with this madness, I would not continue in your government,” I declared in a raised tone, my voice echoing across the room.
Jaehaerys stared at me from atop the throne, his face aged and bitter.
“Then I suppose this is where we bid our final farewells, Lord Vaelarys…” said the king.
“Yes, Jae…
This is where we say goodbye,” I replied coldly.
I turned my back and began walking toward the hall’s giant bronze doors.
However, I paused for a second before crossing the threshold, looking over my shoulder:
“Give my most sincere regards to Alysanne when you meet her on the other side, my old friend.”
I left the Throne Room without looking back.
My phase of active service and diplomatic presence in the South of Westeros was officially over.
Stepping into the Red Keep’s courtyard, The Cannibal plummeted from the heavens and landed imposingly.
I climbed to the saddle and took flight, circling majestically three times over the city of King’s Landing.
Shortly after, Daenerys atop Silverwing and Viserra atop the Pale Queen joined me in formation.
As we headed toward the far North, I used a subtle trace of Skinchanging with a raven perched at the window of the royal quarters.
Through the bird’s eyes, I observed Old King Jaehaerys I standing by the pane, watching our three dragons disappear into the horizon.
Seeing the solitary figure of the monarch shed a silent tear over our departure, I knew I would have to visit him one last time in the shadows before his life faded for good.
But that would be in the future.
Now, my focus would be concentrated exclusively on developing my empire in the North, expanding beyond the Wall, and solving my personal fertility problem.
The world would soon need an absolute ruler for the era to come, and I had no patience to raise weak heirs—only to reign supreme over the ashes Viserys would leave behind.