Lyonel waited patiently for Viserys to speak.
Viserys finally said, “Lyonel, ever since Rhaenyra turned twelve, I have received marriage proposals from across the realm almost every day.”
Lyonel ventured, “Are you worried about the Princess’s marriage?”
“No.”
“I already have someone in mind.” Viserys let out a nervous breath.
“A Lannister.”
“Jason Lannister. What do you think?”
Lyonel was somewhat surprised.
No repeated discussions with the Small Council, no allowing Princess Rhaenyra to choose for herself.
Making such a direct and decisive choice was unlike King Viserys.
He asked, “Why did you choose a Lannister?”
Viserys stood.
“The lands south of The Neck and the eastern realms of Westeros are all firmly united behind the Iron Throne!”
He began pacing back and forth.
“If Rhaenyra marries a Lannister, the Westerlands will also be bound to the Iron Throne.”
“Of the Seven Kingdoms, that would leave only the Riverlands and The Reach in the center.”
As for The North?
House Stark, raised amid ice and snow, held honor above all else.
Once they swore allegiance, they rarely betrayed their oath.
Lord Ellard Stark was like a great boulder standing unmoved in a blizzard.
Viserys trusted his oath.
“In The Reach, House Tyrell has ruled for barely a century. Their right to rule comes from Aegon the Conqueror, while House Hightower is ancient, powerful, and wealthy, with close ties to the Citadel and the Church.”
Viserys looked uncertain as he sought Lyonel’s counsel.
“If… I mean, if…”
“If I were to take a woman of House Hightower as my queen, while Rhaenyra married a Lannister…”
“What would happen?”
Lyonel’s pupils contracted slightly.
He answered calmly, “Then you would have The Reach and the Westerlands.”
“The Riverlands would understand which side to choose as well.”
Dragon, Seahorse, Eagle, Stag, Lion, Rose, and High Tower would be bound together through marriage, forming a close alliance.
Viserys drew a deep breath and looked at Lyonel expectantly.
“The Seven Kingdoms would be stronger than ever before, wouldn’t they?”
Lyonel considered this for a moment, searching for a way to dissuade him.
“But Princess Rhaenyra may not be willing to have her marriage decided for her.”
“And besides, Your Grace…” Lyonel’s gaze fell to the tabletop.
A map of Dorne lay spread across it.
With the Seven Kingdoms united as never before and royal power at its height, would Viserys truly do nothing?
Power and authority could change a man, especially when both came rushing upon the same person at once.
Lyonel addressed the matter directly.
“Your Grace, starting a war rashly would not be wise.”
“You don’t understand, Lyonel.” Viserys looked deeply troubled.
“Since I ascended the Iron Throne, I have never fought in a war or conquered a single piece of land.”
He licked his dry lips.
“Sometimes I wonder whether, if the gods were to place trials and burdens before me, I too might accomplish something great.”
Lyonel sighed.
“Your Grace, what is wrong with preserving a lasting peace and living out your life in tranquility?”
Viserys suddenly said, “I was once Balerion’s rider.”
The Black Dread, Balerion.
He had once ridden the greatest of dragons and soared above King’s Landing.
There was a saying that a weapon in hand could awaken the desire to use it.
Viserys had never heard it.
Yet now his bodily suffering was gone, the full might of the Iron Throne seemed within reach, and the Seven Kingdoms had known peace for far too long.
All of it pulled at him like the moon upon the tides.
His faded ambition and vigor slowly rose again from deep within, wave after wave beating against his chest.
Viserys said, “Lately, I sometimes feel a warm wind brushing against my face. But when I try to feel it clearly, I realize it was only my imagination.”
It was like the wind that had struck his face the first and only time he rode Balerion.
Lyonel understood.
He had to stop the king!
He raised his voice.
“I will never support going to war!”
“Even Aegon the Conqueror failed to make Dorne submit. Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes both died on Dornish soil!”
“Your Grace, I beg you, come to your senses!”
“Abandon this foolish idea!”
“It would cost countless lives and bring grief to the peaceful lands of Westeros.”
Lyonel’s powerful voice echoed through the chamber, leaving Viserys stunned into silence.
Lyonel was his good friend, a man who had given him counsel many times before.
Viserys’s resolve began to waver, as though two hands were pulling him in opposite directions.
He lowered his head, his eyes trembling and darting restlessly.
The world had always believed that dragons were what allowed the Targaryens to hold the Iron Throne.
Dragons made the Targaryens closer to gods than any other men.
Yet the Targaryens possessed a Talent even rarer than Dragonbond.
Dreamers!
Compared with a Dreamer, what was a dragon worth?!
A Targaryen with the Dreamer Talent had a greater claim to sit the Iron Throne than any dragonrider!
Even though the Black Dread, Balerion, was dead and Viserys no longer had a dragon, he was still a Targaryen, still as close to a god as ever!
Lyonel waited anxiously for Viserys’s response.
The fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung upon this moment.
The Council Chamber was utterly silent, so quiet that Lyonel could hear Viserys breathing.
He did not know how long passed.
At last, beneath Lyonel’s expectant gaze, Viserys raised his head.
Lyonel heard him say, “Baelon.”
“He is the Prince That Was Promised!”
Lyonel’s heart plunged. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“This may… this may be the sign!”
“This is the sign the gods have given me.”
“They are telling me that my time has come, that my trial has arrived!”
The gods had chosen him to sit the Iron Throne, and they had even granted him the Prince That Was Promised as his son!
The gods had given him the chance to accomplish the great feat that Aegon the Conqueror had failed to achieve.
Lyonel closed his eyes in anguish.
Whenever a Targaryen came into the world, the gods tossed a coin into the air to decide whether that Targaryen would be great or mad.
Only now did Lyonel realize that Viserys’s coin might not have landed on greatness after all.
Until now, disputes surrounding the Iron Throne and the burden of illness upon his body had merely covered that coin in dust.
He had to dissuade the king.
Lyonel’s eyes shifted as an idea suddenly came to him.
“But all of this depends on Princess Rhaenyra being willing to marry a Lannister.”
“Your Grace, we should not give anything away before the time is right. Do the other senior members of the Small Council know of this?”
Viserys shook his head.
“No. I haven’t had the chance to tell them.”
Good!
Relief surged through Lyonel.
“Your Grace, if we truly intend to go to war, then until the marriages with the Hightowers and Lannisters are secured, we must keep this matter absolutely secret.”
He shrugged.
“Otherwise the Dornish might catch wind of it, wouldn’t they?”
The king intended to start a war.
No one else could be allowed to learn of it.
Who else could persuade the king?
Daemon Targaryen delighted in conflict and bloodshed.
He would never dissuade Viserys.
Instead, he would encourage him like a gale filling a ship’s sails.
Corlys Velaryon loved adventure and did not fear war.
Otto Hightower stood to reap wealth and advantage from war.
Would the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms try to stop him?
No.
Once Viserys resolved to go to war, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms were already duty-bound to fight for him.
More than that, the realm had enjoyed peace for far too long since the reign of Old King Jaehaerys.
The nobles yearned for war.
It offered them the chance to win glory and plunder wealth.
After all, if a noble was captured in battle, he merely had to wait for someone to pay his ransom.
It was the smallfolk who died.
Lyonel’s eyes brightened.
He had suddenly thought of the perfect person to persuade the king.
Someone who held enough influence over King Viserys and was kind and compassionate by nature.