133 AC
Cregan Stark POV
I stood in the Throne Room, a silent sentinel near the steps of the Iron Throne, the monstrosity I refused to sit upon. The air crackled with anticipation. The news of the Queen's arrival had swept through the Red Keep, bringing with it a sense of finality to the usurper's brief reign.
Then, the booming voice of a herald cut through the murmurs, announcing her entrance with all the pomp and ceremony due a true monarch. "Her Grace, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and Protector of the Six Kingdoms!"
A moment later, the herald continued, introducing her direct kin: "Prince Jacaerys of House Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne!" A handsome young man, looking every inch the prince, entered beside his mother. Then, "Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen, Lady of Driftmark!" She entered, her eyes finding mine, a brief, knowing smile passing between us. Finally, " Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark!" The Sea Snake, looking surprisingly robust despite his age, followed his wife.
Rhaenyra herself entered last, her face a mask of regal composure, though I could sense the raw emotion beneath. Her eyes, filled with weariness and resolve, met mine. She walked with purpose, her gaze fixed on the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace," I said, bowing deeply, a formal greeting for the Queen.
"Prince Cregan," she replied, her voice filled with quiet gratitude. She inclined her head, her gaze sweeping over the restored Black loyalists, the still-bound Green traitors, and my vigilant Wolf Pack.
I stepped aside, making way for her to ascend the steps. She approached the Iron Throne, a wary respect in her movements, and slowly, deliberately, sat upon its jagged, uncomfortable blades. It was her seat, rightfully so.
Once seated, she looked at me, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Prince Cregan. For everything."
She then addressed the assembled court, her voice clear and strong despite the recent turmoil, proclaiming her return, the justice that had been served, and the rightful restoration of her reign. She spoke of her grief for her father, of the betrayal she had endured, and of her resolve to heal the realm.
After her address, the court began to disperse, and we all made our way to the more intimate confines of the Small Council chambers, where the true work of reclaiming a kingdom would begin. The Iron Throne was hers, but the fight for the realm was far from over.
The Small Council chamber felt significantly different than the throne room. Here, the air was tighter, more intimate, charged with the heavy weight of strategy and decisions. Queen Rhaenyra took her place at the head of the table, flanked by her closest kin and advisors: Princess Rhaenys, Prince Jacaerys, and Lord Corlys Velaryon. To my right sat Lord Simon Staunton of Rook's Rest, still somewhat wide-eyed from the day's events, and Rodrick Dustin, always at my side.
Rhaenyra's gaze swept over us, finally settling on me. "Prince Cregan," she began, her voice calm, "what happened to the Green Small Council members? We found them in the dungeons, but... some were missing from the count."
I met her gaze evenly. "Your Grace, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, and Grand Maester Orwyle were found guilty of treason and executed in the Throne Room. Otto Hightower, the chief architect of this usurpation, met the same fate."
A stunned silence fell over the chamber. Jacaerys gasped softly. Lord Corlys's eyes widened, and even Rhaenys, usually so composed, looked visibly shocked. Simon Staunton paled considerably.
"You... you executed half the Small Council?" Jacaerys finally stammered, his voice laced with disbelief.
"They were traitors, Prince Jacaerys," I stated simply. "They conspired to deny the rightful Queen her throne, leading to war and bloodshed. Justice demanded swift action."
Rhaenyra, after a moment, composed herself. Her gaze, though still tinged with surprise, held a new depth of understanding, perhaps even a chilling appreciation. "And Tyland Lannister?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"He's in the dungeons, Your Grace," I replied. "He proved more... resistant to immediate answers regarding the royal treasury. However, with some persuasion, he revealed its current state. One fourth is held in the Iron Bank, another fourth in Casterly Rock, and the third fourth in Oldtown."
Lord Corlys leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "That is vital information, Prince. You have delivered the Iron Throne and its coffers to Her Grace. What do you wish for, in return for such service?"
I looked directly at Rhaenyra, ignoring the others. My voice softened, but held an unwavering resolve. "Your Grace, I have come to love your daughter, Princess Visenya. And she, me. I request her hand in marriage, with your blessing."
A new silence descended, this one laced with surprise of a different kind. Rhaenyra's expression was unreadable for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. She considered, then, a faint smile touching her lips. "Visenya spoke of you often, Prince Cregan. I had suspected... something." She took a deep breath. "You have proved yourself a man of honor and a formidable ally. My daughter could ask for no better partner. Yes, Prince Cregan. I accept your request. You have my blessing to marry Visenya."
A wave of relief washed over me, a warmth spreading through my chest. "Thank you, Your Grace," I said, a genuine smile finally breaking through my usual grim composure.
"I also have another request," I added, my voice hardening slightly as I returned to the matters of state. "I wish to march to Oldtown."
Rhaenyra frowned, a flicker of confusion on her face. "Oldtown? Prince, you have already done more than enough for us. Your efforts have secured King's Landing and crippled the Greens. Rest, plan with us."
"Your Grace, there is more," I said, turning to Roddy. "Roddy, show Her Grace the letters."
Roddy produced the scrolls I had retrieved from the Greens' chambers and placed them before Rhaenyra. She took them, her brow furrowed, and began to read. As she did, her eyes widened, and a slow, building fury contorted her features. She passed them to Jacaerys, then to Rhaenys and Corlys.
The chamber erupted in an uproar.
"This is outrageous!" Jacaerys roared, slamming his fist on the table. "A conspiracy spanning decades!"
"They poisoned Aemma?" Rhaenys's voice was a chilling whisper, filled with a raw, agonizing grief. "Prince Baelon... the belly burst, My father assasination... Myrish pirates in Tarth... they engineered this all!"
Lord Corlys's face was purple with rage. "The Maesters! Those conniving leeches! To think we trusted them with our lives, with the realm's health!"
The room was filled with the angry shouts and furious denunciations of the Small Council members. The sheer depth of the betrayal, the meticulous, long-term plotting by the Maesters to pit Targaryen against Targaryen, was laid bare.
"It's not surprising," I stated, the anger in the room a tangible thing, but my own voice remained steady. "Their whole order, the Maesters, is fundamentally set to prove the world does not need magic. Then House Targaryen comes, with your dragons – walking, breathing proof of magic. They know they cannot face you head-on. So they do what they do best."
I leaned forward, my gaze sweeping over the furious faces of the council members. "They are the first players in the game of thrones, and they have been winning since they started to play. Why do you think the North removed them from our keeps? They advise you, pour honeyed words into your ears, while subtly undermining your strength. I am not saying all of them are traitors," I clarified, "but there is something called the Council of Light, which actively seeks to prevent any existence of magic."
I continued, my voice gaining a sharper edge. "And the next mistake your house made, which is allowing the Faith to dictate the terms by which you should rule. The Faith openly preaches that magic is an abomination in the name of the gods, and House Targaryen, which is walking magic, proclaims itself as defender of the Faith. I don't know what to say about that. The Citadel and the Starry Sept. And where do these two powerhouses converge? Oldtown. That city is the root of all these problems."
I straightened, my gaze now fixed on Rhaenyra. "So, this is my request: no house south of the Neck can make a move against the Faith or the Citadel. But we of the Asgard are followers of the Old Gods. We do not have those restrictions. Give me some of your troops, and I will deliver the heads of whoever plots against House Targaryen. I will pull the roots of this conspiracy from the earth itself."
Rhaenyra listened, her anger warring with her strategic mind. She argued for a while, raising concerns about a direct confrontation with the Citadel and the Faith, the potential for wider rebellion. Corlys supported her caution, while Jacaerys, fueled by youthful rage, seemed eager to agree with me. Rhaenys watched us both, her expression thoughtful.
Eventually, Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze hardening with a new resolve. "Very well, Prince Cregan. You have proven yourself a fearsome and loyal ally. You shall have the troops. March to Oldtown. Bring me justice."
"Your Grace," I continued, pressing my advantage while the council's fury at the Maesters' conspiracy was still fresh, "while I march on Oldtown, I have another suggestion for the recovery of the realm's wealth." I looked at Rhaenyra, then briefly at Corlys, knowing he'd appreciate the pragmatism.
"Send King Consort, Daemon, along with the armies of the Riverlands, to the Westerlands. Have him attack the Lannisters. Recover that one-third of the royal treasury from Casterly Rock. He can use the proceeds from the Lannister coffers to replenish the royal treasury and fund the realm's future."
I paused, letting the strategic implications sink in. "Once that is finished, once the Lannisters are dealt with and the treasury is secured, then we can make a move for the Baratheons."
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly, weighing the audacity of the plan. Daemon's aggression was well-known, and recovering the treasury was paramount. Corlys nodded in agreement, seeing the financial wisdom. Jacaerys, ever eager for action, seemed to approve. The room, still simmering from the Maester revelations, absorbed this new, aggressive strategy. It was a plan that struck at the heart of the Green's remaining power base and financial strength.