134 AC
Third Person POV
Two days after the celebratory feast, the Great Hall of the Red Keep, which had so recently echoed with laughter and music, now held a different kind of intensity. The morning light, filtering through the high windows, illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, a stark contrast to the dazzling candlelight of the previous night.
Queen Rhaenyra sat at the head of the long table, her expression composed, yet serious. Beside her, Daemon Targaryen leaned back in his chair, his eyes keen and watchful, his usual swagger tempered by the gravity of the occasion.
Opposite them, Cregan Stark sat, as ever, in his stark Northern attire. He radiated a quiet power, a sense of unyielding resolve that filled the space. The air was thick with anticipation.
This was a private meeting, one of immense significance, far removed from the public celebrations. This was where the true debts were paid, where the future of the realm would be quietly shaped.
Rhaenyra began, her voice calm and measured. "Prince Cregan," she said, her gaze fixed on him. "We owe you a debt that words alone cannot repay. You brought the North when others faltered. You secured Oldtown. You delivered Daeron. You cleansed King's Landing. And you brought my daughter home."
She paused, a grateful smile touching her lips. "The Dragon is on her throne, and the realm is saved, in no small part, because of your strength."
Cregan inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment of her words. He offered no false modesty. He knew the truth of what he had done.
"We have discussed your impending marriage to Visenya," Rhaenyra continued, her voice gaining a more business-like tone. "An alliance that will bind our houses for generations. But I asked you here today to speak of other matters."
Her gaze sharpened. "Have you considered, Prince Cregan, what you wish for, in return for the help you have provided for taking down the Hightowers? Beyond the marriage, beyond the honor and the alliance?"
Daemon shifted in his seat, his eyes on Cregan, eager to hear his demands. He knew Cregan Stark was not a man to act purely out of altruism. There was always a price.
Cregan met Rhaenyra's gaze, his own eyes cool and direct. He did not hesitate. His thoughts had been long prepared, meticulously considered.
"Your Grace," Cregan began, his voice steady, " For the future, I desire two things, primarily."
He held up a finger. "First, I wish for dragon eggs. Or, failing that, the chance for our children, Visenya's and mine, to bond with dragons in the future."
Rhaenyra's brow furrowed slightly. "Dragon eggs? Or bonds for your children? Don't you already have ice dragons, Prince Cregan?"
"We do, Your Grace," Cregan confirmed, a flicker of something ancient in his eyes. "The ice dragons are formidable beasts, true. They guard Asgard. They are deeply connected to the North."
"But," he continued, his voice firm, "we do not have fire dragons. The Targaryens possess the fire, the fury, the very essence of conquest and dominion. To wield both elements... that would be a power unmatched in Westeros."
Rhaenyra nodded slowly, a contemplative expression on her face. The strategic disadvantage of a Stark with fire dragons, but a Targaryen-Stark lineage wielding both ice and fire, was undeniable. It would forge an unbreakable bond, indeed.
"Very well," Rhaenyra conceded, her voice softer than before. "It is a bold request, Prince Cregan, but one I understand. We will ensure that dragon eggs are made available, and that your future children with Visenya are given every opportunity to bond with them, But i want your word that they will not be used to attack southern castles or armies, they can be used to defend Asgard."
Cregan nods his head, he has a rare, subtle hint of satisfaction in his demeanor. He had secured a monumental future for his house.
He held up a second finger. "And secondly, Your Grace, I desire the Islands of the Three Sisters."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop perceptibly. Daemon's relaxed posture vanished. Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed.
"The Three Sisters?" Rhaenyra repeated, her voice incredulous. "Prince Cregan, those islands are sworn to the Vale. They are part of the Arryn dominion."
"We cannot give you that," Daemon interjected, his voice sharp, losing his composure. "The Vale is a loyal kingdom. Lady Arryn has remained true. She would be gravely offended. She would rise in protest."
Rhaenyra nodded vehemently. "Indeed. The Arryns will be wroth with us if we do that. It would destabilize the entire Eastern coast. We cannot simply seize our loyal house's lands, no matter how much we owe you."
Cregan remained impassive throughout their protests, allowing them to vent their immediate objections. He had anticipated this.
He nodded slowly, acknowledging their arguments. "You are correct, Your Grace. Prince Daemon. The Arryns are loyal. And we do not wish to alienate them."
He paused, a glint entering his eyes. "How about this, then? A different arrangement. A pragmatic one, for the benefit of the Crown and Asgard."
Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a look, intrigued despite their initial alarm. Cregan was not one to make demands lightly, nor to back down easily.
"If, in the future," Cregan proposed, his voice measured, "the pirates from the Three Sisters attack Northern ships, raiding our merchant vessels, preying upon our trade routes... and we, the North, decide to decimate them, to utterly crush their piracy and take the islands under our banner to secure our own seas... the Iron Throne will turn a blind eye to it."
He let the words hang in the air, allowing their full implication to sink in. No open conquest ordered by the Crown, no direct confrontation with the Arryns. But a subtle, implied permission for the Starks to act in their own defense, and in doing so, expand their influence southward.
Rhaenyra and Daemon looked at each other again. This was a concession, a loophole. It was a potential slight to the Arryns, yes, but framed as a necessary measure against piracy, something even the Vale could not truly object to if the Crown approved.
It offered Cregan what he wanted, without directly violating the realm's laws or the loyalty of a key ally. It was a dangerous, but brilliant, compromise.
To this, after a moment of consideration, both Rhaenyra and Daemon nodded. A silent, unspoken agreement passing between them. The Three Sisters, in time, would fall under the wolf's shadow.
With the matters of compensation settled, the conversation shifted to more joyous topics. "Now," Rhaenyra said, a lighter tone entering her voice, "about the wedding. Cregan and Visenya's marriage. When should it be held, and who should we invite?"
Daemon smirked. "As soon as possible, I should think. The sooner the alliance is truly sealed, the better."
"Indeed," Rhaenyra agreed. "And as for guests... we must invite every loyal lord, of course. Those who fought with us, and those who swore fealty afterwards. It will be a grand affair, a symbol of our new reign's strength."
"I will send a raven to Asgard immediately," Rhaenyra announced, her eyes softening. "They must be there. Your kin should be here. It would not be right otherwise. And I believe the King of Asgard will be eager to see his grandsons wed to a princess."
"And," Rhaenyra added, a nostalgic smile touching her lips, "I will also send to my dear friend, Mordred. It has been a while since I have seen her. Her presence would bring me great joy."
They then discussed other arrangements. The feast, the ceremonies, the preparations for such a monumental event. Seamstresses would be commissioned, kitchens would be filled with provisions. The Red Keep would once again be abuzz with activity, but this time, with joyful purpose.
The conversation shifted again, this time towards the future of the Targaryen dynasty itself. Cregan, ever forward-thinking, ever pragmatic, had long considered the inherent weaknesses of the Crown.
"Your Grace," Cregan began, his voice taking on a grave tone. "I have given much thought to the future. To the strength of House Targaryen, and the stability of the Iron Throne."
Rhaenyra and Daemon listened intently, sensing the shift in mood, recognizing Cregan's seriousness.
"This war," Cregan continued, "has proven a harsh lesson. The Targaryens' greatest strength, their dragons, were almost destroyed due to infighting. If this war were to prolong, if a similar situation arose in the future and dragged on for years... the dragons would be dead for sure."
He paused, allowing the grim truth to settle. "And House Targaryen would lose its strongest asset. It's very foundation of power. It would become like any other noble house, susceptible to any rebellion, any rival claimant."
"This all happened," Cregan stated, his voice devoid of emotion, simply stating a fact, "because Viserys was a weak king."
Rhaenyra immediately tried to object, her loyalty to her father rising instinctively. "Cregan! My father was not weak. He was kind, he was loving, he..."
But Cregan stopped her, holding up a hand, his gaze firm, uncompromising. "Your Grace, I meant no disrespect to his person. He was a good king. A kind man. But he was weak nonetheless. His kindness was his undoing. He was more kind-hearted than fierce."
"That," Cregan stated emphatically, "was what led to the vipers that have infested King's Landing. The Hightowers, the Maesters, the Faith. They took advantage of his gentle nature, his desire for peace at any cost."
He leaned forward, his voice lowering, yet no less impactful. "It is a good thing that he was merely good. Imagine, Your Grace, if there were a king who was a slave to his desires. A king utterly corrupted by power, driven by greed and lust."
"Imagine if he sired a dozen bastards, scattered across the realm, and then, in his folly, began legitimizing them. Imagine the chaos that would ensue. The endless rival claims, the feuds, the utter destruction of House Targaryen's legitimacy."
"That," Cregan concluded, his voice chillingly stark, "would be the true horror for House Targaryen. A far worse fate than any civil war driven by a clear claim."
Rhaenyra and Daemon listened, their faces growing contemplative, a deep understanding dawning in their eyes. The horror of such a scenario, the instability it would sow, was terrifyingly real. They both nodded slowly, acknowledging the grim truth of Cregan's words.
"To prevent such a future," Cregan pressed on, seizing the moment, "House Targaryen must safeguard itself. Not just through strong kings, but through strong institutions. I propose a change, a return to something akin to ancient Valyrian ways, but tempered for Westeros."
He outlined his radical proposal. "Make a council consisting of every Targaryen who is of age. Like in Old Valyria, where the Freehold was governed by a collective of dragonlords, not a single monarch."
"This council," Cregan explained, his vision clear, "should be the one to elect the king. When a king dies, the council convenes, and they choose the most suitable Targaryen to rule, not necessarily the eldest child."
"Furthermore," he continued, his gaze firm, "they should also be able to remove the king if he is deemed unfit for rule. If a king proves to be cruel, or foolish, or truly weak, or a slave to his desires, the council should have the power to depose him."
"And finally, any major decision taken by the king should pass through this council. Not every decree, not every daily matter, but truly major decisions affecting the realm's peace, its laws, its very future."
Rhaenyra and Daemon listened, their expressions a mixture of shock and thought. This was an unthinkable alteration to the very fabric of the Westerosi monarchy.
"But... Prince Cregan," Rhaenyra stammered, "the King's power would be weakened because of this. The monarch would be beholden to others."
Cregan nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Your Grace. The king's power will be tempered. But in tempering it, you make it stronger, more resilient. He will think twice before making a decision. He will consider the counsel of his family, of his peers."
He offered an example that hit close to home. "Consider the time Jaehaerys the Conciliator, in his stupidity, thought giving gift to the Wall was a vice. All because he was too shortsighted to see the true threat of the North."
Daemon clenched his fist at the mention of Jaehaerys's past foolishness regarding the Wall, a source of resentment between the North and the Crown. He remained silent, however, his eyes fixed on Cregan.
"That decision," Cregan pressed, "led to rebellion. It caused immense suffering. If a council had been in place to temper his foolishness, to advise him against such a drastic, short-sighted measure, perhaps it could have been avoided."
"What," Cregan continued, his voice lowering, "would happen if in the future there is a Targaryen king who is devoted to the Faith so much that he bans Targaryen traditional marriages? A pious fool who forbids sister marrying brother, for the sake of the Seven?"
Rhaenyra and Daemon's faces became deeply contemplative. The memory of the Faith Militant's uprising and the war between the Crown and the Faith, only resolved by Jaehaerys's compromises, hung heavy in the air. A king forbidding their ancient customs was a horrifying thought, one that would tear the dynasty apart from within.
"See?" Cregan said, his voice quiet but firm. "That is why it is necessary to have a king or queen who is not corrupted by power, who is not swayed by fanaticism, who is tempered by the wisdom of his own kin."
He then contrasted this with the ways of his own people. "In Asgard, we don't have that problem. We are hardened men. We don't have a penchant for politics or word games like in the South. We are direct. Our traditions are clear."
"There, the King always leads the army from the front," Cregan concluded, his eyes holding a steely pride. "He does not command from the rear, sending others to die in his stead. He faces the threats himself. That is the true strength of a monarch."
Rhaenyra and Daemon remained silent for a long moment, processing Cregan's radical vision. It was a complete paradigm shift, challenging centuries of Westerosi monarchy.
Finally, Rhaenyra spoke, her voice measured. "Prince Cregan. Your words... they are profound. And they bear much weight. This is a matter of such immense importance, it requires deep consideration."
Daemon nodded in agreement. "We will think about it, Prince Cregan. We will discuss it thoroughly. This is not a decision to be made lightly."
Cregan merely nodded, his expression unreadable. He had planted the seed. Now, it was up to them to decide whether it would grow.