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Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
After Melisandre left, Daeron reviewed the Great Council procedures Maester Aemon had prepared.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
First, state the council's purpose, ask the lords of the Seven Kingdoms for their opinions, and hold a vote if opinions were divided.
Standard stuff.
Daeron skimmed through it, then told his great-uncle to get some rest and that he would handle Varys.
After the coup, Varys had turned into a ghost. Time to put him to work.
If anyone knew how the great houses felt about the Great Council, it was Varys.
Daeron also wanted Varys to keep an eye on Melisandre.
So far she had been loyal enough.
More accurately, useful enough.
But Melisandre answered only to the Lord of Light. She saw Daeron as the prince from prophecy and served him to earn his trust.
At heart she was still a wild card.
Who knew what she might get up to behind his back?
Daeron had already guessed that red, green, and yellow gems boosted physical power while emerald, amethyst, and diamond might work for sorcerers.
Melisandre had asked for gems to craft protective amulets. That made him cautious.
At the very least he needed Varys watching her to see whether the gems actually helped wizards.
Daeron liked being prepared.
---
Only the old maester and the boy remained in the room, both quietly reading.
Jaehaerys flipped through an ancient Valyrian history book, but his mind wandered to the red priestess's words.
Did he really have the gift of a sorcerer?
"If I could be a sorcerer, maybe it wouldn't be any worse than being a knight."
Jaehaerys turned the idea over in his head.
He was at the perfect age to train with a sword. With the right guidance he had a future.
But Ser William Darry, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, had told him his sword talent was average. Even if he trained every day for years, he would only ever be an ordinary knight.
He couldn't catch up to his older brothers, and it looked like he wouldn't even match little Viserys.
Viserys was slow, but he swung a wooden sword with real stubborn power.
"So what about becoming a sorcerer?"
Jaehaerys's mind was quick. It seemed like a different path worth trying.
The dragonlords of old Valyria had been more than just dragonriders. They had been sorcerers and fire mages too.
Every young dragonlord heir received that kind of training.
The most important part was learning the spells that let them control dragons and give precise commands.
These days House Targaryen only used High Valyrian and a whip for rough directions.
Daeron's talent was extraordinary. He usually didn't even need those. He and Caraxes understood each other perfectly.
Shaena wasn't so lucky. She often shouted herself hoarse.
Shaena: "It's not the shouting that's the problem."
The more Jaehaerys thought about it, the more excited he became.
He had seen the pyromancer Rossart and the Yi Ti healer. One could brew wildfire and summon flames from nothing. The other read the stars, practiced medicine, and more.
"Tomorrow I'll find the Yi Ti healer and see if he can teach me something real."
Jaehaerys decided to give it a shot.
The boy's thoughts drifted. He stopped turning pages, which caught Maester Aemon's attention.
Aemon thought for a moment but said nothing. He went back to refining the council procedures.
Everyone had their own mind.
He had never been good at interrupting people or breaking their focus.
"Citadel… Conclave…"
Aemon tapped his quill, shook out more ink, and wrote line after line in neat small script.
Time passed. The Great Council arrived right on schedule.
Harrenhal.
"Hiss-graa—!"
"Hiss-graa!"
Three dragons landed in the cobblestone garden outside the castle, roaring loud enough that the green waters of the Gods Eye rippled.
Passing lords jumped in fright.
The three dragons were no longer hatchlings. They were real dragons now.
Caraxes, the eldest, had grown to a staggering seventy-two feet. He had crossed into young-adult size early and looked enormous.
Tessarion and Toothless were smaller, around thirty-three feet, but still powerfully built sub-adults.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes let out a long cry, planted his wings, and began crawling forward like a blood-red serpent. Lords scattered out of his path.
Daeron calmed the red dragon and looked toward the castle gates.
A low rumble of hooves and wheels rose from the hardened road outside. Dust billowed as column after column of noble retinues arrived, their banners snapping in the wind.
In half a day the courtyard filled with horses and carriages. The crowd was as large as the one at the last tourney.
Daeron spotted several familiar banners in the distance.
Trout. Haystack. Golden rose. Burning tower.
---
Inside the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.
Everything belonging to House Whent had been removed. Three-headed red dragon banners of House Targaryen hung on every wall. All the chairs were gone except for the great empty hall.
Aerys sat on the high lord's seat in purple royal robes and his golden crown.
Behind him, two Targaryen banners hung left and right, just like the two factions now facing each other in the hall.
Daeron stood on the left with Shaena beside him.
Elia stood on the right with Oberyn at her side.
The six Kingsguard formed a line at the base of the steps, guarding the king and the royal family.
"Your Grace, the Great Council may begin."
Maester Aemon had changed into his gray maester's robes. Once most of the lords had arrived, he gently woke the drowsy king.
"Great Council?"
Aerys's eyes were glassy, dark circles under them, his whole body listless.
Then his gaze sharpened. He suddenly realized the hall was packed with hundreds of lords from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms.
Crownlands. Riverlands. Reach. Westerlands. Stormlands. Even a few from the North, the Iron Islands, and Dorne.
The enormous Hall of a Hundred Hearths felt crowded.
Aerys had not faced this many people since the coup.
"Father, it's time for you to speak," Daeron said quietly.
Aerys's temper flared. He opened his mouth to snap, then remembered his second son's insolence and swallowed the anger.
He looked out at the great lords in the front row.
Tywin and Lady Olenna stood on either side, both waiting.
Aerys sought help from his old friend Tywin, only to find the lion's eyes cold and indifferent. Tywin clearly did not care that the king was being forced.
Then he looked at Olenna and Mace. The old woman was calm as stone. The fat lord looked half-asleep. Neither of them gave a damn about him.
"Damn them all!"
Aerys's back teeth ground together.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A dragon's roar echoed from the Tower of the Burning King. A heavy thud followed as something massive landed. Through the glassless windows the lords saw dust rise and caught a flash of crimson.
It was that terrifying red dragon!
"Hiss-graa!"
Perched on Daeron's shoulder, the black hatchling Drogon threw his head back and roared in challenge.
In just half a month Drogon had not grown much in size, but his spirit was fierce—far more aggressive than a normal hatchling.
The lords startled again. They had not realized the prince now had a fourth dragon.
"Quiet, Drogon."
Daeron held out a finger, dodged the hatchling's playful bite, and pressed it gently on the small black head.
Drogon immediately lay flat.
Daeron's gaze shifted to his unwilling father and gave a silent warning.
Aerys flinched, remembering the sharp pain in his jaw. He instinctively covered the bruised cheek.
And so the Great Council began smoothly.
Aerys took a deep breath, looked at the prepared note, and announced in a loud voice:
"I, Aerys Targaryen the Second, summon you to the Great Council of 284 to decide the matter of Prince Rhaegar's removal as heir and the naming of a new successor."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Even though they had expected it, the lords were still shocked.
Deposing an heir. Setting aside the eldest for the second son.
Such a thing rarely happened in Westeros.
The last time had been when Prince Duncan the Small voluntarily gave up his claim to his brother Jaehaerys II.
"But Prince Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna Stark. Isn't that exactly like what Duncan did?"
"Prince Rhaegar disappeared, but he never formally renounced the throne."
"Don't forget—Prince Daeron is the one who crushed the four-kingdom rebellion."
The hall buzzed with discussion.
"Quiet! Quiet!"
Ser Gerold stepped forward, his massive frame like a wall, voice booming like a bell.
The lords lowered their voices.
Aerys spoke again. "Rhaegar ran off with Lyanna Stark and caused rebellion across four kingdoms. I will strip him of his right to inherit and pass the succession to my second son, Daeron Targaryen."
"Your Grace, where is Prince Rhaegar?!"
The moment the words left his mouth, a lord stood up and shouted the question.
"That's right! Why hasn't Prince Rhaegar shown his face? Why is only Princess Elia here?"
"I don't oppose naming Prince Daeron as heir, but I demand to see Prince Rhaegar in person before I agree."
Dozens of lords immediately demanded to see Rhaegar before any vote could be taken.
Another group stayed silent, neither supporting nor opposing, simply waiting.
It was clear that even in his absence, Rhaegar still had many loyal supporters who believed in his near-perfect reputation.
Some even thought there was more to the story and wanted justice for him.
"The law of primogeniture really is deeply ingrained," Daeron thought, unmoved. He quietly noted every face that spoke against him.
Most were from the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands. The Reach lords made up half of them.
The Dornish lords, on the other hand, had sent few representatives and none spoke up for Rhaegar.
Daeron's eyes moved across the Reach nobles.
Fruitwine Hall's Fossoway. Red Lake's Crane. Brightwater Keep's Florent. Starfall's Peck.
All second-tier houses with real influence in the Reach.
Daeron memorized each name and said nothing.
While the opposition was at its loudest, Aerys's mouth curved into a smile. This was exactly what he had wanted to see.
"Your Grace, since the lords are divided, why not hold a vote?" Lord Leyton Hightower of the Hightower stepped forward and suggested the fairest method.
Lord Leyton was handsome, tall, and nothing like the mad sorcerer people whispered about. He seemed steady and gentlemanly.
Aerys looked to the High Septon and the Citadel's Conclave representatives.
Both lowered their heads, accepting the vote.
With Lord Leyton—a powerful and respected great lord—leading the way, the others calmed down and agreed.
Two maesters from the Conclave carried a voting box on a pole and walked past every lord.
Each lord wrote "Yes" or "No" on a slip of paper to show whether they supported deposing the heir.
Half an hour later every lord had voted.
Then came the long count.
"One vote for Prince Daeron!"
"One vote for Prince Rhaegar!"
"One vote for Prince Daeron—"
One maester read the slips aloud while another recorded the tally.
Daeron waited in silence. The first dozen votes went to Rhaegar. His eyes flicked toward Lady Olenna in the front row.
Truthfully, the number of votes against him was a little high. Even more lords had abstained.
A lot of those abstentions probably came from Reach houses.
They had agreed in private. Had House Tyrell failed to convince their bannermen, or were they just going through the motions?
Lady Olenna looked up and met Daeron's gaze. Her old face showed nothing, but her eyes were perfectly open.
As if to say she had done everything she could.
Fifteen minutes later the counting ended.
Final result: 22 votes for Rhaegar. 131 votes for Daeron. The rest abstained.
Daeron won by an overwhelming margin.
"Yes!"
Jaehaerys and Viserys, standing among the small councilors, cheered when they saw their brother win.
Daeron was not smiling.
He had plenty of support. The number of open opponents was manageable. That was fine.
What bothered him were the abstentions.
Both supporters and opponents were easy to handle. Carrot and stick and they would fall in line.
The real problem was the abstainers. They had chosen quiet resistance, and that was the hardest kind to break.
"Your Grace, the results are in."
Maester Aemon handed the tally to the king, signaling that it was time to announce.
Daeron swept his gaze across the hall.
"As expected," he thought, "I'll have to offer something real if I want everything settled perfectly."
That was the disadvantage of being the second son.
No matter how great your deeds or how loud your reputation, you still came second to the rightful eldest.
"My lords, I have something to say!"
Before Aerys could speak, Daeron stepped forward and raised a crumpled letter high.
Maester Aemon's brow furrowed, but he stayed silent.
The letter was Rhaegar's.
Daeron handed it to one of the Conclave representatives, then spoke clearly so every lord could hear.
"This is a letter from my brother, heir to the Iron Throne, Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar Targaryen, addressed to me through House Martell."
"The letter states that he voluntarily renounces his claim to the Iron Throne."
"In exchange, he will marry Lady Lyanna Stark in Lys and take two wives, restoring the old Targaryen custom of multiple wives and founding a new branch of the family."