Silent Manipulations
Chapter 10: Silent Manipulations
Viserys woke with a gasp, his chest heaving and his skin cold with sweat. For weeks now, he had been plagued by dark and unrelenting dreams. These visions dragged him into a world where shadows surrounded his children. They whispered of betrayal in the halls of the Red Keep.
In these dreams his son, Aegon, was seated upon the Iron Throne. There was a cruel gleam in his eyes, a cold expression on his face as the crown of the conqueror sat on his head. Surrounding him were banners not of black and red but green and gold.
Viserys would watch helplessly as Rhaenyra, his beloved daughter, and her children were dragged before her brother. Aegon’s gaze held no warmth or mercy as he ordered them to be put to the sword. Behind Aegon stood Aemond watching with approval and determination.
The dreams blurred, merging into scenes of the dragon pit, where the skies turned dark with smoke. Viserys saw soldiers storming through the gates, bearing shields emblazoned with the Hightower flame. Viserys’s heart twisted at the sight. The roar of dragons ringing in his ears. A once proud lineage brought low under banners that bore the name of his wife’s kin.
A voice crept into his mind. This is the fate you have wrought, for the choice you made, it whispered. A son borne of Hightower blood will not hesitate to cast aside his kin if it means gaining the throne. The words would remain with him throughout the day. Worry clawing at him for the future of Rhaenyra and her family.
Viserys lay in the dim light of dawn, his heart heavy with the bitter taste of realization. He knew he could not ignore these dreams. The family he had tried to keep whole was splintering, and the cost of inaction was etched in every fragment of this nightly vision.
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In the shadowed sitting room of the former hand of the king, Alicent Hightower sat beside her father, Otto. The air was thick with intrigue, the glow of the torches casting long shadows across the faces of the small gathering.
Otto leaned forward, his eyes sharp as he addressed the room. “Lord Jason, Ser Tyland,” he nodded toward the Lannister twins seated across from him. “The realm needs stability—an unshakable heir. You, of all people, understand what’s at stake.”
Lord Jason, dressed in Lannister crimson and gold, arched a brow. “And you believe my support of Prince Aegon would achieve this?”
“Aegon is the rightful heir,” Alicent said softly, her voice filled with conviction. “He is the oldest living son of the king, and he understands the importance of uniting the realm under a steady hand.”
Jason exchanged a look with Tyland, who spoke up, his voice low. “Prince Aegon may have the birthright, but Rhaenyra has the favor of many, most important of which is the king.” He paused. “I will say that rebellious woman is hardly a choice the Lords of the realm would rally behind.”
Alicent smiled faintly, sensing the silent agreement between them. “I think we are of the same mind, then. It has not gone unnoticed that Rhaenyra has treated you with… disregard,” she added delicately.
Jason’s expression darkened. “Disregard? That’s one way to put it.” He gave a short laugh. “We are Lannisters. Yet she turned down my proposal as if it were nothing. I hardly think a woman with such disdain for tradition could ever command true loyalty.”
Criston, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. “You’re not the only one slighted, my lord. The princess has never valued those who would truly be loyal to her.”
Otto smiled, nodding approvingly. “Exactly, Ser Criston. This is a woman who thinks herself above men, above the very customs that hold the realm together. But with Prince Aegon, we have an opportunity to protect tradition, and to secure a stable line.”
Ser Tyland nodded slowly, his expression pensive. “If Aegon takes the throne, the Crown would do well to remember those who stood by him now. The Lannisters know loyalty—and we would not forget a debt.”
Otto inclined his head. “Nor would we. Your loyalty would not be overlooked, I can assure you. Aegon is young, and he will need strong allies to guide him, as well as those of substantial influence to maintain order in Westeros.”
Alicent’s eyes softened as she looked around the room. “It is my greatest hope to see the realm united. With friends such as yourselves by our side, I believe Aegon’s reign could bring that unity.”
Jason leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he swirled his wine. “It is simple, really. If you wish for our full and unwavering support, House Lannister must be rewarded. My brother and I are in agreement: a union between myself and Princess Helaena would solidify our loyalty to Prince Aegon’s claim.”
Alicent stiffened in her chair, her hands clasping tightly in her lap. “Helaena is—”
“Helaena is what, Your Grace?” Jason interrupted, his tone mocking. “Too delicate for a match with Casterly Rock? Or perhaps you think the princess is too good for a Lannister?”
Otto raised a hand, silencing Alicent before she could respond. His face remained impassive, a glint of calculation in his eyes. “Lord Jason,” Otto said smoothly, “your proposal is… intriguing. A match between Helaena and the great House of Lannister would indeed be a strong union, one to make the realm take notice.”
“Then we have your agreement?” Jason pressed, leaning forward eagerly.
Alicent’s voice broke through, strained and trembling. “Helaena is still a child. I cannot—”
“Enough, Alicent,” Otto snapped, his tone sharp and final. He turned back to the Lannisters, offering a thin smile. “Together, we will see Aegon on the throne. Rest assured, your loyalty will be rewarded, and House Lannister will ensure its place among the most powerful families in the realm. For now, we appreciate your counsel and support.”
Tyland raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jason, but he remained silent. Jason grinned and downed the last of his wine before rising to his feet.
“A pleasure, as always, Lord Hand. Your Grace.” He gave Alicent a shallow bow, more mocking than respectful, before leaving the chamber with his brother and Ser Criston Cole.
Once the door closed behind them, Alicent turned on her father, her voice rising in anger. “You cannot promise Helaena to Jason Lannister! She is my daughter, not a pawn for you to barter away!”
Otto sighed and gestured for the servants to leave the room. When they were alone, he poured himself another goblet of wine and took a long sip before replying. “Calm yourself, Alicent. Helaena will not marry Jason Lannister.”
Alicent blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. “Then why did you—”
“Politics, my dear,” Otto interrupted smoothly. “Jason Lannister is a fool, but he is a useful fool. By entertaining his ambitions, we ensure his support for Aegon. And as for Helaena, she will marry her brother.”
Alicent recoiled as if struck. “Aegon? You mean to marry Helaena to Aegon?”
“It is the Targaryen way,” Otto said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The one thing they did right—keeping their power within the family. Dreamfyre belongs to Helaena, and Dreamfyre must not be tied to another house. Marrying her to Aegon strengthens our claim and secures the dragons.”
Alicent shook her head, her voice trembling. “She is a child, Father. They both are.”
Otto stepped closer, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “This is the price of power, Alicent. You chose this life the moment you climbed into Viserys’s bed. Now, do as you must to protect your children. Your feelings are irrelevant.”
Alicent said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the flames flickering in the hearth. Otto released her shoulder and walked to the door, pausing only to add, “Do not challenge me in front of others again. It undermines us both.”
When the door closed behind him, Alicent sank into her chair, her hands trembling in her lap. She stared into the fire, the warmth doing little to thaw the cold that had settled deep in her chest.
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The morning sky over Dragonstone was painted in soft hues of lavender and gold, the rising sun casting long shadows over the castle’s jagged silhouette. The sea breeze carried a chill as a Northern bannered ship docked at the island’s harbor. The direwolf of House Stark fluttered proudly alongside the black and red of House Targaryen.
Rhaenyra stood atop the steps leading to the great hall, flanked by Laenor and Lucerys. Beside them, Daemon and Laena waited, their demeanor more casual but no less imposing. When Lord Rickon Stark disembarked from the ship, his broad frame clad in heavy Northern wool and furs despite the milder weather, he inclined his head respectfully.
“Princess Rhaenyra,” Rickon greeted, his deep voice carrying easily over the sound of crashing waves. “It is an honor to visit your stronghold. The reputation of Dragonstone precedes it.”
Rhaenyra smiled graciously. “Lord Rickon, you honor us with your presence. Welcome to Dragonstone. I trust the voyage was not too arduous?”
“The North is accustomed to harsher waters,” Rickon replied, a hint of pride in his tone.
Rhaenyra’s smile tightened slightly, though she nodded in acknowledgment. “You’ll find Dragonstone full of wonders, my lord. I hope you’ll allow us to show you its splendor, particularly the glasshouses we’ve constructed for trade.”
Rickon nodded. “I look forward to it. But first,” he said, turning slightly, “allow me to introduce my heir, Cregan.”
From the shadows of the ship’s mast, a young man stepped forward, his features sharp and already bearing the weight of responsibility. Cregan Stark was tall for his age, his dark hair neatly trimmed and his expression guarded but not unkind.
Jacaerys stepped forward, his posture stiff with the self-awareness of being introduced to a peer. Cregan’s gray eyes lingered on the Targaryen prince for a moment before he extended a hand.
“Prince Jacaerys,” Cregan said. “I’ve heard much of your House’s strength. I am glad to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours, Lord Cregan,” Jace replied, his hand firm in return. He hesitated, glancing toward his mother before adding, “Perhaps, when the formalities are done, you might show me some Northern swordplay?”
A faint smile tugged at Cregan’s lips. “Perhaps you might show me some dragonlord’s swordplay first.”
The tension between the two boys dissolved in shared laughter, and Rickon watched with approval as they fell into step beside one another, already exchanging questions about their lands and duties.
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The glasshouses of Dragonstone were a sight to behold. Their structures were built of obsidian panes designed to hold heat with rigid metal frames to hold strong in the wind. Rhaenyra explained their purpose in fostering trade with other regions as she led Rickon through the rows of lush greenery and ripening fruits. Daemon, meanwhile, kept a closer eye on the boys, allowing them the freedom to wander while he remained within earshot.
“I had not expected this level of sophistication so far south,” Rickon admitted as he studied a vine heavy with fruit. “The North’s needs are simple, but this… this is impressive.”
“We believe in forging ties through trade as much as marriage or warfare,” Rhaenyra replied. “Strong ties between our families will ensure the realm’s stability.”
Rickon grunted thoughtfully. “A wise approach.”
Meanwhile, Jace and Cregan had wandered toward the cliffside, where the sea spray misted the air and the wind howled like a living thing.
“Do you ever feel…” Jace hesitated, picking at a piece of loose leather on his tunic, “that being the eldest makes everything harder? That everyone is counting on you not to fail?”
Cregan leaned against a rock, the North’s stoicism etched into his features. “Every day. My father prepares me to lead the North, but it feels like there’s never a moment I can just be… me.”
Jace nodded fervently, his hands moving to emphasize his words. “Exactly! There’s always someone watching, waiting for you to slip, to prove you’re not worthy.” He paused, his voice quieter. “It’s exhausting.”
Cregan studied him for a long moment before nodding. “You’ll get through it. We both will. The weight doesn’t get lighter, but you get stronger. And sometimes…” He smirked, his gray eyes glinting. “It helps to let it out with a good fight.”
Jace laughed, the sound unrestrained and boyish. “You’d best be ready, Stark. I’m no stranger to the sword.”
Cregan pushed off the rock and clapped a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “Neither am I, dragon prince. Let’s see who teaches who.”
From the glasshouses, Rhaenyra and Rickon watched the exchange from afar. Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a small smile. “Your son has a steadying presence.”
Rickon chuckled. “And yours has the fire of youth. Perhaps they’ll learn something from one another.”
“Perhaps they will,” Rhaenyra murmured, though her gaze lingered on Jace, her pride tempered by the knowledge of what lay ahead for him.