*Dragonstone, Late Evening*
The wine had grown tepid in Otto's cup, forgotten like so many small comforts when larger concerns demanded his attention. His weathered fingers—scarred by decades of quill work and the occasional training sword—drummed a familiar rhythm against the carved armrest of his chair. It was an old habit, one that had preceded some of his most consequential decisions: the careful maneuvering that had seen him named Hand of the King, even the delicate negotiations that had brought House Hightower's influence to new heights in King's Landing.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, its embers casting shifting patterns across tapestries bearing the beacon of Oldtown. But Otto's pale eyes were fixed on the storm building beyond the diamond-paned windows of his temporary chambers. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the volcanic peaks of Dragonstone like some ancient god's forge.
"You're doing it again, Father."
The voice carried that particular mixture of affection and barely contained exasperation that seemed to be the exclusive province of daughters—especially daughters who had inherited rather more of their father's observational skills than was entirely convenient for paternal peace of mind.
Otto didn't turn from the window immediately. At fifteen, Alicent had developed an unsettling ability to read his moods and motivations with the precision of a maester reading star charts. It was a useful skill—one that would serve her well in whatever role fate and politics might decree for her future—but it could be damnably inconvenient when a man wished to brood in private.
"Doing what, precisely?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. The girl had been watching him with those dark, intelligent eyes all evening, cataloguing his expressions and gestures with the thoroughness of a natural spy.
"That thing where you stare into the middle distance while calculating how many moves ahead you can see on the board." Alicent moved from her position by the tall window, her silk slippers making no sound against the ancient stone floor. The gown she wore—deep green silk with the subtle gold threading that proclaimed her status without vulgar ostentation—had been her mother's choice for this gathering. Even in death, Alicent's mother continued to influence her daughter's presentation at court.
She settled into the chair opposite him with fluid grace that never failed to remind Otto of his late wife. "The same look you wore when you convinced His Grace to name you Hand of the King. The same expression you had when you outmaneuvered Lord Strong for the position of Master of Laws all those years ago."
Otto's mouth quirked upward despite his brooding mood. "And here I thought I maintained better composure than that. Your mother always claimed I possessed an excellent political face."
"Oh, your composure is legendary," Alicent said, her tone carrying just enough dry humor to remind him that she was, indeed, his daughter. "Half the court considers you utterly unreadable. It's your tells that give you away—at least to those who know where to look."
She leaned back in her chair, studying him with eyes that missed very little. "The drumming fingers when you're working through multiple scenarios. The way your jaw tightens just slightly when you're recalculating odds that have shifted unexpectedly. The particular stillness that comes over you when you're determining whether a situation requires immediate action or patient observation."
"Impertinent child," Otto muttered, but there was warmth in the words rather than genuine reproof. "I suppose this means I've failed utterly as a father if I cannot maintain even the illusion of mystery in my own chambers."
"On the contrary," Alicent replied with a small smile that transformed her entire face, "you've succeeded admirably in teaching me to observe and analyze. Though I suspect you didn't intend for those lessons to be turned back upon their instructor quite so thoroughly."
Otto reached for his wine cup, then remembered it had grown cold and set it aside with a grimace. "And what, in your considerable wisdom, do you suppose has shifted my calculations this evening? What great mystery has your keen observation detected?"
Alicent's expression grew more serious, the playful banter fading as she leaned forward slightly. "The same thing that's had half the court whispering behind closed doors since this afternoon. The same thing that made Lord Lyonel Strong excuse himself early from dinner and sent Maester Mellos scurrying to his chambers with that stack of dusty tomes under his arm."
She paused, her dark eyes bright with intelligence that sometimes made Otto profoundly uncomfortable with its similarity to his departed wife's piercing gaze. "Prince Jaehaerys and that dragon."
"Ah." Otto set down his wine cup with deliberate care, buying himself a moment to consider his response. "And what, exactly, did you observe about our young prince's... performance today?"
"Performance." Alicent repeated the word slowly, as if testing its flavor on her tongue. "An interesting choice of terminology, Father. Do you think it was performance? Some elaborate bit of theater designed to impress the court and cement his position? Or do you suspect it was something else entirely?"
The girl was sharp—perhaps too sharp for her own good in a world where women's intelligence was often viewed as more liability than asset. Otto studied his daughter's face in the firelight, noting the careful consideration there, the way she was clearly working through possibilities and implications with the methodical precision he had tried to instill in all his children.
"Tell me what you saw," he said finally, "and we'll determine together what manner of... display we witnessed in that dragon pit."
Alicent rose from her chair and began pacing—a habit she had inherited directly from him, though she executed it with considerably more grace than his own restless movements. Her green silk gown caught the firelight as she moved, creating patterns of light and shadow that reminded Otto painfully of her mother during those long evenings when they would discuss the day's court business.
"I saw a five-year-old boy speak High Valyrian as fluently as Maester Mellos, who has spent three decades studying the language." She paused by the sideboard, her fingers trailing along its carved edge. "Not the simple phrases any Targaryen child might learn, but complex grammatical constructions that most maesters would struggle to manage without reference texts."
"The boy has had excellent tutors," Otto pointed out, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by his own argument.
"Tutors, yes," Alicent agreed, turning to face him. "But there's a difference between learned knowledge and... intuitive understanding. When Prince Jaehaerys spoke to Vermithor, he wasn't reciting lessons. He was having a conversation. As if he'd been speaking that tongue for years rather than months."
She resumed her pacing, her brow furrowed in concentration. "And then there was his approach to the dragon itself. Father, I've seen grown men—knights and lords with decades of battlefield experience—hesitate before approaching even docile dragons. Prince Jaehaerys walked up to Vermithor as if he were greeting an old friend."
"Young children often lack appropriate fear," Otto observed. "It's why they require such constant supervision."
"This wasn't lack of fear," Alicent said firmly. "This was confidence born of certainty. He knew—not hoped, not believed, but knew—that Vermithor would accept him. There was no hesitation, no moment of doubt. Just... recognition."
Otto's drumming fingers stilled completely. "Recognition?"
"Between dragon and rider, yes. But that wasn't what disturbed me most." Alicent moved to the window, her reflection ghostlike in the rain-streaked glass. "It was the way he looked at everyone afterwards. At you, at Lord Strong, at the other lords and ladies present. As if he were cataloguing our strengths and weaknesses for future reference."
The words hung in the air like incense, heavy with implication. Otto felt a familiar chill—the same sensation he'd experienced years ago when he'd first recognized that Prince Daemon's charm masked genuine dangerousness, or when he'd realized that King Viserys's kindness might ultimately prove a weakness rather than strength.
"The look of a commander assessing his forces," he said quietly.
"Precisely." Alicent turned from the window, her face pale but determined. "I've seen that expression before, Father. On ambitious lords evaluating potential allies and obstacles during court gatherings. On military commanders studying terrain before battle. But never on a child who should be more concerned with wooden toys and simple games than political maneuvering."
"Children can be taught to observe and evaluate," Otto pointed out again, but even as he spoke the words, he knew they rang hollow.
"Taught, yes," Alicent agreed, settling back into her chair. "Mother taught me to watch faces and listen to the spaces between words. You've shown me how to recognize ambition and fear and calculation in others. But teaching creates hesitation—the pause while a child recalls their lessons and applies them to new situations."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping slightly. "Prince Jaehaerys showed no such hesitation. His assessments were immediate, instinctive. Natural. As if he'd been making such evaluations for years rather than having recently acquired the skill."
Otto rose and moved to the sideboard, refilling his wine cup with movements that spoke of long practice and longer contemplation. The Dornish red was excellent—a gift from Prince Qoren's ambassador—but it tasted like ash in his mouth.
"And what of his interaction with Princess Rhaenyra?" he asked, not turning from the sideboard. "Their... understanding seems remarkably sophisticated for children of their respective ages."
"That was perhaps the strangest aspect of the entire afternoon," Alicent admitted. "There's genuine affection between them, certainly. But not the simple fondness you'd expect between young relatives. When they look at each other, it's with..."
She struggled for the right words, her hands moving in small gestures as if she could capture meaning from the air itself.
"Recognition, again?" Otto prompted.
"Recognition, yes, but of something the rest of us cannot see or understand." Alicent's voice grew thoughtful. "When Princess Rhaenyra spoke about Prince Jaehaerys 'remembering who he used to be,' she wasn't repeating adult conversation she'd overheard. She was stating a fact that both of them accepted as absolute truth."
Otto turned, wine cup in hand, his expression carefully controlled. "Elaborate."
"There was no uncertainty in her voice, no childish questioning. She spoke with the confidence of someone sharing established knowledge." Alicent met her father's gaze directly. "As if they'd discussed it privately multiple times. As if this concept of past identity or previous existence was simply understood between them."
The fire crackled and popped, sending shadows dancing across the chamber's stone walls. Outside, the wind was beginning to pick up, carrying the scent of approaching rain and the distant rumble of thunder across Blackwater Bay.
"Two children discussing past lives as casually as most their age would discuss lessons or games," Otto mused, settling back into his chair. "Either we're witnessing something genuinely extraordinary, or we're observing the early stages of shared delusion—the kind of folie à deux that sometimes affects isolated children who spend too much time in each other's company."
"Which do you think it is?" Alicent asked, though her tone suggested she suspected the answer wouldn't be particularly comforting.
Otto was quiet for several heartbeats, his fingers resuming their rhythmic drumming against his chair's armrest. When he spoke, his voice carried the careful precision of a man accustomed to weighing words for their political implications as much as their truth.
"From a practical standpoint," he said finally, "it may not matter. Whether Prince Jaehaerys is blessed by ancient powers, touched by hereditary complications, or simply possessed of unusual intelligence and an active imagination—the effect on those around him remains identical."
He took a measured sip of wine, his pale eyes reflecting the firelight. "People believe they're witnessing something remarkable. And belief, sweet daughter, shapes political reality far more effectively than objective truth ever has."
"You're thinking like the Hand rather than like a father," Alicent observed with a slight smile.
"The two roles are not mutually exclusive," Otto replied. "My concern for your future welfare requires me to understand the forces that will shape the realm you'll inhabit as an adult. And make no mistake—Prince Jaehaerys will be one of those forces, regardless of the source of his apparent abilities."
He set down his wine cup and leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. "The question becomes how House Hightower positions itself in relation to these developments. Do we align ourselves with apparently rising power, even if we cannot fully understand its source? Do we maintain careful neutrality until the situation clarifies itself? Or do we work quietly to contain potential threats before they can destabilize everything we've spent decades building?"
"What threats specifically?" Alicent accepted the fresh wine he offered but held the cup without drinking, her attention focused entirely on his words. "If Prince Jaehaerys truly possesses unusual abilities—dragon affinity, strategic intelligence, whatever the source—wouldn't that ultimately strengthen the realm? Provide stability and capable leadership?"
Otto's expression grew grim, the lines around his eyes deepening as he considered his response. "Power that cannot be understood is inherently dangerous, regardless of the intentions of those who wield it. And power concentrated in someone so young, regardless of their apparent capabilities, creates vulnerabilities that ambitious men will inevitably attempt to exploit."
He rose and began his own pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "Consider the implications, Alicent. If Prince Jaehaerys does possess some form of supernatural knowledge or ability, what happens when he reaches his majority? When he rules in his own right rather than through regents and advisors?"
"He becomes a strong king," Alicent suggested, though uncertainty crept into her voice.
"Perhaps. Or he becomes convinced that his unusual gifts grant him infallibility. That his visions or intuitions or whatever they might be supersede the counsel of others, the wisdom of established law, the careful balance of interests that keeps the realm stable."
Otto paused by the great window, his silhouette framed against the storm building outside. "I've seen what happens when rulers believe themselves divinely inspired, Alicent. They stop listening to advisors. They make decisions based on dreams and portents rather than practical considerations. They mistake personal conviction for universal truth."
"You're worried about what he might become," Alicent observed quietly.
"I'm worried about what anyone might become when they command dragons and claim supernatural knowledge," Otto corrected. "The same abilities that could defend the realm and provide wise leadership could just as easily tear everything apart if wielded by someone who confuses divine mandate with personal infallibility."
Thunder rumbled across Blackwater Bay, closer now, and the first drops of rain began striking the windows with increasing intensity. The storm that had been building all evening was finally arriving.
"The Targaryen bloodline has always been..." Otto paused, choosing his words carefully, "prone to extremes. Great kings and mad ones, often within the same generation or even the same family line. The combination of dragon bonds, hereditary authority, and the isolation that comes with absolute power has produced genuinely remarkable rulers—but also genuinely terrible ones."
"The Mad King Maegor," Alicent said with understanding.
"Among others. And Maegor didn't claim supernatural knowledge or past-life memories. He was merely cruel and paranoid." Otto's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "What might we see from a ruler who believes his unusual gifts place him beyond normal human judgment or accountability?"
The question hung between them like a blade. Outside, lightning split the sky, and in the distance—barely audible above the storm—came the sound of dragon calls echoing across the volcanic landscape.
"So what do we do?" The question came out smaller than Alicent had intended, carrying more uncertainty than she typically allowed herself to show.
"We adapt," Otto said firmly, turning from the window with the decisive movement of a man reaching conclusions. "We watch, we learn, we position ourselves to offer counsel and guidance that might help shape the boy's development in constructive directions. House Hightower has survived and prospered through three dynasties because we understand that serving the realm sometimes requires very careful navigation of changing circumstances."
He moved to stand before the fireplace, his face illuminated by the dancing flames. "If Prince Jaehaerys develops into the remarkable and capable ruler his abilities suggest he might become, then House Hightower benefits from close alliance and trusted counsel. If he proves less capable than these early displays indicate, then we provide stability and continuity during whatever transition might follow."
"And if he becomes dangerous?" Alicent asked, though she seemed almost reluctant to voice the question.
Otto's expression grew grimmer still, shadows deepening the lines around his eyes. "Then we serve the realm by recognizing that danger early enough to act upon it. Sometimes true loyalty requires very difficult choices about the greater good."
The words carried weight that made Alicent shift uncomfortably in her chair. She had grown up understanding that politics involved compromise and calculation, but there was something in her father's tone that suggested darker possibilities than she had previously considered.
"You would move against a king?" she asked quietly.
"I would serve the realm's interests," Otto replied with careful precision. "Sometimes that means supporting a ruler's decisions. Sometimes it means offering counsel that tempers their impulses. And sometimes... sometimes it means recognizing when the greater good requires difficult action."
As if summoned by their conversation, a distant roar echoed across the storm—Vermithor's voice carrying through the night like some ancient song mixed with warning. The sound raised the hair on Alicent's arms and reminded her that they were discussing not merely politics, but powers that transcended normal human understanding.
"The game has changed," Otto observed, settling back into his chair with the weariness of a man who had played politics for decades and now saw the rules being rewritten. "The question is whether we're skilled enough to adapt to these new circumstances before they're used against us."
"What would you have me do?" Alicent asked, straightening in her chair with the posture her mother had drilled into her from childhood.
"Watch. Learn. Position yourself to be useful while maintaining the independence of judgment to act according to conscience if circumstances require it." Otto's pale eyes met hers directly. "Prince Jaehaerys's unusual situation will create opportunities for those clever enough to recognize and seize them."
"What manner of opportunities?"
Otto was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "Polygamous royal marriages will create complex household dynamics requiring delicate management. Multiple wives, potentially multiple heirs, certainly competing interests and divided loyalties. Such arrangements inevitably generate tensions that require diplomatic resolution, skilled mediation."
Understanding dawned in Alicent's eyes. "You want me positioned as counselor to the royal wives. A trusted advisor who can help manage competing claims and conflicting ambitions."
"I want you positioned to be valuable to whatever power structure emerges," Otto corrected. "If Prince Jaehaerys develops into the capable ruler his early displays suggest, then House Hightower benefits from having someone close to the center of power. Someone trusted, someone whose counsel is sought and valued."
He leaned forward, his expression intense. "But such a position also provides the opportunity to observe closely, to understand the true nature of his abilities and intentions. Knowledge that might prove crucial if future circumstances require... difficult decisions."
"You're asking me to spy on a future king," Alicent said with dawning realization.
"I'm asking you to serve the realm," Otto replied, rising to clasp her shoulder with a gesture that mixed paternal affection with political calculation. "House Hightower has survived and prospered for centuries because we understand that true loyalty sometimes requires very careful balancing of competing interests."
His grip tightened slightly. "Your mother would have understood. She always said that the greatest service we could provide was to be trusted advisors who could speak difficult truths when necessary, even to kings."
Outside, lightning split the sky again, and in the distance—barely visible against the turbulent darkness—a dragon and rider danced with storm winds as if such natural forces were old friends rather than disasters to be endured.
"Do you think he knows?" Alicent asked quietly, her voice almost lost beneath the growing storm. "Prince Jaehaerys, I mean. Do you think he understands what he's set in motion today? The questions he's raised, the calculations he's forced everyone to begin making?"
Otto considered the question seriously before answering, his gaze fixed on the storm-lashed darkness beyond the windows.
"I think he knows far more than any five-year-old should know about the nature of power and politics," he said finally. "But I also think he understands far less than he believes he does about the long-term consequences of his actions. That combination—extensive knowledge paired with limited experience—is what makes him simultaneously promising and dangerous."
The storm built steadily outside, rain now driving hard against the windows while thunder rolled across the ancient volcanic peaks of Dragonstone. Throughout the realm, Otto knew, similar conversations were taking place in similar chambers. Lords and ladies, maesters and merchants, all beginning the careful calculations that would determine their responses to this new and uncertain element in the great game.
"The age of prophecy has arrived whether we were prepared for it or not," he murmured, almost to himself. "And House Hightower will adapt, survive, and serve as we always have."
Even if that service, he added silently, required choices that would haunt them for generations to come.
"Father," Alicent said suddenly, her voice carrying an odd note of uncertainty. "There's something else. Something I haven't mentioned because I wasn't entirely certain I hadn't imagined it."
Otto's attention sharpened immediately, his political instincts recognizing the tone of someone about to reveal information that might prove significant. "Go on."
Alicent hesitated, clearly struggling with something that defied easy description. "During the ceremony, when Prince Jaehaerys was speaking to Vermithor in High Valyrian, I could have sworn I heard... echoes. As if someone else were speaking the same words simultaneously, but in a different voice. Deeper, older."
She paused, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight as she searched for words to describe the impossible. "But when I looked around, everyone else seemed to hear only his voice. No one else appeared to notice anything unusual about the sound."
Otto set down his wine cup with deliberate care, his expression growing intensely focused. "You're certain of this? Absolutely certain it wasn't simply the acoustics of the dragon pit creating some form of echo effect?"
"As certain as one can be about something so..." Alicent waved her hand helplessly. "Impossible. The second voice wasn't an echo, Father. It was distinct, separate. Speaking the same words at the same time, but with different inflection, different emotion. As if two people were somehow sharing the same moment of speech."
"Describe this other voice."
Alicent closed her eyes, trying to recall details that had registered only at the edge of perception. "Older, definitely. Much older than a five-year-old child. The voice of a man grown, someone accustomed to command. There was... authority in it. Confidence born of experience rather than natural gift."
She opened her eyes to meet her father's increasingly concerned gaze. "And there was something else. When he was climbing onto Vermithor's saddle, for just an instant, his appearance seemed to... shift. As if I were seeing two different people occupying the same space."
Otto's fingers had resumed their drumming, but faster now, more urgent. "Describe this other figure."
"Taller, broader through the shoulders. Still young, but definitely adult rather than child." Alicent's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Black hair instead of silver—black as ravens' feathers but with the same texture, the same way it caught the light. The same green eyes, but harder. More knowing. There were scars on his hands and arms, small ones but numerous, as if from years of sword work or dragon handling."
She paused, her expression troubled. "For that brief moment, the older figure seemed more real than the child everyone else was watching. As if the five-year-old prince was somehow... less substantial. A shadow or reflection of this other person."
Otto was quiet for several long minutes, his expression reflecting the deep contemplation of a man working through implications that could reshape his understanding of current events. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of conclusions that would influence strategy for years to come.
"The concept exists in various traditions," he said carefully. "Souls returning to complete unfinished business, ancient knowledge passing between generations or even between lives. It's not doctrine the Faith of the Seven endorses—quite the opposite, in fact—but it appears in other beliefs. The old gods of the North, various Essosi religious sects, some of the more esoteric Valyrian magical traditions that survived the Doom."
"You think that's what we're witnessing?" Alicent asked. "Some form of... reincarnation? Past-life memory?"
"I think we're witnessing something that defies conventional explanation but demands practical response," Otto replied with characteristic precision. "Whether it's divine intervention, supernatural inheritance, some form of magical phenomenon, or simply unusual manifestation of whatever mystical elements remain in Targaryen bloodline—the political implications remain fundamentally consistent."
He moved to stand before the great window again, his silhouette dark against the lightning-split sky. "Prince Jaehaerys possesses advantages that will reshape the realm's power structure regardless of their ultimate source. Dragons respond to him. He demonstrates capabilities far beyond his apparent age. He commands attention and respect from adults who should by rights dismiss him as merely another royal child."
His reflection in the storm-lashed glass seemed older suddenly, wearier. "All of my careful plans, all of the patient maneuvering to position House Hightower for long-term influence and stability... it may all require fundamental reconsideration."
"And my prospects?" Alicent asked with the resignation of someone who had grown up understanding that her future would be determined by political necessity rather than personal preference.
"Changed circumstances create new opportunities as well as new challenges," Otto mused, not turning from the window. "Prince Jaehaerys's multiple marriages will create complex household dynamics requiring delicate management. Polygamous arrangements inevitably generate tensions between wives, competing claims among children, divided loyalties among courtiers seeking to align themselves with different factions."
He turned to face her, his expression mixing paternal concern with political calculation. "Such situations require skilled diplomats. Trusted advisors who can navigate between competing interests while maintaining the confidence of all parties. Women who understand court politics and can provide counsel that serves the greater stability."
"You want me positioned as counselor to the royal wives," Alicent said with understanding. "Someone who can help manage the inevitable conflicts while ensuring House Hightower maintains influence regardless of which faction ultimately prevails."
"I want you positioned to be valuable to whatever power structure emerges," Otto corrected gently. "If Prince Jaehaerys develops into the remarkable ruler his abilities suggest he might become, then House Hightower benefits enormously from having someone close to the center of power. Someone whose counsel is sought and valued, whose judgment is trusted."
His expression grew more serious. "But such a position also provides opportunities for observation, for understanding the true nature of his capabilities and intentions. Knowledge that might prove crucial if future circumstances require the kind of difficult decisions that define great houses."
"And if he becomes dangerous? If these abilities, whatever their source, ultimately prove destructive rather than beneficial?"
Otto's face was grim in the firelight. "Then we serve the realm by recognizing that danger while there's still time to address it. Sometimes loyalty to the crown requires very careful consideration of what's best for the kingdom rather than what's best for any individual ruler."
As if summoned by their conversation, another dragon roar echoed across the storm—different this time, higher-pitched. Syrax, perhaps, or one of the younger dragons responding to Vermithor's calls. The sound carried clearly despite the wind and rain, a reminder that their discussion involved forces beyond normal human politics.
"The game has changed more fundamentally than I initially realized," Otto observed, his voice thoughtful. "We're not simply dealing with an unusually gifted child who might grow into an effective king. We're potentially dealing with something that transcends normal categories of understanding."
He moved back to his chair, settling into it with the careful movements of a man feeling his age. "Whether Prince Jaehaerys is divinely blessed, magically enhanced, or simply the beneficiary of some form of inherited memory or knowledge, he represents a departure from everything we've learned to expect from royal succession."
"How do we prepare for something unprecedented?"
"By maintaining flexibility while holding to core principles," Otto replied. "House Hightower serves the realm. We provide stability, wise counsel, and institutional continuity regardless of who sits the Iron Throne. Those fundamentals don't change simply because the nature of royal power might be evolving."
He reached for his wine cup, then set it aside again with a grimace. "But we must be prepared for the possibility that traditional approaches to managing royal relationships may prove inadequate. If Prince Jaehaerys truly possesses supernatural knowledge or abilities, then conventional methods of influence and counsel may be insufficient."
"What would you have me do specifically?" Alicent asked, straightening with the posture that indicated she was prepared to receive concrete instructions.
"Continue being yourself," Otto said with a slight smile. "Observe everything, remember everything, but don't attempt to manipulate or influence beyond the normal scope of friendship and courtesy. If the boy truly possesses the kind of insight you've described, then any obvious attempt at political maneuvering will be recognized and likely resented."
His expression grew more serious. "Instead, focus on becoming genuinely useful. Learn everything you can about household management, diplomatic protocol, the kind of practical skills that will be valuable in any royal court. Make yourself indispensable through competence rather than scheming."
"And watch for signs of danger."
"And watch for signs that his unusual gifts are leading him toward conclusions or decisions that might threaten the realm's stability," Otto agreed. "Power without wisdom is destructive regardless of its source. If Prince Jaehaerys begins showing signs of the kind of certainty that brooks no dissent, the kind of conviction that mistakes personal vision for universal truth... that's when difficult choices may become necessary."
The storm outside was reaching its peak now, lightning almost continuous and thunder rolling like the drums of approaching war. In that ancient castle built on volcanic stone, with dragon calls echoing through the tempest, it seemed entirely appropriate that they should be discussing possibilities that transcended normal political calculation.
"Do you think Princess Rhaenyra understands what she's dealing with?" Alicent asked suddenly. "She seems to accept his unusual nature completely, but does she recognize the potential implications?"
Otto considered the question carefully. "Princess Rhaenyra is intelligent and observant, but she's also only eight years old and genuinely fond of her brother. At her age, extraordinary abilities might seem more like fascinating games than serious political factors."
He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Though her complete acceptance of his claims about remembering past lives or previous existence suggests either remarkable credulity or some form of shared experience that we don't fully understand. Children can be surprisingly perceptive about things adults miss or dismiss."
"You think she might possess similar abilities?"
"I think the Targaryen bloodline carries traits and potentials that we don't fully comprehend," Otto replied diplomatically. "Whether those manifest as dragon affinity, prophetic dreams, unusual longevity, or other phenomena... it's entirely possible that multiple children in the same generation might display remarkable characteristics."
The implications of that possibility hung between them like incense. Multiple Targaryen children with supernatural abilities could reshape not just the realm's politics but its entire understanding of power and authority.
"The world is changing," Otto said quietly, almost to himself. "The age of simple politics and conventional warfare may be ending. We may be entering a time when the old certainties no longer apply, when the careful balances we've maintained for decades become insufficient."
"Are you frightened?" Alicent asked, her voice softer than usual.
Otto was quiet for a long moment, considering his answer with the honesty he reserved for private conversations with family. "I'm... concerned," he said finally. "Not frightened, precisely, but deeply aware that we may be facing challenges for which our experience has not adequately prepared us."
He met her gaze directly. "I've spent my life learning to understand and influence human nature, to recognize ambition and fear and calculation in others. But if we're dealing with forces that transcend normal human limitations... then much of what I've learned may prove inadequate."
"But you'll adapt."
"We'll adapt," Otto corrected with a slight smile. "House Hightower has survived the Conquest, the Faith Militant uprising, the wars of Maegor the Cruel, and countless smaller crises. We endure because we learn, because we adjust to new circumstances while maintaining our core purpose of serving the realm's stability."
He rose and moved to the sideboard once more, this time selecting a different vintage—something older, more complex. "Whatever Prince Jaehaerys becomes, whatever his abilities ultimately prove to be, the realm will need steady hands and wise counsel. That hasn't changed, and it won't change regardless of how dramatically other factors might evolve."
"And if steady hands and wise counsel prove insufficient?"
Otto's expression grew grimmer as he returned to his chair. "Then we'll discover whether House Hightower's commitment to the realm's welfare extends to making choices that few would understand or forgive."
The words carried implications that made Alicent shift uncomfortably. She had grown up understanding that politics sometimes required difficult compromises, but there was something in her father's tone that suggested possibilities darker than she had previously imagined.
"You speak of serving the realm," she said carefully, "but what if the realm itself changes? What if Prince Jaehaerys's abilities fundamentally alter what the Seven Kingdoms become?"
"Then we serve whatever the realm becomes," Otto replied without hesitation. "But we also work to ensure that transformation occurs in ways that preserve what's worth preserving—law, order, the protection of the innocent, the prosperity of the people."
He took a measured sip of wine, his pale eyes reflecting the firelight. "Change is inevitable, Alicent. The question is whether that change will be guided by wisdom and concern for the common good, or whether it will be driven by the unchecked impulses of those who mistake extraordinary gifts for unlimited license."
Outside, the storm was beginning to show signs of abating. The lightning came less frequently now, and the thunder no longer shook the ancient stones of Dragonstone's walls. But the dragon calls continued, echoing across the volcanic landscape like conversations in some primordial language that humans could hear but never truly understand.
"The age of prophecy has arrived," Otto said quietly, repeating his earlier observation. "And House Hightower will navigate these new waters as we have navigated all the others—with patience, with wisdom, and with unwavering commitment to the realm's welfare."
Even if that commitment, he thought but did not say
---
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