Hours later, after dealing with his brother, Viserys was overlooking the horizon and King's Landing as he leaned against one side of the stone frame leading to the balcony of his bedchambers. His silent meditation was interrupted by his wife.
"Have you spoken to her?" Alicent asked as she passed him a cup with a drink.
Viserys looked at her for a few seconds as he received the cup from her hand and exhaled, exhausted, before looking back at the city. "No."
"Do you have already thought about what to do?"
"I have," Viserys said, sipping from the cup without taking his eyes off the city.
"You believe that it happened?"
Viserys hesitated for a moment. "Whatever transpired, Rhaenyra is not innocent."
"Only because Daemon tried to corrupt her," Alicent tried to speak for her, even if she also understood that something had happened.
"Daemon and Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon. They are restless and chaotic." Viserys looked at her. Then he finished the drink in one gulp as he looked again at the city. "But as I have said, I have already thought about what to do with my rebellious daughter."
— Hours later —
In the king's bedchamber, before the maquette of King's Landing, Viserys had his daughter Rhaenyra come to have a chat about what had happened recently.
Rhaenyra was looking at a dagger that was heating in a brazier. As she curiously wanted to grab it, her father, Viserys, started talking after they both had been standing in silence for a long while. "That dagger once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror."
"It was his father Aerion's before that. And before that... well, it is difficult to know."
"Before Aegon's death, the last of the Valyrian pyromancers hid his song in the steel."
Rhaenyra looked at her father, who nodded to her, and she grabbed the dagger, still heated from the brazier. There were Valyrian words engraved all over its blade. "From my blood... comes the Prince That Was Promised... and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire."
"The responsibility I have handed to you, the burden of this knowledge... it is larger than the throne, the king."
"It is larger than you and your desires," Viserys said seriously, trying to reason with his daughter, to make her see things far more important than just them and what they wanted.
"Jaehaerys would have disinherited you."
"For a lie?" Rhaenyra looked at him stubbornly. "You've yet to ask me for the truth of what happened."
"The truth doesn't matter, Rhaenyra," Viserys replied angrily. "And I already know. I spoke with Daemon."
Rhaenyra went silent, now meeker before her father, not as strong as before. But she still tried to struggle. "It wasn't wrong. Our house has practiced this since the times of Old Valyria."
"The prophecy in the blade says, 'The prince that was promised would come from our blood.' My blood is also a vessel of that prophecy. Don't you see it, Father? Our house would cease to exist if we stopped doing it. Sooner or later."
Viserys' fingers trembled at her words, as she wasn't exactly wrong.
"That does not matter either to the realm, Rhaenyra. They don't care at all," Viserys tried to make her see reason. "Only perception matters, and you have exposed yourself."
He sighed. "Now we must both suffer the consequences."
"But it should matter to us! To our house!" Rhaenyra indignantly retorted. "Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye."
"You are right, my child. But you were born a woman," Viserys smiled sadly at her, feeling powerless against her claims.
"Your position is under great pressure and scrutiny. The lords and the people never forget to whisper as if to remind me that no woman should sit on the Iron Throne."
Rhaenyra sneered with ridicule. "So you'll just follow their words and needs and strip me of my titles and name my half-brother in my stead? Just to sate their ego of not wanting a woman sitting on the throne?"
"I would," Viserys nodded, his eyes serious. "But it is my duty to hold the realm together, not sow it with further division."
"And I can see that some people colluding with Otto are pushing too far into the matter, and that's something I can't have. As you said, our House matters; we are their lords. I'm their King, and my word shall be final."
Rhaenyra kept quiet at her father's words. Viserys sighed, not wanting to press his beloved daughter too much. "Your courtship is at an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest."
"My cousin?" Rhaenyra snickered; she knew much about her cousin Laenor and had no wish to be his bride. "My half-brother would be more to his taste."
"Do you hate me, Father? Why do you want me to be trapped in such a marriage where I would have a sad life? Just so that I can be a remedy for your political headaches?"
"Enough! You are my political headache!" Viserys raised his voice. "Your wedding to Ser Laenor Velaryon will unite the two most powerful houses in the realm. With the combined strength of our shared dragons and naval fleets, no one would dare stand against us. Because if you don't, I would make your brother Aegon heir in your place and be done with it, as everyone wants if you don't marry him."
The princess looked at him in a taciturn manner as he mentioned the possibility of removing her from the succession.
Viserys softened as he looked at her like that. "I'm only doing this for your own good, my child. If you still want to be Queen, you need to do this. You need this marriage to secure your position and quell any thought they may have otherwise."
Rhaenyra breathed heavily as she tried to calm her emotions. "And what will you do about the vulture who perches upon your throne?" She lashed out, changing the subject to the man who attacked her. If it weren't for that old bastard, she wouldn't be in this trouble to begin with.
"You don't need to worry about those matters. Only prepare yourself to be wed."
Viserys looked at her. "Every lord and lady who calls for an audience with me, every man on my small council, and all councils past have been self-interested. It is unavoidable. You need to understand this truth, my daughter."
"So learn from me. From this moment. For when your time comes after me, you will be the one making these decisions... and hard choices." Viserys gasped hard as he spoke these last words. "The crown is heavy, Rhaenyra."
"I..." Rhaenyra said reluctantly. "I understand, Father."
Viserys looked at her meek face, but with stubbornness inside her eyes—a look similar to her mother's—and he felt weak and defeated about the things he would have her do.
"You can leave." He said softly, waving his hand.
Rhaenyra silently left the King's apartment.
A while later, inside the princess's apartment, Rhaenyra was brushing her hair after having taken a bath, preparing herself to sleep while still thinking about her father's words.
Grand Maester Mellos knocked on the door outside. "Princess?"
"Come in..." Rhaenyra yelled, allowing the man outside to enter.
Mellos and two Kingsguard entered the room. Seeing it was the Grand Maester, she looked at him in doubt and asked, "What do you need of me, Grand Maester?"
Mellos was carrying a tray with a bowl filled with liquid that was quite warm, as steam surged from it. "His Grace asked me to prepare and deliver this to you, Princess."
"I took great care in its preparation. If not brewed properly, it can either prove ineffective or else bear unpleasant consequences."
"You should drink it while it is still warm for the effect to be better and the chances more sure to happen."
Rhaenyra looked at him skeptically. "Brewed properly? What is this drink, Grand Maester?"
"To take care of the seed, of course, my Princess." Mellos said, pointing at her belly. "It will rid you of any unwanted consequences."
The princess's face went pale at his words. "You say my father sent it?"
Inside her mind, her father's last words flashed once again:
"So learn from me. From this moment. For when your time comes after me, you will be the one making these decisions."
"...And hard choices." Viserys gasped hard as he spoke these last words. "The crown is heavy, Rhaenyra."
"No..." Rhaenyra said angrily. "I will not drink this."
"This is the King's order, Princess..." Mellos looked at her with pity.
"I... I will talk with my father." She still refused to drink it.
Mellos sighed and waved at the Kingsguards behind him.
"No!" Rhaenyra yelled at them. "Let go of me!" she cried out as they grabbed her.
"We are sorry, Princess. We have no choice." The Kingsguards with a ashamed voice they said. "We can't go against it."
"No! Let go of me!" She cried as she tried to resist with all her being.
Mellos silently grabbed the bowl and moved it to the Princess's mouth.
"No!" She mournfully yelled as it was poured inside her, tears streaming down her face.
— The next day —
In one of the Red Keep's entrances, Otto Hightower was preparing to leave King's Landing after being stripped of his chain of office and removed from his post as the Hand of the King and ordered to leave the city.
"A moment," Alicent called out, spotting her father about to depart.
She looked at him with the sad eyes of a puppy, while Otto studied her silently for a moment as he pulled on his leather gloves. She spoke first: "I do not wish to see you go."
After slipping them on, he sighed and addressed his daughter. "Such is the King's decision."
"A decision I most bitterly regret," Alicent spat, rejecting Viserys' choice to send her father away.
"And yet, you made it possible." Otto stepped closer, scrutinizing her face. "You chose Rhaenyra."
"It's not like that—I tried to help her, but... His Grace had already made his decision. My words carried no weight in this."
"You must believe me, Father."
"It does not matter." His jaw clenched briefly before he composed himself. "You wanted to ease her burden, and the King seemed determined to bury this matter and protect her."
"You were wrong to involve yourself in the first place!" Alicent shot back, her voice edging toward hysteria. "Now look what's happened to you!"
"An honest mistake, perhaps, but I did not foresee this." Otto sighed, rueful over his failed maneuver against Rhaenyra. He turned to leave, resigned to his exile.
"You should have! You just keep pushing and pushing him along with the other lords." Alicent yelled. "If you hadn't been so relentless in pushing Aegon as heir!"
Otto froze at her words, pivoting back to stand unnervingly close. "Listen to me, daughter," he murmured, low and deadly serious. "The King will die. In months, a few years—it doesn't matter, but what is sure is that he won't live to be an old man. And if Rhaenyra succeeds him, war will follow. Do you understand?"
"The realm will not accept her. To secure her claim, she'll have no choice but to put your children to the sword."
Alicent stood petrified, crumbling at the thought of her closest friend slaughtering her sons. Soft sobs escaped her.
"You know it." Otto pressed, willing her to face the truth she refused to see. "You're no fool, and yet you choose blindness. The time is coming, Alicent."
"Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you bind yourself in uncertainty to Rhaenyra and beg for her mercy."
"Hoping that she will be gracious enough not to touch you and your children."
Tears streamed down her face. Otto exhaled, pulled her into his chest, and held her as she broke.
— One moon after the princess's adventure with her uncle —
Inside the King's bedchamber, the scent of dried herbs, poultices, and the metallic tang of blood permeated the air—residue from the King's body, spilled as Grand Maester Mellos tended to him with leeches and cared for his skin, which bore patches of decayed flesh. The old man's fingers, gnarled with age, traced the rim of the crucible of leeches as he fetched another. His eyes, sharp despite his advanced age, flicked to the King, who was silently groaning, his weak body trembling softly as he endured the treatment.
"It will pass soon, Your Grace," Mellos said, his voice a rasp.
Viserys did not turn. "I hope so. This is making me uneasy as it gets worse and worse."
His face then turned neutral, without revealing any emotion. "Any news from my daughter?"
A pause. The Grand Maester set the tweezers down after placing the leech where it needed to be. "I bring sad news about the Princess, Your Grace."
"What is it?"
"The Princess Rhaenyra has not bled."
The King's fingers twitched softly. "So she is with child still?"
"Indeed. Her womb quickens, and the child grows healthy." Mellos exhaled cautiously around the King, as being near the King was like being near a tiger; when near a tiger, one must be cautious. "Her belly is starting to grow; it is still subtle but growing, even after feeding her that much moon tea. The child still keeps growing inside her."
"The seed inside her is strong, Your Grace." Mellos said, not mincing his amazement about it, as it was the first case of it happening—a pregnancy having been able to resist the abortive tea. "I'm afraid I fear for the Princess's health if we were to continue feeding her more of it."
"She is already quite nervous, frightened to no say... hateful against His Grace."
"I know. She hates and despises me now. She doesn't talk to me and runs away if she sees me."
"It is understandable, Your Grace. She went through traumatic moments during this time, as she is forced to drink the tea and then be in pain and weak because of it. Her body is also taking its toll, being damaged and producing her health problems."
"I plead with His Grace to cease trying to continue feeding the Princess the moon tea and let nature follow its course."
"After everything done to prevent the pregnancy and she is still having it, I can only attribute it as the Gods' will."
"I don't think it is wise to continue in this endeavor anymore unless you accept risking the Princess's life."
Viserys closed his eyes, thoughtful and in sorrow. He put his daughter through that hell because of that dream he had—the vision—seemed to be a sure thing.
That was something that gnawed at him from inside. His fear of it. It rested on him to decide whether to make deed of it. He had two choices: let nature follow its course, or perhaps just destroy the problem in the bud.
Letting it happen would bring a bright future to their house and the realm; there was no doubt of it. But it would be a future with a cost that was too big to be even considered. Cast upon a mountain of bodies that would be enough to form a lake of blood.
And the other choice would be simply the destruction of their house and the rise of a new one as the lord of all Westeros.
He couldn't be the one to bear this great sin. He didn't want to choose.
But he had to. For he was the King.
He chose to destroy it, as the political implications of his daughter having whatever was growing inside her would be a disaster. This child out of marriage would be a dark mark hard to remove. The problems and the shame it would bring to the family.
'Daemon must be rejoicing wherever he is right now. He won with this one.'
'It is inevitable. Now he had to clean the mess for his daughter while she has a child growing inside her that he couldn't get rid of. He had been postponing his travel to the Velaryons until the child was taken care of, but he couldn't wait any longer. While Rhaenyra's belly isn't noticeable, he needs to secure this marriage.'
'And then think about what to do with the child.'
Perhaps this was the best result of all this? At least, his house's future was on the right path. If those visions were to happen.
Viserys's fat, frowning face relaxed; he felt relieved upon coming to this realization.
"I know Your Grace's spirit is down by this news." Mellos tried to cheer him up as he continued working on his back. "But not everything is bad news. I have some good news as well."
"Yes? What could be good after my daughter's problems..." His lips twitched, his voice laced with a bit of derision.
"Oh, but it is indeed good news. You are to be a father again." Mellos smiled, making no heed of the King's tone.
"Do you mean?" Viserys' eyes opened wide as he looked backward through his shoulders at him.
"Yes, Your Grace." Mellos nodded. "The Queen is once again pregnant with your third child. Congratulations!"
"Your Grace's seed is also strong, year after year with a new child."
"Oh..." Viserys rested against the chair's top back while looking out of the window into the city, processing the news. "It is indeed good news." A happy smile at last rested on his lips.
— Two days later —
Alicent walked along the only place in the Red Keep where she could feel secure and calm: the little garden where she and Rhaenyra had spent so much time beside the weirwood tree. She tried to soothe her mind after taking care of her children, having a moment of calm around her. She was pregnant once again with a new child, and every time she caressed her belly, a smile perched on her lips. But then her thoughts drifted, becoming grim as her father's words repeated constantly in her mind this month, assaulting her, making her doubt more and more her choices... her feeble and already weak friendship with the woman she'd grown up with and considered a sister—Rhaenyra. She doubted the uncertain future and what would become of it... her growing fear for her children and the new one growing in her belly. And the inevitable turmoil around the crown that her father had presaged...
As she lost herself in her thoughts, a man's voice broke the peaceful silence surrounding Alicent.
"An outsider..." a man spoke, making his presence known. "Among the natives."
Alicent turned at the unexpected guest disturbing her peace. "Lord Larys," she called out with a small smile—one of courtesy, after recognizing the man.
Larys "Clubfoot" Strong looked at Alicent, then nodded, pointing to the flowers beside him as he steadied himself with his baton, his weak and limp leg—defective from birth—supporting him poorly. "Malvales. A rare bloom," he introduced to Alicent. "Indigenous to Braavos. By all rights, it shouldn't be thriving here." He continued, curiosity and intrigue lacing his tone. "Nature... such a mystery."
Alicent, not wanting to discuss useless things at that moment with a man she knew little of, prepared to leave, her words making it clear she had no intention of continuing the conversation or entertaining his remarks. "The weather has been lovely."
"Indeed," Larys Strong replied quickly, watching her go. He limped closer as she moved away. "And yet, it somehow still seems cold to the realm. Your father was a good man."
His words made Alicent stop in her tracks. She hesitated before replying. "As is yours, who took his place."
Larys smiled inwardly at catching her attention. "Yet still, the manner of your father's departure... it feels something of an injustice."
"What do you know of the matter of his leaving?" Alicent's smile was laced with disdain.
"When one is never invited to speak, one learns instead to... observe," Larys replied, unfazed by her expression. "You're perhaps in need of an ally?"
"I'm the Queen," Alicent said, her face amused. "I have no shortage of allies."
"Naturally." Larys nodded, his tone ridiculous. "Princess Rhaenyra, for example."
Alicent's smile vanished, her expression turning stoic. "State your purpose, my lord."
"Uh... I did wonder if she could be relied upon now that she would need to take care of her matters more than ever..."
"Her matters? What matters press her? I haven't heard anything." Alicent looked at him neutrally.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, I may be mistaken," Larys said, his tone hesitant. "It's just that on the very same night your father was dismissed, the Grand Maester delivered a tea to the Princess's chambers."
"A tea?" Alicent's fingers trembled at that. She looked at Larys's face and avoided his gaze as she became thoughtful. 'So this is Viserys' answer to the matter. Her father's words were true... She lied to her, said nothing happened... Rhaenyra got away from the problems with a tea to take care of her indiscretion and willfulness, and now is getting married off.'
"That the Grand Maester himself brought?"
"Yes." Larys nodded. "At the direction of the King, as I understand it."
"I do hope she's not unwell."
Alicent composed herself and looked plainly at him. "Rhaenyra sailed with the King to Driftmark yesterday at daybreak."
"Oh, what good news. I must've been in error with my wrongful thoughts." Larys exhaled softly, a smile of irony playing on his lips. "Oh, a relief. See, the Grand Maester has been sending her the same tea quite a few times during this last moon."
"What a relief indeed."
Alicent gave him one final look before leaving without another word. While being thoughtful, she hadn't seen Rhaenyra that much this past moon.
— Driftmark —
A carriage rode along a paved road of cobblestone, carrying in its interior King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, their escort of Kingsguard, other guards, and flag bearers atop their horses, along with servants in tow. The group moved swiftly as they made their way through the road to the castle, High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon and the power of Driftmark.
Once there, at its doors, Viserys descended from the carriage with the help of his new Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong. Soon after, his daughter Rhaenyra followed. The Kingsguard also dismounted, accompanying their king as he made his way through the open, massive castle door, flanked by Velaryon's men-at-arms. The door led to the castle's inner courtyard, where two young men were sparring with live steel.
The moment Viserys entered the courtyard, they stopped and bowed to him, eyes fixed on their feet. One of the two had Valyrian features: silver-white hair, purple eyes, and a fine, soft-looking face paired with a slender body and white skin. From a distance, he looked more like a woman than a man.
Viserys walked with labored breath, surveying the open space where only the two young men stood.
"Where is Lord Corlys?" Viserys demanded of everyone around him.
The taciturn Lord of Harrenhal, Lyonel Strong, who had assumed the duty of being Hand of the King recently—as he would not hector him as the previous one—quickly followed, his voice indignant. "He should be here to receive the King."
The doors leading to the interior of High Tide opened in front of them, and from it emerged a young woman, followed a step behind by a man, drawing the attention of everyone in the courtyard.
The young woman—no, lady—was dressed in clothes befitting noble descent. Her skin was pristine, milky-white, and her silver-gold ringlets cascaded past her waist in a great, lustrous mane. Tall and slender, she boasted perky, ample breasts that would put a white rabbit's to shame. She was a remarkably beautiful woman.
If she stood beside that so-called boy from earlier, people might guess they were related—some resemblance was there. Still, onlookers would sigh at her beauty, yet couldn't help but praise the boy's feminine figure and striking good looks.
"Welcome to High Tide, Your Grace," the woman said, performing a reverence after descending the stone stairs and stopping a few steps in front of Viserys.
"What is the meaning of this, Lady Laena?" Lyonel snapped. "Is this how House Velaryon greets its King?"
Laena Velaryon smiled at them all, her expression serious. "My father has only just returned from his long journey. He has hastened to the Hall of the Nine to await Your Grace's arrival."
Viserys sighed and began walking. "Let's just get on with it."
The large group was led by Laena and her servant through the castle to the throne room, where the seat representing the power of Driftmark stood. As Viserys and Lyonel Strong entered the Hall of the Nine, the Velaryon men-at-arms guarding the door closed it on Rhaenyra and the rest of the escort, while the Kingsguard stood at attention.
"What is the meaning of this?" Rhaenyra asked warily.
"Sorry," Criston Cole muttered to her.
Laena, seeing Rhaenyra's unease, quickly took her arm. "Come, cousin. Let us see what might be had for breakfast."
Meanwhile, Viserys walked through the doors, his face already slick with sweat, his breath ragged as his failing body struggled from the exertion of even a short walk. Inside the Hall of the Nine, Corlys Velaryon sat upon the throne of Driftmark, awaiting Viserys.
When Viserys entered, coughing as he went, their eyes met. Corlys stood from the throne.
"Your Grace." He greeted Viserys, then knelt at his feet.
Viserys coughed again, glanced at Lyonel, and gestured for Corlys to rise. "Rise, Lord Corlys."
He coughed once more.
"Be welcome." Corlys smiled, arms open. "May I offer you a chair?"
The side door opened, and a mature woman appeared. "Cousin!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up at the sight of Viserys.
This mature woman was a stunning beauty who only grew more intoxicating with age, like fine wine. She had long, raven-black hair and piercing lilac eyes, paired with a pale body that was explosive—hot, lewd, and voluptuous in all the right places, complete with a killer rack and big, juicy ass.
Viserys smiled in recognition, greeting her warmly. "Princess."
Rhaenys Targaryen, delighted to see her cousin, took his hands gently—but Viserys winced in pain, recoiling. Rhaenys's joy turned to worry as she studied his face, which spoke volumes.
"Are you well?" she asked, forcing a tactful smile.
"Very." Viserys chuckled, his eyebrows twitching in a way that screamed the opposite.
"I congratulate you, Lord Lyonel," Corlys said, turning to the last man left to greet. "I can think of no man more suited to be the Hand of the King."
"That is very kind of you to say, Lord Corlys," Lyonel replied with a smile, nodding to the King. "His Grace has honored me with the post."
"Pity about Ser Otto," Corlys remarked.
Viserys nodded without commenting on that while looking around the room. "Despite spending most of my days amidst the grandeur of the Red Keep, the halls of High Tide never fail to impress."
"You flatter me, Your Grace. Though I do wish we could meet under happier pretenses."
"How so?"
"Daemon's wife, Lady Rhea Royce, has passed," Corlys said, delivering the news the ravens had carried.
"A hunting mishap," Rhaenys added, preparing drinks at a nearby table. "She was thrown from her horse. Her neck and skull were both crushed in the fall."
"A most surprising end," Corlys said. "Lady Rhea's skill as both rider and hunter were well-known."
"The gods are cruel," Rhaenys sighed.
"Indeed," Lyonel agreed with their words after such surprising news.
'Indeed they are...' Viserys lamented at this month's events, his mind racing with unspoken thoughts before he finally spoke, his breath ragged as he gathered his words. "Lady Rhea was a fine woman... and a good wife to my brother."
"A sad thing that she and Daemon have no heirs to succeed her. She stood to inherit Runestone," Rhaenys said, a faint smirk playing at the corner of her lip.
Viserys smiled, steering the conversation away from Daemon; he didn't want to dwell on where his brother's path was leading. Instead, he wanted to address the troubles with his daughter... and her possible incoming child.
"Mayhaps we can turn toward happier pursuits," he said, changing the subject and then gently declining his cousin's offer of a drink. "No, thank you."
"What did you have in mind, Your Grace?" Corlys asked, intrigued.
Viserys's cough returned. Once it subsided, he spoke. "I wish to propose a marriage between your son, Ser Laenor... and my daughter and heir, the Princess Rhaenyra."
"It's long past time our houses were united in blood—the last pillars of Old Valyria."
"You honor both me and my house, Your Grace. But... there are certain details I would wish clarified before the Princess Rhaenys and I could accept this most... generous proposal." Corlys subtly smiled.
"What details?"
"We would like to know how the succession... will be handled."
"Rhaenyra is my heir. Upon my death, my throne and my titles will pass to her. She and Ser Laenor's firstborn child, regardless of gender, will inherit the Iron Throne from her."
"Can I presume that, in keeping with Westerosi tradition... their children would take their father's name?"
"That they would be born Velaryons?" Corlys pressed.
"Surely, Lord Corlys, you are not proposing the Targaryen dynasty end with my daughter simply because she is a woman?"
Rhaenys chuckled at those words; she herself had been denied the throne for the same reason in the Great Council of 101 AC.
"I only seek clarity, Your Grace," Corlys said, smiling without malice.
Viserys coughed heavily.
Corlys and Rhaenys's expressions shifted at his condition. "Might I have a chair brought in for you?"
"I do not—" Viserys tried to steady himself. "No. I do not require a chair."
"The firstborn child between Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra, regardless of sex, shall take the name Targaryen," he declared, leaving no room for debate.
Rhaenys and Corlys's faces twitched slightly at these words.
"But... upon the birth of the rest of their children, they shall take the father's name, Velaryon... in keeping with our Westerosi traditions," he pointed out.
Corlys and Rhaenys relaxed a little, though they still felt wronged by the firstborn not bearing the Velaryon name. Still, it was a compromise they could accept.
"However, if something were to happen to the firstborn—gods forbid—if any other shall ascend the Iron Throne, he or she will do so bearing the name Targaryen."
"Dragons will rule the Seven Kingdoms for the next hundred years, just as they did the last."
Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged glances before Corlys nodded. "This is an equitable compromise."
"Good." Viserys nodded, a relieved smile finally touching his lips. "Now, if there's nothing further." He turned to leave, his decaying body begging for rest.
Rhaenys and Corlys watched his retreating back, their thoughts swirling in silence.