Exposure

The turn of the century saw a time of funerals for House Targaryen.

Not long after the death of Princess Gael, the late Queen Alysanne fell to her grief.

Then a seemingly freak accident happened.

Prince Baelon, also known as Baelon the Brave, earned his moniker by being a hale and hearty child who, at the age of ten, accidentally slogged the world's largest dragon on the nose, Balerion the Black Dread.

The second-born son to the king, Prince Baelon always looked up to his older brother, Prince Aemon, and strived to use his healthy frame to match his brother in valour and virtue.

Prince Baelon was magnanimous in every way, a man of great social gravity who demanded respect. He fit the Targaryen archetype in a lot of ways. Brave, strong, capable. Daemon inherited much of his father's qualities in this respect.

So it shocked the court when, in 101 AC, Prince Baelon returned from a hunting trip with a terrible stitch. He died five days later in bed from a burst appendix, the Maesters believed.

With Baelon gone, there was some debate about who should replace him as Hand. That honour eventually fell to Otto Hightower.

I was there that day when Lord Otto Hightower arrived at the Red Keep. He was arriving with a mentor of mine from the Citadel, and Rhaenar wanted to size up his grandfather's replacement. Prince Viserys and most of the small council were there with us.

We stood on the steps, looking down at the gate as the wagon pulled in.

"I can't believe this," Rhaenar said bitterly, "Replacing my grandfather with some nobody. What do you think of this, Brien?"

I winced, "From what I hear, Lord Otto is an excellent choice."

"Heard from where? You hardly go outside."

Rhaenar's tune changed when the wagon stopped. He always knew how to turn on the formalities at a moment's notice.

Out came Otto Hightower, a tall and distinguished man by all accounts. It was only next to his wife did he truly dazzle. He smiled the right smiles and said the right things. Prince Viserys greeted him kindly, as was his nature to do so.

Rhaenar, however, was unimpressed. He shook Lord Otto's hand with that face he gets when it's all about the business.

It was as if Lord Otto Hightower planned for that very moment. He didn't bat an eye at Rhaenar's contempt, not even a glimmer. He simply smiled and said

"May I present you my daughter, Alicent."

Alicent Hightower.

She was but a girl of seven that day. Comely, with midnight brown hair. The green dress she wore complimented her hazel eyes. She fluttered her lashes and handed Rhaenar a pink flower.

"For you, my Prince."

Rhaenar took hold of Alicent's hand, his gaze locked on the flower she held. Without a word, he brought their hands to his nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance deeply.

As he released her hand, I saw a warm flush spread across Alicent's cheeks, her heart beating so hard it pulsated her neck.

"Sweet Peas," Rhaenar said with genuine delight, "One of my favourites."

Alicent gushed, "R-… Really? Me too!"

I shook my head. It was like one of those fated beginnings described in the songs, for better or worse.

Prince Viserys seemed chuffed at the cute display, no doubt taking full credit for Rhaenar's charm.

"How about that, Otto?" Viserys said, "The children will get along just fine!"

Lord Otto practically overflowed with pride for his daughter. I bet he could have never imagined a better first impression, "You honour me, my Prince. I only hope Alicent and Rhaenyra get along just the same."

"Nonsense. Of course they will! Come. You must rest before you meet with the King."

Prince Viserys ushered the Hightowers into their new home. Rhaenar and I stayed behind on account of my mentor.

"Archmaester Vaegon."

"Brien."

Archmaester Vaegon, also known as Vaegon the Dragonless, was King Jaehaerys last living child. Under normal circumstances, it would be he who ascends the throne.

A wary man of few words, Archmaester Vaegon kept to himself. He seldom attended council meetings at the Citadel, preferring to devote himself to his work in isolation.

Although Archmaester Vaegon possessed a great mind, his physical appearance did not match his intellectual prowess. His shoulders were round, and his long face featured small, puckered lips, making it seem like something always bothered him.

It had been years since I had last seen him, and time had not been kind. The man before me appeared pale and frail, and I could tell the long travel had affected him.

All this is to say that Archmaester Vaegon is about as far away from being a King as I was from being a Wizard.

"It's good to see you, Archmaester. You're here to take the throne, I take it?"

A slight curve at the edge of his lips hinted at a wry amusement. It seemed warm blood still pumped in Archmaester Vaegon's veins.

"Life in the capital has failed to improve your jests. No, I am here to offer my father

council."

"Do you think this matter can be resolved smoothly?"

Archmaester Vaegon appeared confident, "Time will tell."

Rhaenar stood there the entire time, watching us with those shiny purple eyes.

"So you're the smart one?" Rhaenar said.

"You must be the loud one." Archmaester Vaegon replied. He spoke curtly, no matter who he addressed.

"Am not!" Rhaenar pouted, "GrandGrace wanted you to be the one that tutored me. Perhaps even Kings can be fools."

I chuckled. The thought of Archmaester Vaegon's patience being tested by Rhaenar amused me. "Thank the gods you ended up with Archmaester Mellos instead."

"Yeah, I feel like I dodged a cross-bolt there…"

Hearing the youth speak ill of the Citadel's old farts must have warmed Archmaester Vaegon's ice heart, even if only a little. "Greater men have succumbed to his lectures. I commend you."

Rhaenar took exception to that, "Greater men have tried to patronise me."

Archmaester Vaegon scoffed, but not how he would with Theodore and me. The Targaryen blood connection appeared to have made a child he had never met outrank students he had known for years.

Still, it was tough to watch such disrespect.

"Forgive him, Archmaester," I said, "Although Rhaenar hides it well, he's nervous about the succession."

Rhaenar's cheeks flushed, "Am not!"

That explanation satisfied the Archmaester, "Quite understandable. These are transitioning times."

Regarding the succession of the Iron Throne:

The only ones the King left had were four grandchildren and their subsequent offspring.

From his first son, Prince Aemon, was his granddaughter, Princess Rhaenys, a famed Dragonrider in her own right and wife to Lord Corlys Valerian, Lord of the Tides.

From his second son, Prince Baelon, came Prince Viserys and Daemon.

Last but not least, from his daughter Daella came Princess Aemma (Who married Viserys according to the Targaryen tradition of brother-sister, cousin-cousin marriages.)

Rhaenys, Daemon, Viserys and Aemma. It must have been strange for the old King to go his whole life — to accomplish so much — and that was all he had left. Four people.

Sullen musings aside, Prince Baelon the Brave's death opened avenues for concern regarding succession.

Without any more living sons, it was not clear who was King Jaehaerys' heir.

If we followed the thread of his first-born child, Prince Aemon, then next in line would fall unto his daughter, Princess Rhaenys. A sensible woman with a wealthy husband and who already had a male heir.

But if we followed the thread of the King's eldest living of the male line, then the first son of Prince Baelon, Viserys, would be the top candidate.

Old King Jaehaerys, in all his wisdom, could foresee the potential for civil war following his death.

Princess Rhaenys was the child of the King's first-born son. Viserys was the child of the King's second-born.

The only difference between the two was their gender.

Rhaenys had a claim, but if the old King named her his heir, there were bound to be Lords who rejected it because she was a woman.

Therefore, after heeding the council of Archmaester Vaegon, King Jaehaerys decided the only way to settle the matter of succession without an ensuing civil war was to call a great council.

So it was that in late 101 AC, a Great Council was convened, where lords from all over the continent gathered at Harrenhall - the only keep large enough to host such an event, despite being in ruins for over a century following Aegon's conquest.

Harrenhall could host 500 lords and their entourage, but thousands still came, although some arrived towards the end of the council. The council lasted thirteen days, during which over a dozen claims were considered.

Most claims were discarded within the initial discussions.

Archmaester Vaegon disqualified himself, citing his Maester vows. The day he put on his chain, he renounced all claims to Lordship, land, and title.

Prince Viserys Targaryen and Princess Rhaenys were the primary candidates for the throne. As Rhaenys was the daughter of King Jaehaerys' eldest living son, Prince Aemon Targaryen, primogeniture favoured her claim by way of her son, Laenor.

Viserys had an advantage over his rival due to his previous experience riding the dragon Balerion before its death in 94 AC. Additionally, he was the son of the late previous heir Prince Baelon.

Viserys was ultimately crowned as king by the Council, with rumors circulating that the vote was overwhelmingly in his favor (perhaps 20-1), though the maesters kept the exact numbers confidential.

While some in the public sphere attributed his victory to the preference for Rhaenar over Laenor as the eventual heir, it's been suggested that many lords chose Viserys simply because he was male.

Thus, in 101 AC, Rhaenar the Ready became first Prince next Heir to the Iron Throne.

When Grand Maester Runciter announced the news to the world, Harrenhall shook with the applause of nearly every Lord in the Seven Kingdoms.

Princess Rhaenys' expression remained neutral as she digested the ruling, her features betraying none of the inner turmoil she felt. On the other hand, Lord Corlys Valerian made no effort to conceal his displeasure, his face contorted with a frown.

Prince Viserys embraced his wife and daughter, Rhaenyra.

But Rhaenar just stood there, gazing out to the horde of Lords as if framing another one of his paintings.

Later, when we retired to Rhaenar's chambers, he told us what was going through his mind:

"It was a sudden shift," he said, his hand covering his mouth, eyes locked in deep thought. I'd think he was ill if I didn't know him better.

"The moment my father's name was announced, the room lost its pulse. They looked at me like some object. A piece to move on the game board."

Theodore cleared the long table that was in Rhaenar's room. "A game indeed. We are the players, and the throne is the prize."

I needed clarification about what Theodore was doing, but Rhaenar already knew.

"You have ideas," Rhaenar said.

Theodore unrolled a large map of Westeros on the table, "Only a thousand."

I felt left out. Sometimes three is a crowd. "What's this?" I asked.

That's when Rhaenar poured more wine into my cup to the point it almost overflowed.

"Drink your last drink of peace and serenity, mother fucker. We've been exposed."

"Everything changes from today onward. Gone are the days we could wank off to each other about the philosophy of ethics and the mythos of the ancient past."

Rhaenar waited until I processed what he was insinuating. Theodore shrugged as if he couldn't believe I didn't think a day like this would come.

"So, if I understand correctly," I said, rubbing my temples, "despite being just a child, you're next in line for the throne and asking us to help you strategise against the rest of the kingdom who MIGHT wish you harm."

Theodore rolled his eyes, "Too slow on the uptake, Brien. Stick to reading your fictitious scrolls about the 'Deep Ones' and let the grown-ups handle the rest, why don't you?"

Anger riled my soul. But before I berated Theodore in response, Rhaenar shook his head at me.

"I agree. Best put on your big boy pants, Brien Flowers."

"For the Night is Long and full of terrors. Winter is coming, as clear as errors."

"The Dragon has three heads. Valar Morghulis."

"The Others will take us. the Prince who was promised, please save us!"

"The Doom of Valyria, 'Blah-blah-blah', predates us."

"Azor Ahai, Azor Ahai, as clear as the misty sky."

"The others take us, question not who makes us."

Theodore felt like he could join in,

"How many missed fasts will it take the masses to make fuss?"

Rhaenar cringed, "Nice try, Theodore."

"Nice try."

-Brien Flowers, 101 AC.