Chapter 213: Taming Dreamfyre

The sun rose higher, approaching noon.

The throne room.

Viserys sat on the Iron Throne, flanked by his royal advisers. Lyonel held a letter and read aloud, "The Bracken House has privately moved and secretly grazed in Blackwood territory at night..."

The letter was from the Tully House of Riverrun. A few days prior, the Blackwood and Bracken Houses had erupted in another conflict. Both sides had mobilized their soldiers, preparing for battle at their borders.

Old Lord Tully of Riverrun, alarmed by the escalation, had sent mediators and delivered the news to King's Landing.

Viserys, feeling overwhelmed, interrupted, "Just get to the point. Did they fight or not?"

He was baffled. The first ten years of his reign had been peaceful, but now chaos seemed constant. First, the Triarchy invaded the Stepstones. Then, the Mountain Clans rebelled in the Vale. Now, after barely repelling the Stepstones pirates, Dorne's intentions were uncertain, and the Riverlands were in turmoil. The young king was at his wit's end.

Lyonel paused, then hesitantly continued, "Yes, Your Grace, there was a fight. Both sides mobilized thousands of men, resulting in many dead and wounded."

"Damned fools!" Viserys cursed, angry. "I thought mediation had succeeded. They broke their word before the Stepstones battle even concluded!"

Lyonel, sweating, explained, "Your Grace, it was unavoidable. The families promised to cease hostilities and support the kingdom. But their hatred runs deep, passed down through generations."

Viserys fumed, "So what now? Should we send another mediator?"

Last time, Lyonel himself had mediated. Now, less than two months later, the houses were at war again.

Lyonel hesitated, then said helplessly, "We must continue to mediate. The Blackwoods and Brackens are major houses in the Riverlands, each commanding thousands of soldiers. The kingdom needs their support in the war."

Viserys' veins bulged with frustration. Both houses had suffered losses, making mediation increasingly difficult.

The hall was silent, tense.

Viserys' ragged breaths echoed, his frustration palpable. The royal advisors were silent, knowing the limits of their feudal system. In Westeros, nobles ruled their own lands. The king had little authority to intervene in noble conflicts unless innocents were in danger. Mediation was the most he could offer, and even that depended on the nobles' willingness to cooperate.

Sending royal troops to quell unrest was impractical. Noble skirmishes, though disruptive, were part of their belief in the survival of the fittest. Strength and honor were paramount. Knights earned respect through prowess, not by keeping the peace.

How could knights rise without these conflicts? The nobles valued the law, but their interpretation was rooted in strength and honor, not the king's decrees.

Seeing their father's anger, Rhaenyra touched Rhaegar's hand and whispered, "Rhaegar, can you think of a solution?"

Rhaegar froze, his eyes wide and innocent. Did he look like a wise counselor? The battle for the Stepstones wasn't even finished, and he was still strategizing defenses for Bloodstone Island and Grey Gallows Island. The Dornish were lurking, and he had to stay vigilant. The Riverlands conflict wasn't on his radar.

Rhaenyra leaned closer and murmured, "Don't you have a lot of informants in the Riverlands?"

Rhaegar glanced up at his father on the throne, then whispered back, "Those who could be useful have already retreated to King's Landing. Even with spies, we can't control a feud between two great houses."

The enmity between the Blackwood and Bracken Houses was ancient. During the Heroic Era, the Blackwoods had ruled a kingdom in the Riverlands, with the Brackens as their bannermen. But as the Blackwoods fell from power, the Brackens rebelled, overthrowing their former liege and sowing a deep-seated feud.

Despite countless battles, reconciliations, and intermarriages over the millennia, their animosity persisted. Numerous lords had attempted to mediate, but the hostility remained unresolved.

Rhaenyra, well-versed in history, shot him a look that said, "What should we do then? Should I ride Syrax to mediate?"

Since Aegon the Conqueror established the Targaryen dynasty, Westeros's attitude towards House Targaryen had been ambivalent—sometimes close, sometimes distant; sometimes loyal, sometimes rebellious.

This wavering loyalty lasted until the late years of Jaehaerys I, when it began to stabilize. Viserys had inherited his grandfather's political legacy and ruled more peacefully. However, after years of relative calm, the nobles of Westeros were growing restless.

"It might be time for them to remember the power of Targaryen dragons," Rhaenyra suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Rhaegar sighed. "We can't use dragons to stop a noble feud," he said. "Unless we're prepared to annihilate one side completely."

Their whispered conversation caught Viserys's attention. He grunted and said, "Rhaegar, speak up. What are you discussing?"

Rhaenyra looked apologetically at her brother as Viserys's stern gaze turned on him.

Swallowing his anger, he allowed Rhaenyra to escape his wrath. After all, daughters were delicate creatures, a stark contrast to the son who would have to bear the brunt of his frustration.

Rhaegar scoffed, his gaze lingering on Rhaenyra's apologetic face. As he exited the audience chamber, he crossed his arms over his stomach, rendered speechless.

What option did he have? Perhaps mobilize the forces of Riverrun to placate the two warring houses?

After contemplating for a moment, Rhaegar spoke softly, "Father, the two houses can't be mediated directly. Why don't we ask Old Lord Tully to send troops to deter them?"

Despite the Tullys of Riverrun being somewhat ineffective, they were still the principal lords of the Riverlands. While their management of bannermen might be chaotic, their soldiers and military equipment were superior to any other nobles in the region.

Viserys rubbed his brow, clearly irritated. "That's so simple, I don't even need to ask you."

Every noble behaved like their ancestors, requiring careful handling. Offend them, and while they might not react openly, they would undoubtedly plot behind the scenes. His predecessors, Aenys I, Maegor I, and Jaehaerys I, had all faced this challenge, suffering from the machinations of the xenophobic native nobles.

Rhaegar shrugged and stepped back into line, his mind preoccupied with the issues in the Stepstones and Dorne. The Riverlands conflict seemed trivial by comparison.

Viserys had another outburst, leaving the royal advisors scrambling. In the end, Otto Hightower's suggestion was accepted. "Let the two houses fight for a while, then mediate once they're exhausted," he proposed.

Otto, a former Hand of the King, was adept at navigating such conflicts. His pragmatic approach appealed to Viserys. Delaying a problem was almost as good as solving it, as long as it didn't directly threaten the throne.

Rhaegar grimaced, realizing this solution merely postponed the inevitable. With the immediate issue resolved, Viserys adjourned the meeting. He had initially intended for Rhaegar to contact the Dornish emissary, but his foul mood led him to postpone the task for another day.

...

Dragonpit

"Roar..." Dreamfyre slumped to the ground, stretched its neck, yawned, and lazily wagged its tail.

"Dreamfyre, get up and fly me around," Helaena commanded, patting the dragon's spine.

The young princess, clad in a blue dress that matched Dreamfyre's scales, looked like an extension of the dragon itself. An elderly Dragonkeeper stood nervously in front of them, a half-man-tall saddle at his feet.

"Princess, please get off the dragon's back," he pleaded. Dreamfyre's temper was notoriously bad, and the Dragonkeeper couldn't get close enough to saddle it.

But Helaena, fueled by an unknown courage, had already climbed up Dreamfyre's side, using its wings for leverage. After a few stumbles, she succeeded.

Grabbing a piece of Dreamfyre's back scale, Helaena, her face flushed with effort, urged, "Dreamfyre, listen to me."

Yet, Dreamfyre remained indifferent. Unlike her with her mother, the dragon showed no signs of obedience to Helaena's commands.

"Roar..." Dreamfyre yawned again, closed its eyes, and seemed intent on sleeping.

Frustrated, Helaena pounded Dreamfyre's spine with her small fists, not realizing her hands were becoming red and swollen.

"Dreamfyre, just fly me around a bit and let them know I'm not to be messed with," she pleaded, tears forming in her eyes. Crawling to the top of Dreamfyre's head, she sniffled and continued, "My brother said I can become a dragon rider. I will tame you."

Her life had been a series of disappointments. People whispered that she was mentally ill. Her brother Aegon tormented or ignored her, and her sister Rhaenyra treated her harshly. Even her father, Viserys, seemed to care more for her siblings.

In her young heart, only Rhaegar cared and encouraged her. His belief in her was a rare source of strength.

"Dreamfyre, fly up for me, fly up!" Helaena stood, clutching a bent dragon horn, her eyes squeezed shut.

Pouring all her courage into that command, she sought to prove her worth, to show she was a true Targaryen like her siblings.

Snap.

Dreamfyre lifted its head and lashed its tail against the black stone floor, turning to look at the determined girl on its back. It sensed something new, something it hadn't felt since its last rider, Rhaena.

Slowly, Dreamfyre rose from the ground, its wings spreading wide. It flapped them twice, tentatively.

"Dreamfyre, fly!" Helaena's trembling voice called out again.

Clinging to the dragon's horn, eyes shut tight with fear, Helaena held on as Dreamfyre took flight. In that moment, she wasn't just a little girl; she was a dragon rider, a Targaryen proving her existence to the world.

(Word count: 1,554)