Interlude — King's Landing
"A kingdom is not held together by swords and crowns, but by the quiet compromises made in dark chambers." — Unknown
(Small Council — Third Person POV)
The bells of King's Landing tolled in slow rhythm as a hazy golden dusk settled over the city. Lords had begun arriving for the birth celebration of Prince Viserys and Lady Aemma Arryn daughter, Rhaenyra. But inside the Red Keep, behind heavy doors and guarded halls, the business of rule remained unchanged.
Within the Small Council chamber, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen sat at the table's head, his once-bright eyes dulled by years and grief. To his right, the chair of the Hand was empty—Septon Barth was late, a rare occurrence. To his left sat Grand Maester Elysar, an aged but lucid man with deep lines etched into his brow from decades of counsel.
"The Hand is late," muttered Rego Draz, Master of Coin, eyeing the empty chair. "Shall we begin without him, Your Grace?"
"No," the king replied quietly. "I will wait. And for Baelon as well."
Almost on cue, the doors opened with ceremonial weight, and Prince Baelon strode in, his presence sharp as a drawn blade. He was dressed simply, dust from the road still clinging to his boots. He had returned to the capital early—ostensibly for his grand daughter's celebration, but the real reason had already reached the court's ears: King Jaehaerys had summoned both Daemon Targaryen and his elder brother.
"My prince," Elysar said with a nod.
Baelon grunted and took his seat without a word.
"Where is Daemon?" the king asked.
"In the city. I saw to it personally. He'll report to you once he stops sulking," Baelon replied. "You'll have your dragon soon enough."
"And Barth?"
The doors opened again as the question left his lips, and Septon Barth entered, robes rustling. He was older than the king by a few years, his frame hunched from time and toil. Yet when he spoke, his voice still held clarity. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I was seeing to the northern lords and the maesters from Oldtown. Many have arrived ahead of schedule."
"You spoil our guests," Jaehaerys murmured with a hint of dry humour. "Sit."
The meeting began in earnest. Rego Draz detailed port revenues from Gulltown and Lannisport. Elysar raised concerns about an outbreak of flux in the Riverlands. Then the conversation turned, inevitably, to tourney. Baelon answered, "The Gold Cloaks are stretched thin. Thieves see opportunity in every gathering. Yesterday, my men caught a rapist in the act, trying to force himself on a bannerman's daughter. He's in the dungeon."
"Make an example of him," said Jaehaerys. "Mount his head on the gates."
"Your Grace," Elysar interjected gently, "these measures are effective, but harsh. In Queen Alysanne's day, crimes like these were rare—she inspired restraint, not fear."
A silence settled across the room. Even Baelon said nothing.
"I assume you've summoned Daemon regarding the Royce match," Barth said gently changing the subject.
"Yes," Jaehaerys replied. "He thinks he's above marriage. That he can flit about Dragonstone and King's Landing with no ties. Enough. If he wishes coin and command, he must do his duty. House Royce is noble, and the Vale needs closer ties to the Crown."
"He'll be furious," Baelon muttered. "He called Lady Rhea a 'bronze bitch' before he ever met her."
Jaehaerys' eyes flashed. "He will marry her, or he will lose everything I've given him—lands, coin, title, all of it. Let him take it up with the gods."
No one dared protest. Even Barth, who had cautioned gentler methods in the past, remained silent.
"Speaking of lands," Elysar said, glancing at a sealed letter on the table. "We've received reports from the North—regarding the New Gift."
At that, Septon Barth sat forward. "Yes. A matter we must discuss carefully."
"The New Gift?" Rego asked. "That cold patch of farmland the Watch can't till?"
Baelon leaned back. "What now? Don't tell me the wildlings burned the fields again."
"Nothing so dramatic," Elysar replied. "It seems the Starks and the Night's Watch have struck a private agreement. The night's watch will lease their land to house stark. They've already begun farming and garrisoning the New Gift—with Stark men."
"The Watch leasing land to nobles?" Rego raised a brow. "I thought the Watch answered only to itself."
"In theory, yes," Barth said. "But this raises troubling implications. The New Gift was granted by Queen Alysanne to the Watch—forever free from feudal ties. If the Starks have begun reclaiming it, even by agreement, it weakens the Crown's role as arbiter."
Baelon rolled his eyes. "They're not 'reclaiming' it. They're feeding people. The Night's Watch is starving. The North is strained. So they help each other—quietly. That's not rebellion; that's resourcefulness."
"But they didn't seek the Crown's consent," Barth argued. "The queen gave that land. Her word was royal law."
"The queen," Baelon said pointedly, "also gave it without consulting Lord Rickon. And now she's in Dragonstone, refusing to return. The North has honoured its vows since Torrhen knelt. You'd accuse them for surviving?"
A tense silence followed.
Elysar cleared his throat. "What's more, Lord Rickon has sent word through raven. The Starks are willing to formalize the arrangement—so long as the Crown recognizes the Watch's right to lease lands for survival."
Jaehaerys tapped a single finger against the table. "And if we say no?"
"They may withdraw from the arrangement," Elysar said. "But it will hurt the Watch, not the Starks. The Night's Watch cannot afford to alienate the only ally feeding them."
"Then perhaps," Rego said, "we allow it. Quietly. No proclamation, no insult to the Queen's Gift. Let the Watch 'manage' the land as they see fit. It costs the Crown nothing, earns us goodwill, and keeps the wildlings out."
Septon Barth looked uneasy. "It is... expedient. But not honourable."
"Is it dishonour," Baelon asked, "to let men live with dignity? Or is it pride that lets them starve on principle?"
The king sat still for a long moment.
"Don't worry about that's exactly why I had summoned starks," Jaehaerys said. "I will hear his reasoning myself. Until then, no one speaks of this arrangement outside this room. Not a word."
Barth opened his mouth, thought better of it, and nodded.
The council bowed and withdrew, leaving father and son in the dim chamber.
After a pause, the king asked, "What did she say?"
Baelon's voice softened. "She refused your summons."
The king's jaw tightened.
"Father… it's been years. Her health worsens. Still you won't budge? Even if not for Rhaenys, then… at least Saera?"
"You will not speak that harlot's name in my presence!" Jaehaerys roared.
Baelon fell silent.
"I cannot leave the city. King's Landing needs its king," the old man muttered. Then, more quietly, "What of the Velaryons?"
"They sent word—congratulations on the birth of new princess. No more than that."
"I see. And Viserys? Aemma?"
"Well. Their hands are full with little Rhaenyra. She's already bonded with her dragon—hatched in her cradle, no less. Scales of gold. Fiercely protective."
The king's expression softened at last. "That's good."
He turned to the window, gazing out over Blackwater Bay, the sky outside beginning to dim with dusk.
"You may go, Baelon," he said.
Baelon bowed and left, leaving the king alone with his thoughts—and the darkening sea.
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i know i deleated the chapter, forgive me for that, but i didn't really like how that converstion between them turned out so i changed it and also edited the chapter, again i am so sorry for that, i will upload the next chapter tomorrow.