Chapter 22: The Dynastic Merger
Chapter 22: The Dynastic Merger
285 AC, Month of the Plowman
Two years of peace had settled over the Seven Kingdoms, a fragile, exhausted quiet that followed the storm of Robert's Rebellion. King Robert sat the Iron Throne, his reign secured by the victory at the Trident and solidified by his marriage to the beautiful, golden-haired Cersei Lannister. The great lords had returned to their keeps, the business of reconstruction had begun, and the realm was learning to breathe again under a new dynasty.
For Alaric Blackwood, however, peace was not a time for rest. It was a time for consolidation and growth. The past two years had been a relentless exercise in statecraft and industry. His province, the Blackwater March, was no longer a collection of broken lands but a thriving, disciplined domain. The city of Blackport was rising from the rock of Serpent's Head, its deep harbour already bustling with the ships of his trading fleet. The fortress keep, a monster of defensive engineering, was halfway to completion, its black stone walls a testament to his ambition. The Onyx Legion, now a permanent, professional army of three hundred elite soldiers, patrolled his lands, their presence ensuring a level of peace and order unheard of in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
He had built the engine. He had forged the sword. He had secured the fortress. Now, at sixteen years of age, a man grown in the eyes of the realm, he turned his cold, analytical gaze to the final, most critical pillar of his power: legacy. An empire without an heir is a fleeting thing, a house built on sand. He needed a wife.
This was not a decision to be made with the heart. For Alaric, marriage was not about love, affection, or even companionship. It was the most important business merger of his life. It was an acquisition of bloodline, assets, and strategic advantage. He approached the selection of a bride with the same ruthless, data-driven precision he applied to the economic conquest of a city.
He spent weeks in his study, the doors barred, with only Nervo granted occasional access. The great map of Westeros on his wall became his primary tool, but he was not looking at castles and armies. He was looking at noble houses as if they were corporations, their daughters a class of asset to be evaluated.
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With these parameters set, he began to systematically eliminate the great houses.
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That left the two great houses of the Reach: Tyrell and Hightower.
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This process of elimination, cold and logical, led him to one final, optimal choice. A house of immense wealth, unimpeachable prestige, and strategic importance, yet one that was often overlooked in the great game.
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He knew her story from the books. A famed beauty, she would marry the gallant but poor Jorah Mormont, be unable to adapt to the grim life in the North, and eventually leave him for a life of luxury as the consort of a merchant prince in Lys.
To any other man, this history would be a red flag, a sign of a flighty, materialistic woman. To Alaric, it was a data sheet that described the perfect candidate.
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The decision was made. The target for his dynastic merger was Lynesse Hightower.
The approach had to be handled with political delicacy. A direct proposal from an upstart house like his own, no matter how wealthy, might be seen as an insult by the proud Hightowers. He needed the full weight of the Iron Throne behind his offer. He requested a private audience with the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn.
They met in the Hand's solar in the Red Keep, a chamber that looked out over the city and the bay. Jon Arryn looked older than he had during the war, the burdens of ruling a kingdom for a king who preferred hunting to governance weighing heavily on him.
"Lord Alaric," the Hand began, pouring two cups of Arbor gold. "I trust your work in the March goes well. The King is most pleased with the progress of his new fleet."
"Construction is ahead of schedule, my lord," Alaric said, accepting the wine. "But it is on the subject of building that I have come to speak with you. I am building a house, and a house requires a lady."
Jon Arryn nodded slowly. "You are of an age. I had thought, perhaps, a daughter from one of the loyal houses of the Vale. A Royce or a Waynwood. To bind you more closely to the heart of the rebellion."
"A fine sentiment, my lord Hand," Alaric said smoothly. "But my ambitions for my House, and for the security of the realm, are somewhat... broader. The houses of the Vale are your loyal vassals already. An alliance there would be redundant. I believe a new alliance must be forged, one that will strengthen the King's peace in a region that remains... uncertain."
He paused, letting the Hand absorb his words. "I speak of the Reach. Lord Tyrell bent the knee, but his loyalty was bought with a pardon, not forged in battle. He remains the most powerful and potentially dangerous lord in the Seven Kingdoms. It would be wise to build a counterweight to his influence."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Jon asked, his interest piqued.
"By making an alliance with the other great power in the Reach," Alaric said. "A house more ancient, more respected, and arguably wealthier than the Tyrells themselves. I wish to ask for the hand of Lynesse Hightower, daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown."
Jon Arryn was silent for a long moment, his shrewd old eyes studying Alaric's face. The Hand had been considering matches for Alaric, ways to tie this brilliant, dangerous young man more firmly to the established order. He had never once considered a match of this magnitude. It was a move of stunning political genius.
"A Hightower," Jon mused, his mind instantly calculating the implications. "They remained neutral for most of the war. Lord Leyton is a recluse. But their power is undeniable. An alliance between your new house, which controls the southern approach to the capital, and House Hightower, which controls the second-greatest city in the realm... it would create a new axis of power in the south."
"An axis of power loyal to King Robert," Alaric corrected gently. "It would bind the Hightowers irrevocably to the new regime. It would ensure the loyalty of the Citadel. And it would give Lord Tyrell pause, reminding him that he is not the only king in the Reach. It is a match that serves my interests, yes, but it serves the interests of the realm far more."
He had framed his personal ambition as a grand service to the state. Jon Arryn, the ultimate political pragmatist, saw the undeniable logic. To deny this proposal would be to deny a chance to strengthen the kingdom for the sake of keeping a powerful young lord 'in his place'.
"Lord Leyton is a proud man," Jon said, thinking aloud. "He may not look kindly on a proposal from a new house, even one as... impressive... as your own."
"Which is why the proposal must come not from me, but from the Iron Throne," Alaric stated. "A request from the King, delivered by his Hand, for a marriage alliance to secure the peace of the realm. It would be a great honour, one that even a Hightower could not refuse without insulting the crown."
Jon Arryn looked at the boy before him, a youth of sixteen who was playing the great game with a level of skill and foresight that he had not seen since Tywin Lannister was in his prime. He felt a familiar sense of unease, but also of deep respect. Alaric was a dangerous piece on the board, but it was far better to have him on your side than against you.
"You have thought this through with remarkable clarity, my lord," the Hand said finally. "Your reasoning is sound. For the good of the realm... I will speak to the King. I will advise him that this match is of the highest strategic importance. A raven will be sent to Oldtown, carrying a proposal sealed by both the Hand and the King."
Alaric had won. He had used the authority of the Iron Throne as his own personal instrument of negotiation.
He left the Hand's solar and returned to his own apartments in the Red Keep. He walked out onto the balcony, looking down at the bustling, recovering city. The first phase of his dynastic plan was in motion.
He closed his eyes, communing with his silent partner. <
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A cold sense of satisfaction settled over Alaric. He had analyzed the market, identified the premium asset, and initiated a takeover bid with the backing of the most powerful institution in the land. He was not just winning the game; he was rewriting the rules. Lynesse Hightower, the beauty of Oldtown, would be his. Not for her love, but for her name. Not for her companionship, but for her womb. She would be the mother of his heirs, the vessel for his legacy, the founding lady of a dynasty that would last a thousand years. It was all just business. And business was good.