Title: The Unwritten Treaty

Title: The Unwritten Treaty

Year and Month: 87 AC, 11th Moon

My life was governed by ledgers. There was the public ledger, the carefully curated story of Prince Aeryn: the quiet, unnervingly bright child who spoke with the precision of a maester and played with the focus of a master stonemason. Then there was the secret ledger, the one known only to my father, Septon Barth, and myself. In its pages, I was not a prince, but the Crown's most valuable, and most terrifying, asset. My annotations on tax law had led to the landmark Royal Port Reforms of 86 AC, a move that had subtly enriched the kingdom and was hailed as another example of Jaehaerys's peerless wisdom. My father and his Hand had become adept at laundering my insights, presenting my analyses as the product of their own council. It was an arrangement that suited my purposes perfectly. I cared nothing for credit; I cared for results and the consolidation of my own secret influence.

As I approached my seventh name day, my formal education had become the central pillar of my daily existence. I devoured books on law, history, philosophy, and science at a rate that left even Septon Barth breathless. My mind, a fusion of adult experience and superhuman capacity, absorbed it all, cross-referencing, analyzing, finding the patterns and flaws that history had overlooked. I was no longer just providing solutions to problems as they were presented to me; I was beginning to engage in threat assessment, looking ahead, identifying future crises, and formulating strategies to neutralize them before they could ever manifest.

There was one crisis that loomed larger than any other, a storm on the horizon that I knew would tear the realm apart if left unchecked. It was not a matter of foreign invasion or economic collapse. It was the matter of my family. It was the question of succession.

I had been given a crucial piece of instruction by the cosmic entity that had sent me here—or perhaps it was a conclusion I had reached with my own cold logic. My path to the Iron Throne was not to be one of conquest or political maneuvering in the traditional sense. It was to be a simple, brutal matter of actuarial tables. A war of attrition fought against time itself. Aemon would die in 92 AC. Baelon would die in 101 AC. My other brothers were either dead or disinclined. According to the original history, the Great Council of 101 AC was convened because my father outlived all his most suitable heirs.

But in this timeline, the ledger had a new entry: Prince Aeryn Targaryen. So long as I lived, there would be no ambiguity, no need for a Great Council. At the time of my father's death, I would be his last living, legitimate, and sane son. The line of succession would be clear, direct, and absolute. My goal, therefore, was not to usurp my brothers or play them against each other. That would be chaotic, unpredictable. My business plan was simpler, more ruthless. I would ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm, I would manage the variables, and I would simply… wait.

However, the nine years between Aemon's death and Baelon's would be a period of intense instability. The rivalry between Aemon's daughter, Rhaenys, and her husband, Corlys Velaryon, and my brother Baelon, would sow the seeds of the Dance of the Dragons. It was a chaotic, destructive period that was detrimental to the long-term health of the corporation I intended to inherit. The "wait and see" approach was not enough. A true manager doesn't just wait for a crisis to pass; he mitigates its impact in advance. I needed to address the succession now, not to claim it for myself, but to stabilize it, to remove the ambiguity that would cause the future conflict.

The opportunity to present my thesis came on a cold, windswept night in the eleventh moon. I had requested a private council with my father and Septon Barth. This in itself was a new development. Previously, I had offered my insights when asked. This was the first time I had initiated a high-level strategic meeting. I had framed it, through my mother, as a "child's worry" about his elder brothers that I wished to discuss with my father. They knew better. They knew it was a summons.

We met in the King's solar, the same room where they had debated my existence years ago. A large fire roared in the hearth, fighting a losing battle against the chill that seeped through the stone walls. A map of Westeros lay on the great oak table. I stood before it on a small stool, a diminutive figure in a dark velvet doublet, looking every bit the child I was pretending to be.

"You wished to speak with us, Aeryn?" my father began, his voice laced with the cautious curiosity that now defined our interactions. He and Barth stood opposite me, two giants of statecraft listening to a boy who barely reached their waists.

"Yes, Father," I said, my voice clear and steady. "I have been reading the histories of the Great Houses, as Lord Hand Barth instructed. I have a question about our house. About the future."

"Go on," Jaehaerys encouraged, his eyes betraying nothing.

I pointed to Dragonstone on the map. "Prince Aemon is the Prince of Dragonstone. He is your heir. He has a daughter, Princess Rhaenys." Then I pointed to King's Landing. "Prince Baelon is the master of arms and commands the City Watch. He is your strong right hand. He has two sons, Prince Viserys and Prince Daemon."

I looked up at them, my expression one of studied seriousness. "The law of primogeniture states Aemon's line comes first. But our own history, with King Aegon and his sisters, shows that a male claimant is often preferred over a female. This is a point of… legal ambiguity. It is a weakness in the structure of the realm."

Barth's eyebrows shot up. A seven-year-old was not only discussing the finer points of succession law but identifying the single greatest legal weakness in the Targaryen claim.

"Your point is astute, my prince," Barth said carefully. "It is a matter the maesters of the Citadel have debated for decades."

"Debate leads to conflict," I stated simply. "When Father joins the gods in the sky, and then Prince Aemon after him, the lords of the realm will be forced to choose. Will they choose Princess Rhaenys, the daughter of the eldest son? Or will they choose Prince Baelon, the eldest living son of the King? To choose is to divide. To divide is to invite war."

My father's face was grim. I was voicing his deepest, most private fear. The fear that the peace he had spent his entire life building would shatter the moment he was gone.

"What would you have us do, Aeryn?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Change the law? Disinherit one for the other? That too would invite war."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You do not change the law. You make the law irrelevant by creating a new structure. You do not choose between the two branches of our house. You bind them together so tightly they become one."

I took a deep breath. This was the core of my proposal. It was radical, arrogant, and, from my perspective, flawlessly logical. I was about to draft a treaty between two brothers who didn't even know they were on the verge of becoming rivals.

"Prince Baelon's eldest son, Viserys, is a quiet boy, responsible and good-natured. Princess Rhaenys's eldest child is a girl, Laena Velaryon. They are of a similar age. You will betroth them. Now."

The silence in the room was absolute. Jaehaerys and Barth stared at me, stunned. A betrothal between the lines of Aemon and Baelon was a masterstroke. It would link the two primary competing claims. The child of Viserys and Laena would unite the blood of both sons.

"Furthermore," I continued, pressing my advantage, "the support of Lord Corlys Velaryon is essential. He is ambitious, and his pride is tied to his wife's claim. The Sea Snake will not be easily placated. So you give him something he cannot refuse. You create a new title. Baelon is the King's Hand in all but name, a warrior and a commander. But the seas… the seas belong to the Velaryons. You will name Lord Corlys 'Master of Ships and Lord Admiral of the Royal Fleet,' a permanent seat on the Small Council. You formalize his power, bind him to the Crown with honor and duty, not just marriage."

I wasn't finished. "And then there is the matter of Prince Daemon." I knew Daemon was Baelon's second son, a boy of six, but already showing the wild, ambitious, and dangerous charisma that would define him. He was a rogue variable that needed to be accounted for. "Daemon is a warrior in the making. He craves glory and recognition. He will not be content to live in his brother's shadow. So you promise him a bride of equal standing. Laena's younger brother, Laenor Velaryon, will one day rule Driftmark. But Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys may have other children. If they have another daughter, you betroth her to Daemon. If not, a daughter of a great house. But you also give him a path to glory. You will formally place him under the tutelage of Prince Baelon in the City Watch and promise him command of a section when he comes of age. You give him a purpose, a career path within the corporate structure, to channel his ambition."

I stepped back from the table, my presentation complete. I had just restructured the next two generations of my family. I had proposed a treaty that would neutralize the claims of Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon by absorbing them, cementing their power within the royal structure rather than letting it fester outside of it. I had neutralized the ambition of Daemon by giving it a productive outlet. I had, in effect, prevented the Dance of the Dragons before its seeds had even been properly sown.

Jaehaerys looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He sank slowly into his chair, his eyes never leaving my face. Septon Barth was pale, his hand resting on the table as if to steady himself.

"By the Seven…" Barth breathed. "A perfect political knot. Every party gains something. Every threat is neutralized." He looked at Jaehaerys. "Your Grace, this is… it is a plan worthy of Aegon the Conqueror himself. It is bold, elegant, and comprehensive."

"He speaks of my sons… of their children… as if they are pieces on a cyvasse board," Jaehaerys murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of horror and awe. "Aemon and Baelon love each other. They would never go to war."

"They would not," I agreed, my voice softening. I had to manage his emotional reaction. "But the lords who support them would. Lord Corlys would champion his wife's cause. The lords of the Stormlands might rally to Baelon, their mother's grandson. It would not be the brothers who declare the war, but the realm that would fight it in their names. This plan prevents that. It protects them from the ambition of lesser men. It protects the realm. It protects our house."

I used the words deliberately. Our house. I was positioning myself not as a cold-hearted manipulator, but as a loyal son, concerned with the family's legacy.

My father stood up and walked around the table until he was standing beside me. He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding. He looked down at me, and for the first time, I saw not just fear or awe, but a glimmer of true understanding. He was finally beginning to see the sheer scale of my thinking.

"You see the whole board, don't you, Aeryn?" he said softly. "Not just the game being played, but all the games that will be played in the future."

"I see the threats to our family," I replied, maintaining my cover. "I see the cracks in the foundation. I do not want our house to fall."

He was silent for a long time, his gaze distant. He was running the calculations, seeing the undeniable logic of my proposal. It was politically sound, strategically brilliant, and emotionally devastating. To enact it would be to admit that he had to plan for a future of conflict between his own beloved sons.

"We will consider this… Unwritten Treaty, as I shall call it," he declared, his voice regaining its kingly authority. He looked at Barth. "We will speak to Aemon and Baelon. Not of war, but of unity. We will speak to Lord Corlys. We will float these ideas as our own. We will see if this knot can be tied."

He looked back down at me. "You have given us much to think about, son. You may return to your chambers."

I bowed my head respectfully and left the solar, my heart pounding with a cold, exhilarating thrill. It was the thrill of a successful hostile takeover, of a perfectly executed long-term strategy. I had just fundamentally altered the future of the Seven Kingdoms. I had taken the chaotic, bloody future I knew from the books and imposed my own sense of order upon it.

My path to the throne required stability. It required a strong, unified, and prosperous realm to inherit. War and division were bad for business. With my Unwritten Treaty, I had just secured the company's future, ensuring that when the time came, the assets would be strong, the shareholders happy, and the transition of power to the new CEO would be smooth, orderly, and absolute. The Great Council would never happen. The Dance of the Dragons would be stillborn. I had just saved the life of every major character who died in that conflict, not out of mercy, but because their deaths were an unnecessary and costly expense on the balance sheet of my future kingdom.