Title: The Inheritance of Fire
Title: The Inheritance of Fire
Year and Month: 128 AC, 4th Moon
The machine I had built ran on the quiet, inexorable logic of time. The years following the subjugation of the Iron Islands were a testament to the power of my Great Restructuring. Peace was not an ideal; it was a state of supreme, profitable order. The Seven Kingdoms were a single, colossal enterprise, its divisions working in concert, its revenues flowing steadily into the Crown's coffers. My reign was not exciting. It was not filled with glory or song. It was efficient. It was stable. And it was absolute.
The user prompt from my past life, the mental note I had reviewed, was proving to be a flawed document. The timeline it suggested was compressed, inaccurate. My own ledgers were far more precise. The Royal Audit concluded when my children were four, in 113 AC. The full economic integration of Dorne was a decade-long project, culminating in their submission in 126 AC. The Iron Price Initiative followed a year later, in 127 AC. It was now the spring of 128 AC. My twin children, Jaehaerys and Visenya, were not fourteen; they were nineteen years old, young adults forged in the unique environment of my court, their minds shaped by my philosophies.
They were my greatest assets, the future leadership of the corporation. And it was time for them to receive their primary capital inheritance.
The trigger for this event, like so many others, was a simple matter of actuarial reality. The histories of my past life had recorded the fates of my niece Rhaenys's children, and this timeline, for all my manipulations, had not deviated from those specific personal tragedies. Laena Velaryon, rider of Vhagar, had died in childbirth a year prior, a sad but statistically common end. Her brother, Laenor, rider of Seasmoke, had met his own end six months later, cut down in a squabble over a gambling debt in Spicetown. The official record called it a tragic duel. My own intelligence network suggested it was a more deliberate affair arranged by his own household, but the outcome was the same. Their deaths were personal sorrows for House Velaryon. For me, they were scheduled asset transfers. The two great dragons, Vhagar and Seasmoke, were now riderless. And my decree, the Dragon's Clause, was now due for execution.
This was a delicate matter, a final, brutal test of the new order I had imposed upon my own family. I did not send a raven. This required a personal touch, a carefully staged event to finalize the transfer of power. I sent a summons to the entirety of my living relatives: my ever-loyal sister, Gael; my placid nephew, Prince Viserys, and his family; my tempestuous nephew, Prince Daemon; and, of course, the grieving parents, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys Velaryon. They were all commanded to attend a family council at Dragonstone.
Dragonstone, in the spring, was a grim, beautiful place. The volcanic rock was slick with rain, and the sea crashed against its shores with a relentless fury. It was the perfect setting for the business at hand. The fortress was the forge of our House, and I had brought my family here to witness the forging of its future.
They arrived on a grey morning, their ships cutting through the mist. The Velaryon delegation was a study in contained grief and cold fury. Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, was now an old man, his legendary ambition tempered by the immense personal loss of both his children. His wife, my niece Rhaenys, stood beside him, her face a mask of proud, unbreakable sorrow. Her dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen, remained coiled on the Dragonmont, a crimson symbol of her own enduring power, and her simmering resentment.
Viserys, as always, looked deeply uncomfortable, a man of peace forced to witness a painful family confrontation. Daemon, on the other hand, looked thoroughly entertained, his eyes glittering with anticipation. He understood power, and he knew he was about to witness a masterclass in its application.
I received them in the Chamber of the Painted Table. I did not sit. I stood before the great, carved map of my kingdom. My Queen, Lyanna, stood beside me, her presence a silent statement of the unbreakable alliance between the North and the Throne. Our children, Jaehaerys and Visenya, stood before us, the reason for this gathering. They were nineteen, in the prime of their youth, their serum-enhanced bodies radiating a quiet, formidable strength. Jaehaerys was the image of me, his bearing solemn and analytical. Visenya was her mother's daughter, wild and fierce, her hand resting on the pommel of the small Valyrian steel dagger I had gifted her.
"Thank you all for coming," I began, my voice calm, devoid of any emotional inflection. "We are here today for a somber but necessary purpose. We are here to honor the legacy of Laena and Laenor Velaryon, and to ensure the continuation of our House's greatest strength."
Rhaenys's control finally snapped. "Honor them?" she said, her voice trembling with a rage she could no longer contain. "You summon us to this rock, to the very place where my children learned to fly, to speak of honor? You, who would see their very souls given away like property?"
"They are property, Rhaenys," I replied, my voice gentle but firm. "They are the property of the Crown. A fact I made law thirteen years ago. The Dragon's Clause is not a matter for debate. It is a matter of settled law. Vhagar and Seasmoke are without riders. They are the two most powerful strategic assets in the world, after Balerion. They cannot be left unclaimed. To do so would be an act of gross negligence."
"So you would have your children, these… these children who never knew them, claim their dragons?" Corlys's voice was a low growl. "Vhagar was my daughter's. Seasmoke was my son's. Their spirits are bound to those beasts! Is there no decency, no respect for our grief?"
"Your grief is a personal matter, Lord Corlys," I said, and the coldness in my voice silenced the room. "I acknowledge it, and I regret the pain your family has endured. But my duty is not to any one person's grief. My duty is to the long-term stability and security of this realm. And that security rests on the absolute, centralized control of these assets. They will not be passed down like trinkets. They will be assigned, by me, to the heirs of the Iron Throne, as is my right and my duty."
I looked at him, my gaze unwavering. "You are a man of business, my lord. You understand better than anyone the importance of securing one's most valuable holdings. I am merely acting as a prudent steward of my House's future."
"And what of my grandchildren?" Rhaenys demanded, her voice breaking. "Laena's daughters, Baela and Rhaena. They have the blood. Do they not have a claim?"
"They have a claim to a life of immense privilege and wealth as granddaughters of the richest house in the realm, and as kinswomen to the royal line," I replied. "A claim which I will protect and uphold. But they do not have a claim to a weapon of mass destruction. That is reserved for the direct line of succession. My line."
It was brutal. It was heartless. And it was unassailable. I had used their grief as a reason to convene this meeting, and then I had dismissed that grief as an irrelevant variable in the face of my strategic imperative.
Daemon, who had been watching with rapt attention, spoke up, a slow smile playing on his lips. "The King is right, cousin," he said, addressing Rhaenys. "The law is the law. And the King's law is absolute. The dragons belong to the throne." He was not just supporting me; he was enjoying the spectacle of the proud Velaryons being brought to heel.
I turned from the grieving parents and addressed my children. "Jaehaerys. Seasmoke awaits. The dragon is grieving its rider. It will be confused, angry. Do not approach it with force. Approach it with logic. Let it feel your calm, your purpose. Let it understand that you are not a replacement, but a continuation. A new, necessary partnership."
My son nodded, his violet eyes serious. He understood. This was a negotiation, not a taming.
"Visenya," I said, turning to my daughter. "Vhagar is a different matter. She is ancient, proud, and powerful beyond measure. She knew the Conqueror. She will not respond to logic. She will respond only to strength. She will test you. Do not flinch. Do not show fear. You are the blood of the dragon and the wolf. Show her the fire of our house and the iron of yours. Show her a will stronger than her own."
Visenya's grey eyes glittered. A challenge. It was the only language she truly spoke. "She will be mine, Father," she said with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
We proceeded to the foot of the Dragonmont, the great, smoking volcano that dominated the island. The two riderless dragons were there, drawn by the presence of the other dragons and the scent of their own kind. Seasmoke, a beautiful pale silver, was coiled on a ledge, his head low, a mournful hiss escaping his throat. Vhagar was a bronze behemoth, perched on a high cliff, her immense size making the very rock seem small. She was restless, her great head swinging back and forth, her roar a low, constant rumble of discontent.
Jaehaerys went first. He walked alone towards the ledge where Seasmoke lay, his movements calm and deliberate. The dragon raised its head, its eyes like molten gold, and hissed, a plume of hot steam erupting from its nostrils. Jaehaerys stopped. He did not speak. He simply stood there, his presence a quiet, unthreatening statement of intent.
Through my own link with Balerion, who watched from a high, circling vantage point, I extended a sliver of my own consciousness. I did not seek to command Seasmoke. I sought to communicate. I projected a feeling of calm, of order, of the inevitability of the succession.
Seasmoke seemed to hesitate. He looked at Jaehaerys, at the slim, silver-haired boy who stood before him without fear, without aggression. Jaehaerys took another slow step forward, his hand outstretched. The dragon lowered its great head, its golden eyes blinking slowly. Tentatively, it stretched its neck forward and touched its snout to my son's hand. The bond was forged. A quiet, logical, and orderly transfer of assets.
Then came Visenya.
She did not walk towards Vhagar. She strode. Her dark hair blew wildly in the wind, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. She was a storm of focused will.
Vhagar turned her immense head, her ancient, baleful green eye fixing on the approaching girl. A roar erupted from her throat, a sound of such power and fury it shook the very foundations of the island. It was a challenge, a declaration of her untamable nature.
Visenya did not stop. She walked right into the teeth of that roar, her face a mask of fierce determination. "Lykirī!" she screamed, her voice a whip-crack of High Valyrian. Calm!
The great dragon was taken aback by her sheer audacity. She was a flea screaming at a mountain. Vhagar roared again, a blast of hot air washing over my daughter, threatening to send her tumbling.
But Visenya stood her ground, her feet planted in the volcanic rock.
Visenya shouted again, in the tongue of our ancestors, a string of commands, her voice resonating with a power that seemed far too great for her small frame. She was not asking. She was demanding. She was the wolf-dragon, and she would not be denied.
Vhagar, the ancient terror, the Queen of all dragons, fell silent. She looked down at this tiny, ferocious creature who dared to command her. She saw the Stark defiance in her eyes. She felt the Targaryen fire in her soul. And perhaps, she recognized a spirit as indomitable as the great Queen Visenya for whom my daughter was named.
Slowly, ponderously, the great she-dragon lowered her massive, scarred head to the ground. Visenya walked forward, and with a swift, fearless movement, she placed her hand upon Vhagar's great bronze snout. The bond was sealed. Not in quiet understanding, but in a clash of wills, a conquest.
From the battlements, I watched as my two children, my two heirs, mounted their new dragons. Jaehaerys and Seasmoke took to the air with a quiet, graceful ease. But Visenya and Vhagar were a tempest. The great dragon launched herself into the sky with a roar that echoed across the sea, my daughter's triumphant cry joining with the sound.
Corlys and Rhaenys watched, their faces pale, their expressions a mixture of profound sorrow and utter defeat. They had just witnessed the final, irrevocable transfer of their legacy to my line. Their house was still rich, still powerful. But the fire, the ultimate power, had been returned to its source.
I stood there, the King on my dragon-wrought throne of an island, my Queen at my side, my children now commanding the two greatest dragons in the world. The inheritance was complete. The accounts were settled. The future of my dynasty was not just secure; it was absolute.