A solemn hush hangs over the ancient stones of Harrenhal. Light streams through the high, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the gathered lords—over a thousand heads, cloaked in finery, beneath a sea of banners and sigils. The dragons of old, the krakens, lions, roses, falcons, and direwolves—all assembled beneath one roof, summoned for a single purpose.
At the head of the great hall, upon a raised dais of black stone, sits King Jaehaerys Targaryen—once the wise and mighty Old King, now bowed by the weight of eighty years and a lifetime of sacrifice. His silver hair hangs in wisps. Eyes once sharp are dulled by sorrow.
He has outlived all his sons. He has no clear heir.
Thus, the Great Council was called.
Two scholars of the Tower of Knowledge, robed in grey and white, ascend the dais with a small chest held between them. Their steps are heavy with the significance of the moment. Inside that chest lies the fate of a kingdom.
Fourteen claims to the Iron Throne were heard. But only two names mattered.
At either side of the dais stand the final claimants:
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen (40s), tall and proud, the king's eldest living descendant—daughter of Prince Aemon and Jocelyn Baratheon.
Beside her, her husband, Lord Corely's Velaryon (40s), the Sea Snake, the descendent of legendary demigod Perseus Velaryon. He was steady and unreadable.
Facing them is Prince Viserys Targaryen (30s), soft of face, eyes flickering with nervous restraint—the king's eldest male descendant, son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen. Beside him stands Lady Aemma Arryn (20s), young, pregnant, and visibly anxious.
Behind them, the Seven Knights of the Kingsguard stand like statues of white steel. Another scholar of the Tower stands at the king's side.
Princess Rhaenys.The better seasoned, sharper mind, battle-tested in court and council.
Prince Viserys.The man, and in the eyes of many lords, that alone made him the rightful heir.
The Elder Scholar gently sets the chest on the table before the king and unlocks it. Silence deepens. Jaehaerys opens the lid and draws forth a single square of parchment, sealed in the red wax of the Tower of Knowledge.
He breaks the seal.
His old eyes scan the words.
He lifts his gaze to the hall. The moment stretches and quiet, solemnly announced."The realm has spoken."
A whisper becomes a wave as the hall stirs—Rhaenys has been passed over. The vote: twenty to three. Only the North, the Reach, and Dorne stood behind her—realms allied to the Crown but not truly ruled by it.
The rest? They chose Viserys. Not for wisdom or strength—but because he was a man.
Jaehaerys closes his eyes for a moment. Relief, yes. But grief too. He knew the better choice. He knew it was Rhaenys. His word alone could have made her queen.
But he also knew Daemon.
His spymaster's whispers had confirmed it: Daemon Targaryen was gathering forces, ready to march in support of his brother if the vote displeased him.
And the Old King, who had held the realm together for decades, could not bear to see it torn apart by war—not again.
So he let the lords decide. He let peace choose his heir.
And now the burden is no longer his to carry.
He exhales softly said."Let it be done."
Rhaenys and Corlys were disappointed along with Kings of North, Reach and Dorne.
At Dragon stone, the dim light of the torches flickers against the stone walls, casting long, wavering shadows. The tension in the room is palpable, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Rhaenys stands by the window, her gaze distant as she looks out over the dark, roiling sea. Her eyes are filled with sorrow, her posture weary.
At the center of the hall, Corlys paces angrily, his fists clenched. Suddenly, he slams his fists onto the large oak table, the sound echoing through the room."You should have been chosen as Queen of Westeros! Viserys doesn't have the vision nor the mind of a king!"
Rhaenys turns away from the window, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her disappointment. She sighs deeply."Forget about the throne, Corlys. They would never accept a woman on the Iron Throne.:
Corlys's face twists with frustration. He steps closer, his voice a fierce whisper."History has proven women can be great rulers. The North, Dorne, the Reach—they've all had queens who were beloved by their people."
He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief."They could have chosen Laenor as heir, but no. Jaehaerys is too accustomed to keeping the status quo."
Rhaenys nods, her expression pained. She knows her grandfather has grown complacent in his old age, no longer the decisive leader he once was.
Suddenly, a voice cuts through the tension, echoing in the vast hall."You are right."
Both Rhaenys and Corlys whirl around, their eyes widening in shock. Before them, spectral forms begin to materialize, glowing with an ethereal light. It is Eru and Ulmo, their presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Rhaenys and Corlys drop to their knees, their voices trembling."My Lords."
The spectral figures loom above them, their expressions unreadable. The air grows colder, and the flames of the torches flicker wildly as if responding to their presence. Rhaenys and Corlys dare not lift their eyes, the weight of divine judgement heavy upon them.
Eru spoke up,"The future of Westeros is not as fixed as you believe."
Ulmo added,"Change is coming. Prepare yourselves."
Corlys, taking a deep breath, musters the courage to question the gods."What do you mean by that, My Lord?"
Eru steps forward, his voice resonant and calm."Just as you thought, Rhaenys is a far better choice than Viserys. But Jaehaerys has grown complacent in his old age and fears the conflict that such a decision might provoke. Thus his choice is clouded."
Rhaenys and Corlys exchange a look, their shock slowly giving way to a profound sense of validation. The gods themselves have endorsed Rhaenys as the true heir.
Eru's lips curl into a gentle smile."But for now, do not concern yourselves with the throne."
Confusion flickers across their faces, but there is also curiosity as Rhaenys questioned,"My Lord, what do you mean?"
Eru smiled and answered,"Rest assured, your blood will sit on the Iron Throne. There is a time and place for everything."
Corlys and Rhaenys nod, the divine reassurance sinking in. For Rhaenys, this acknowledgment by the gods is a greater honor than the throne itself.
Eru raises his hand, a serene power emanating from his form and said,"You will not lose. I grant you a land in the Shivering Sea, blessed by the gods, for you to rule. This land will be yours to rule, you cane chose an heir for future and so on."
Rhaenys's eyes widen in shock, while Corlys's face breaks into a proud smile. Ulmo steps forward, his gaze fixing on Corlys."The coming times for Westeros and the Targaryens will be turbulent. Corlys, you must remain as Lord of Driftmark and support the Iron Throne. There should always be a Velaryon at Driftmark."
Corlys nods, understanding the gravity of Ulmo's words. He glances at Rhaenys, whose face is illuminated by a new sense of purpose.
Corlys nodded and replied,"I understand, my Lord. We will uphold our duty."
Eru looked at Rhaenys and said,"My avatar is already looking put for you in Westeros, you may know him as Merlin."
Rhaenys and Corlys was shocked hearing Merlin was Eru' avatar.
The spectral forms of Eru and Ulmo begin to fade, their presence lingering like an afterglow. Rhaenys and Corlys rise to their feet, the weight of their divine encounter settling in.
As the last of the light fades, Rhaenys turns to Corlys, her eyes shining with determination."We have been blessed, Corlys. Now, we must be worthy of it."
Corlys takes her hand, their resolve intertwined and replied,"For our blood and for Westeros."