"The end comes for all. Best to embrace it."
The Seven Kingdoms were mine.
That was no avaricious boast, no claim to kingship, no exaggeration. It was a simple fact. As Prince Regent, I was king in all but name. Were it my desire, I could easily become king. It would be less than an hour's work, all things considered.
But as the Small Council- or rather, as my Small Council- was gathered before me, my first concern was not with dismissing my claim. No, my first priority was managing expectations.
"Six years," I said simply. All around the table, I was met with largely querying looks. To see those looks on lord Tyrell and Maester Elysar was not surprising. Neither of the men were part of my inner circle. To my immediate left, my niece looked like she was expecting me to draw a knife and slash her throat at a moment's notice. By contrast, the ones in my inner circle wore looks of patience. Corlys in particular kept a good-natured smile plastered on his face. "We have six years until my niece comes of age and assumes the regency."
Or the throne in her own right, for that matter. The girl was ten. In five years, she would be a grown woman, capable of ruling in her own right. When that happened, I needed to be anywhere else, lest her rule be undermined by my mere presence.
The last three occupants of the room reacted in line with Braxton and Corlys. Most likely because they, too, had been informed ahead of time. To my immediate right, Maegelle's perpetually warm smile did not waver. At the far end of the table, Martyn Mooton and Desmond Darry were in attendance with a sly grin and a calm mien respectively.
"And?" Braxton asked. "Does that change anything?"
"It means we need to make plans," I said. "She needs to be prepared to rule."
"More teaching?" Corlys asked. "That is your expertise, not mine."
"And she is in the room with us," Maegelle pointed out, turning to face the little girl on my opposite side. "For now, just pay attention little one. It will be a few weeks yet before will be asking for your input."
"Thank you…" the girl managed to stammer out, and a knot of guilt settled in my gut. I should have been used to traumatizing little girls by then, but I suppose that was something I would never get used to. And that was something I considered a blessing.
"Say it with confidence, Rhaenys," I said.
"Thank you," she repeated, stronger this time. The confidence was forced, of course, but it would do. A mummer's confidence was better than none at all.
"Better," I said. "Then the first order of business: confirming Rhaenys as Princess of Dragonstone. Any objections?"
"Your Grace…" Elysar began to speak, no doubt about to mention precedent of kingdoms that were vassals to the Iron Throne, but I cut him off before I could continue. My hand dropped to my belt, drawing the pale blade and flipping it onto the table, blade pointed at the Grand Maester. He paled before speaking again. "Your Grace makes a very valid and reasonable point."
I barely heard him, distracted by the ghost of a red stain along the tip of the blade for a fraction of a moment. Once I blinked, the weapon returned to its uniform milky white. Around me, none of the other councilors objected to my announcement.
Probably because most of them had known of my plan in advance.
"We are all in agreement then," I announced.
"There are better ways to win an argument." Lord Tyrell's concern was writ clear upon his features.
"There is a certain finality to this one," I responded as a reassuring hand came to rest on my shoulder. Maegelle's, I knew. She knew what I had planned for this regency. "And one that lets us focus on more important tasks. Rhaenys."
"Yes?" the girl seemed surprised to be addressed.
"You will be visiting the Dragonpit this week," I told her, and the girl's eyes went wide. "Familiarize yourself with Caraxes before you claim him. Once you do, you will join your aunts and cousins in their flying lessons."
Rhaenys needed this. Not just the legitimacy that riding a dragon would bestow, but people her own age around her. Or very slightly younger than her. Some friends, companions. Not that they would all last, of course. Viserys, Aerion, and Aerea would not thank me for building up another friendship before breaking it apart in a few short years.
Hopefully, they would be able to forgive me.
"What of the empty spot on the Small Council?" Martyn asked. "We need a new Master of Laws."
"Might I suggest Lord Baratheon?" Lord Tyrell said, stroking his beard. "It would help soothe any tempers that the past weeks might have stoked."
By all rights, it was the natural suggestion. He had familial ties, was the uncle to the Princess of Dragonstone, was a powerful lord, and had recently had his good-brother killed. Appeasing him would be an excellent political idea.
"I am already championing his niece's claim to the throne," I said instead, dismissing his concerns. "Besides, he is my uncle. He would not dare to openly move against me. No, we need someone else."
"Lord Greyjoy, mayhaps?" Corlys suggested with a grin. He, too, knew what I had planned for this regency.
"He did help win the war," I said, weighing my options. Yes, that would work. Nobody liked the Ironborn. And it meant the most warmongering culture in the realm was deprived of the direct leadership their immediate liege. And it kept him closer to his newer holdings in the Stepstones, which I could have him oversee if I needed him gone for a few weeks. "Send a raven."
And he was hardly a scandalous choice. Lord Greyjoy was a ruler of an entire kingdom, after all, and had been one of the most important contributors of the war in Dorne. There would be some muttering, as there always would be, but nothing too bad. If there was one thing that the people of Westeros understood, it was power distance.
"Your Grace, I fear I am missing something," Elysar said. Odd that he would begin with the honorifics now. Did he honestly believe… wait, yes, he would. My sword was still on the table. "These decisions of yours seem… uncharacteristically foolish."
"They are meant to be," Braxton answered. "It will make Rhaenys seem more palatable in comparison. As the first queen of Westeros, she will need any advantage she can get."
The girl in question looked up that, her expression quizzical.
"And you know this how?" Lord Tyrell asked.
"We discussed this when he returned from Oldtown," Maegelle chimed in. "It is only right that the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms is given all they need to succeed."
"Which is why we have six years to push this narrative," I concluded. "Braxton, have the singers spread some rumors."
"About?"
"Something suitably disreputable," I said. "But not offensive. We do not wish to inspire action, only idle chatter."
"Mayhaps how you commissioned a crown from some prominent goldsmiths?" Desmond suggested.
"Not even a lie, that," I admitted, before pausing for a moment. Yes, that would do. "See it done."
"My apologies, Your Grace, but why are you trying to sully your good name?" Lord Tyrell asked. "You do realize that these actions risk inviting the malcontented to make attempts on your life once the regency ends, yes? Or worse, during the regency?"
"So long as I do not infringe upon any rights or privileges, I expect the rumblings will remain just that," I said. Father had turned centuries, if not millennia, of rules against incest on their head in less than a year. And before him, with the disastrous reigns of Aenys and Maegor, rebels had fought against the king as a person, not the idea of a united Westeros. Even if I became that bad, it would unite the realm behind Rhaenys. "And I do not intend to be in Westeros for long after the end of the regency. Hence the need to turn my niece into a suitable ruler sooner rather than later."
"Even Maegor's misrule could not inspire the realm to destroy the kingdom the Conqueror forged. And even he managed to hold on for six years," Maegelle pointed out.
"Six years.. not all that much time," Martyn said. "So where are we going after that?"
"Pentos," I revealed. "Thousands of slaves, the native Andals repressed and marginalized… there are people who need my help." A moment later, my friend's precise wording fully settled in my mind. "What do you mean by 'we'?"
"Well, we certainly cannot let you go charging off on your own," Maegelle said with a sly smile. The kind that either presaged a very pointed remark or her listing her price for me running off to war. "That would just invite disaster."
"Setting up a realm on my own is slightly more complicated than my past experience, true," I admitted. "But I have the next six years to learn. And you lot have your own duties in Westeros. Like lordships you stand to inherit. Or already have."
I gave Corlys a meaningful look.
"My duties are not terribly exhaustive," Corlys said, waving off my concerns. "What little I cannot do by raven, I can delegate. Or am already delegating."
Right, he had had plenty of time to pick up a few tips for Lord Tyrell. The Master of Coin had been ruling an entire kingdom from the other side of the continent. If he could do it, then it stood to reason Corlys could do the same.
"My father is young," Martyn noted, equally unconcerned.
"As is mine, and healthy besides," Desmond admitted. "And someone needs to balance Martyn's madness. It would be most foolish to do otherwise."
"And I can hardly deprive Saera of her favorite brother, can I?" Braxton asked. "Say the word and you will have my sword at your side."
"Not much of an offer," Martyn commented, nodding towards the sword on the table. "Vaegon's is a lot nicer than yours."
"Why must you ruin the sentiment?"
"Because you make it easy."
"I am never going to be rid of you lot, am I?" I asked, my tone light.
"Only when you die," Corlys answered.
Briefly, very briefly, I was tempted to ask why I would be the first to die. There was some risk-seeking behavior, certainly, but it was hardly that bad. Taming a notoriously angry dragon, thrown from a horse at a tourney, angering a dragon, going to war, fighting in Dorne for a month, getting ambushed at a wedding, fighting a war some more, fighting a trial by combat...
In hindsight, there was plenty of reason to assume. Especially since I was going to head to war in a few years. Again. After intentionally antagonizing the nobility of Westeros.
Scratch that, my premature death was almost a given.
And if that happened, at least the world would be spared a needless war, and my niece's reign would be secure. Not that the rest of the realm would agree. Maegelle would be heartbroken. The children would join Viserys in depression. The responsibility of being an actual father would be passed off to someone else, for the second generation in a row. And the nobles I will have spent years snubbing and sidelining? Well, I could pretty well imagine their response.
And nothing of value was lost.
It was enough to make me chuckle.
"Now that my foolishness has been handled, we have more pressing business," I said, relaxing a bit in my seat at the head of the table. The king's seat. "I have a bank, a fleet, a few thousand loyal veterans, and dozens guilds that are begging for my patronage. It is our duty to find a way to use them to improve the realm. Any ideas?"
This was to be a balancing act, after all.