Chapter 78: The Battle of Succession
Viserys Targaryen had every opportunity to reveal the truth of what happened during the previous night's banquet—truth that could have cast suspicion directly upon Daemon. But Viserys was ever gentle and indecisive. In the end, sentiment won out over sense. He lied to King Jaehaerys, insisting he had simply been too drunk to remember anything clearly.
From where he stood, Ser Otto Hightower, Master of Laws, frowned. He had arrived at Fleamore Castle in the fog-laden darkness after Prince Baelon collapsed. As was his duty, Otto immediately questioned the servants and guards who had attended the feast. By now, he possessed a fairly accurate account of the night's events.
King Jaehaerys listened to Viserys' explanation and believed it—or chose to. But the result was the same. His disappointment was unmistakable.
> "Useless boy," Jaehaerys growled. "Your father dies suddenly, and all you can do is drink yourself senseless. You shame Baelon's memory. You shame mine."
Daemon felt a rare sting of sympathy for his elder brother.
"Grandfather—"
But Viserys lifted a hand to stop him.
"No, Daemon. Grandfather is right. I failed him… and Father. Because I drank myself blind."
Jaehaerys turned away, grief etched deep into every line of his aged face. He had once been surrounded by children—Aemon, Baelon, Daella, Saera, Gaemon. Now only Vaegon, the cold maester of Oldtown; Saera, the exiled princess; and Gael, his troubled youngest daughter, remained alive. And Baelon—the son he had relied upon above all others—was gone.
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The Question of Succession
Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, cleared his throat.
> "Your Grace, with Prince Baelon dead, it would be wise to confirm Prince Viserys as Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."
It was the logical move—and one that might prevent Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys from rallying support for her claim again. Yet Jaehaerys hesitated.
Viserys, drunk during Baelon's final hours, had deeply disappointed him.
> "Not until the cause of Baelon's death is known," the King decided. "The matter cannot be rushed."
Viserys swallowed his frustration and bowed his head.
Ser Otto Hightower sensed an opening.
> "Your Grace," Otto said smoothly, "Baelon was your second son. The succession passed to him only because Prince Aemon died. Now Baelon is gone. The rightful heir is your only living son: Maester Vaegon."
Daemon shot Otto a cold, disdainful glance. Otto's ambition was plain as day. With Jaehaerys nearing the end of his long reign, installing Vaegon—an ascetic, book-bound maester—on the throne would give Oldtown and the Hightowers unprecedented influence.
Ser Ryam objected immediately.
> "Vaegon swore the vows of a maester. He renounced inheritance, marriage, and even the name Targaryen."
Archmaester Yallar, frail and coughing, interjected:
> "Unless His Grace releases him from his vows."
Otto added smoothly, "Vaegon is wise, studious, and disciplined. Qualities fitting for a king."
But Jaehaerys knew his sons.
And he knew Vaegon's cold, joyless heart.
> "We shall summon Vaegon home for Baelon's funeral," he said at last. "Only that."
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The Question of a New Hand
Baelon had served as Hand of the King. With his sudden death, a new Hand had to be named immediately.
Maester Lunettel, acting in place of the Grand Maester, stepped forward.
> "Your Grace, the realm requires a strong and capable Hand at once."
Otto seized the moment.
> "I recommend Ser Ryam Redwyne. He has served as Hand before."
Ryam grimaced. Everyone in the hall knew his previous tenure had been a disaster.
> "I am… not suited to it," he confessed. "Ser Otto Hightower, however, is."
Archmaester Yallar nodded.
"Ser Otto is a prudent statesman. Prince Baelon's natural successor."
Daemon cut in coldly.
> "My brother Viserys is the rightful heir and the best candidate."
But Jaehaerys' disappointment in Viserys remained too fresh.
Lunettel suggested, "Maester Vaegon would be the perfect Hand. His golden chain signifies mastery of economics and governance."
Jaehaerys frowned.
> "No maester has ever served as Hand."
The maester smiled thinly.
> "Until Maester Barth, no maester had ever served on the Small Council. Tradition bends to necessity."
If Vaegon became Hand, he would be one step away from the throne. The Citadel's influence would soar.
Otto pressed his advantage.
Ryam agreed.
Yallar nodded.
It seemed all but settled—
Until King Jaehaerys' gaze shifted to Daemon.
> "Daemon Targaryen," the King declared, "you shall be Hand of the King."
The hall froze.
Even Daemon stared in shock.
Hours earlier, Baelon had threatened to strip Daemon of command. Now Daemon found himself rising higher than ever.
The reason was simple.
Otto had shown too much ambition.
Viserys had shown too little responsibility.
Vaegon was too cold, and Rhaenys too politically dangerous.
Only Daemon remained.
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A New Power Balance
Otto recovered quickly.
> "Your Grace, while Daemon is capable, combining his command of the City Watch with the duties of Hand may overburden him."
Archmaester Yallar agreed.
"Never in history has the Hand also commanded the capital's forces."
Jaehaerys waved a hand.
> "Viserys will aid Daemon. That will suffice."
The message was clear: no single Reachman would control the court.
The councillors bowed and withdrew.
Only Viserys, Daemon, and Alicent remained with the King.
> "Find the truth of Baelon's death," Jaehaerys ordered them. "The realm depends on it."
Daemon's voice was ice.
> "The culprits could be Dorne, the Triarchy, or the Faceless Men."
He did not mention more dangerous possibilities—not while Alicent, Otto's little shadow, stood listening.
Jaehaerys nodded.
> "If poison is found, they will feel the fire of House Targaryen."
Just then Ser Delayn, captain of the Dragonkeepers, entered.
> "Your Grace… the dragon Vhagar has flown east across the sea."
Jaehaerys closed his eyes.
"Baelon is gone. She flies in grief. Perhaps she returns to Dragonstone… to old memories."
But Daemon knew the truth of the histories.
Vhagar was more likely heading toward Driftmark.
He dispatched Rhaegel Greyjoy across the Narrow Sea to trace the dragon's path.
Jaehaerys departed slowly, leaning on Alicent's arm.
The brothers watched him go in silence.
At last Viserys spoke.
> "Daemon… do you truly trust those two women beside you? Alys Rivers and Terra?"
Daemon's reply was sharp and certain.
> "They are not murderers. But those who want us divided are. If you had not been swayed by rumor, if Father had not stormed in furious… he might still live."
Viserys had no answer.
The truth cut too deeply.
Daemon continued:
> "If you fear sorcery, look to Corlys Velaryon. He deals with strange magics from distant lands. He has the strongest motive of all."
Viserys was startled.
> "The Sea Snake?"
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Driftmark Receives the Raven
When the raven arrived at High Tide, Corlys Velaryon broke into a cold sweat.
> "Baelon… dead?"
Beside him, the blue-lipped Qartheen warlock he had hired murmured:
> "The death you prayed for has come, Lord Sea Snake."
Corlys drew a dragonbone dagger and pressed it to the warlock's throat.
> "Did you kill him, you damned fool?"
The warlock only smiled.
> "I suggested it. I did not act. What happens is the will of the gods. Assassination is for the Sorrowful Men of Qarth, not for warlocks."
He leaned close.
> "What matters is this: Baelon's death clears the path for your wife, Princess Rhaenys, the rightful Queen of Westeros."
Corlys slowly lowered the blade.
This had been his dream for years—yet he had not intended for it to unfold this way.
> "Then I must move quickly," he muttered. "Before Jaehaerys names Viserys heir… or Vaegon."
The warlock's eyes glowed faintly.
> "Beware Daemon. He is now Hand of the King. His sons have dragons. He grows stronger by the day."
Corlys scowled.
> "That man… is trouble."
The warlock only smiled.
"Good. The Dragon you hoped for is rising."
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