Chapter 88 — The Grand Council Concludes
The hall —vast, drafty, and echoing—seemed to swell with every breath of the lords gathered within it. Banners from all Seven Kingdoms hung in heavy folds along the towering stone pillars, their colors muted in the smoky air. The Grand Council had stretched long into the autumn weeks, but now every speech, every promise, and every hidden bargain had brought them to the final edge.
Prince Daemon Targaryen's words still hung in the hall like lingering embers. His bold, unapologetic rhetoric stirred the younger knights and lesser lords, while his wit—cutting as Valyrian steel—had drawn laughter even from men who would never vote for his brother Viserys.
Princess Rhaenys Velaryon rose next, the Sea Snake at her side. Her entrance earned polite applause from the Stormlands, hearty cheers from several northern bannermen, and calls of support from the Sistermen. Yet she walked with the calm of a woman who had long ago accepted that the realm would not cheer so easily for a queen.
"If you choose me," she said, her voice steady and commanding, "I shall rule with fairness, wisdom, and strength. What Viserys promises, I can uphold. What Daemon vows, I can surpass. Westeros deserves a ruler forged of dragon flame and duty—not of convenience."
Her uncle, Lord Boremund Baratheon, applauded first. House Stark and several Stormlords followed, though their enthusiasm could not match what had greeted Daemon's earlier performance.
The Sea Snake took the platform next, his smile a seasoned sailor's confidence.
"I have sailed farther than any man living," Corlys Velaryon declared, "from the mists of Ibben to the burning shores of Sothoryos, from Asshai-by-the-Shadow to the ruins of old Valyria itself. The Stepstones, the Summer Sea, the Jade Sea—I have charted them all. And what I have conquered by sea, my wife will conquer by sky."
That earned proper cheers—mostly from Islesmen, some northern houses, and adventurous bannermen who dreamt of new trade routes and swollen coffers.
Corlys pressed on.
"Elect Rhaenys, and our Valyrian fleet will bring prosperity to the North, security to the Vale, and wealth to the South. We shall bring war to the Triarchy, humble Dorne, and finish what Aegon the Conqueror began!"
The crowd stirred—excited, uneasy, uncertain. His promises were grand, but many lords understood the cost of such ambitions.
Daemon rose, unable to resist.
"Lord Corlys paints a glorious future," he said lightly. "I half-expected him to promise we'd conquer Yi Ti and the Dothraki while we were at it."
Lords Tyrell, Tully, and Lannister laughed aloud, along with half the hall. The Sea Snake's jaw tightened.
"You doubt my resolve?" Corlys snapped.
"I doubt nothing," Daemon replied with a shrug. "I simply note that House Velaryon commands the seas, not the skies. It is dragons that conquer kingdoms, not ships."
Then Daemon delivered the strike.
"Tell us, Lord Corlys—will your heir be Laena or Laenor?"
The hall fell still.
Everyone knew the dilemma:
If Corlys named Laenor, he proved himself hypocritical—campaigning for a queen while refusing a daughter's rights in his own house.
If he named Laena, he implied that Rhaenys, if she ascended the Iron Throne, might pass it to her daughter—ushering in an age of female succession many lords were unwilling to accept.
Corlys hesitated. Too long.
"This is a matter for House Velaryon," he managed at last. "Not one for the Council floor."
Boos broke out. Someone from the Riverlands shouted, "If it concerns the Iron Throne, it concerns us all!"
Before the moment could worsen, Princess Rhaenys stepped forward—quick, decisive.
"If I am chosen," she said, "the question of my heir shall be settled by a future Grand Council. Let the lords of the realm choose—for the realm."
The tension shattered. Applause rolled through the hall, grateful and relieved. Her answer promised nothing concrete yet pleased everyone.
Daemon folded his arms but allowed himself a faint, private smile. A clever response.
THE FINAL CAMPAIGN
With speeches concluded, Grand Maester Runciter struck his staff upon the table.
"Let the lords take counsel and place their votes."
Chaos unfolded in the yard and chambers over the next day.
Corlys gave gifts—too many gifts—ships, jewels, bribes dressed in courtesy. Daemon and Viserys moved among the major lords, securing the great blocks of votes that truly mattered.
THE LION OF CASTERLY ROCK
In the Dragonstone yard, Daemon watched young Jason and Tyland Lannister spar. Tyland—his squire—easily disarmed his twin.
Lord Tymond Lannister laughed.
"Jason is heir to Casterly Rock, yet your squire has surpassed him."
Daemon smirked. "Send Jason to me as well."
Tymond shook his head. "Jason must remain at Casterly Rock. But Tyland—he is a second son. If he earns a place at court under King Viserys, I shall be content."
Daemon understood. A seat on the Small Council. A future Hand of the King, perhaps.
"It shall be done," Daemon promised.
Tymond pushed his luck further.
"And if Princess Rhaenyra and Jason were—"
"No," Daemon cut in coldly. "Support Viserys, and the crown will reward Lannister. Support Rhaenys, and perhaps your son should court Lady Laena instead."
Tymond chuckled. "Honest as ever, Prince Daemon. Very well—I cast my vote for Viserys."
THE RIVERS RUN RED
That night Daemon met Lord Grover Tully.
Corlys had offered him gold, jewels, even charters for Maidenpool and Saltpans.
Daemon went straight for the wound.
"The Riverlands will never obey you so long as your bannermen feel free to ignore Riverrun's commands. Bracken, Blackwood, Frey—half your vassals rule as they please. Elect Viserys, and he will strengthen your authority. Elect Rhaenys, and the Sea Snake will strengthen your rivals."
Grover Tully stiffened—but Daemon saw the truth in his eyes.
"You have my vote," Tully said at last.
THE REALM DECIDES
Viserys gathered allies quickly:
• The Hightowers
• The Faith
• The Citadel
• House Tyrell
• House Florent
• House Redwyne
In the Vale, Viserys gained support from Houses Arryn, Royce, Corbray, Belmore, and others. Aemma Arryn's blood spoke louder than Corlys's ships.
Rhaenys won the Baratheons, the Three Sisters, and Gulltown—but the marcher lords, who despised Dornish customs of female inheritance, turned against her entirely.
The Ironborn , Gavyn Greyjoy, accepted Corlys's gifts—but most of the isles rejected the idea of bending the knee to a woman and voted for Viserys.
At last, under the roar of dragons overhead, the ballots were tallied.
VISERYS WINS THE REALM
The vote was overwhelming.
Viserys Targaryen was named Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.
Corlys Velaryon left the hall in fury, his pride wounded more deeply than his purse. He had spent gold like water—only to watch it flow away.
Princess Rhaenys merely inclined her head. She had foreseen this outcome from the moment the Council began.
The Grand Council was ended.
The realm had chosen its future.
And the game of dragons—for all its glory—was only beginning.
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