Rhaegar and King Jaehaerys II stood over the map of Westeros, the parchment marked with the sigils of the great houses.
The North was too cold. Dorne too hot. The Iron Islands too small. The Stormlands too wind-scoured.
Better lands lay elsewhere: the mountainous yet sea-kissed Vale, the wealthy southern Reach under House Tyrell, the Riverlands under House Tully, and the rich Westerlands of House Lannister.
Jaehaerys's finger drifted past the wolves of the North, circled away from the Iron Islands, then slid on, skirting Dorne at last.
"Do you think the realm will remain at peace forever, my child?" the king asked. "After I die, can you keep the peace?"
Rhaegar did not answer quickly. His gaze stayed on the painted coastlines and the clustered sigils, as if the ink itself might stir.
"No," he said at last. "The fires of war are still gathering."
He would not lie to his grandsire, not when war would be one of the great themes of the continent to come. The lords would mend their strength after Blackfyre's rebellions, and pour fresh blood into the next conflict.
Jaehaerys studied him, and something like approval settled in the old king's eyes. The thought came unbidden, sharp as a pin: why had such sense not passed cleanly to his son Aerys, when his grandson already showed the edge of a young dragon?
Rhaegar knew what truly worried the king.
The rise of the rose. The rise of the lion.
"Compared with the other great lords, the Westerlands and the Reach have advantages that stand apart," Jaehaerys said. "Rhaegar. Tell your grandsire what you see."
"The Westerlands' wealth is not only gold," Rhaegar replied, voice steady. "It is also the weakness of its lesser lords. House Reyne may look fierce, but its strength is limited. At most, they can gather a thousand men."
He shifted his hand toward the south.
"The Reach is rich for different reasons. People. Grain. If not for powerful bannermen who will not bow easily, House Tyrell would have marched on King's Landing long ago to grasp at power."
Jaehaerys raised one finger and set the golden lion beside a blooming green rose on the map, placing them shoulder to shoulder.
"Each great lord has his strengths," the king said, "but in land, resources, and population, the Reach and the Westerlands stand above the rest. The Reach is the granary of Westeros. The Westerlands are its treasury."
He sat back, as though the chair carried more weight than wood ever should, and his eyes narrowed with the memory of recent reports.
"Rhaegar," Jaehaerys asked, "what news comes from those two regions?"
"I have heard a little," Rhaegar said. "Tywin's younger brother is in the Westerlands, collecting debts and putting down bandits. As for the Reach, Lord Tyrell and his lady wife are trying to draw House Hightower in with feasts and friendship."
Rhaegar had heard the same whispers from other mouths as well.
The Westerlands simmered with unrest. The south chased peace with velvet gloves.
Tywin's younger brother had begun to show steel in the west, but House Reyne, the red lions, treated it as little more than noise. In the Reach, after binding themselves to House Redwyne, the Tyrells piled courtesy upon courtesy at the feet of House Hightower.
Whether through war or through peace, two mighty houses had already stepped onto the stage of their ascent.
"I have a sense that Westeros is nearing a great turning," King Jaehaerys said. His voice thinned, and for a moment his gaze slid away from the map, as if it hurt to look too long at the future. "But since our House lost the dragons, we cannot refuse change. We can only seek opportunity within it."
History surged onward, and he could not dam it.
The great lords had finished consolidating their hold, and now they rose, eager to reshape the balance in King's Landing. The broken betrothals among his siblings, and the fire at Summerhall, had hastened the decline of their House. Without dragons, House Targaryen had lost its strongest weapon. Without dragons, House Targaryen had also lost the surest foundation for commanding marriage alliances.
"The most striking are House Lannister in the west and House Tyrell in the south," Jaehaerys continued. "Both are tightening their grip. Once they finish, they will show the realm their splendor. The trend of Westerosi history will be the rise of Lannister and Tyrell."
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, once, then again.
"Lady Tyrell, and the Lannisters' little lion, Tywin, are not figures to underestimate."
Jaehaerys looked at Rhaegar.
Then, as if pulled by habit, he thought of his son Aerys.
No one knew a child like a father did. Aerys's gifts were ordinary. His hand on the board was clumsy beside other players. The king could only hope he himself, or that great lord he relied upon, might live a few years longer, long enough to guide Aerys into something steadier.
Among the Seven Kingdoms, the Westerlands and the Reach held power far beyond the rest.
Both were already strong, yet both were still bound by restraints. If those restraints were cut away, their brilliance would blaze.
In the south, Lord Tyrell's marriage tie with House Redwyne had already forged an alliance between the two houses. They kept widening that circle. If House Hightower joined, a Tyrell–Redwyne–Hightower host would weigh down the Reach like a mailed fist, freeing a terrifying force.
"You must be wary of the rise of the rose and the lion," Jaehaerys said. "Tywin may be on good terms with your father, but caution is still necessary."
His eyes hardened.
"House Tyrell has long been bound by low prestige and overmighty bannermen. They have never produced a figure as exceptional as a queen, or a Hand of the King. But if the rose joins hands with Redwyne and Hightower, they will surely covet power in King's Landing."
Rhaegar nodded.
The old king's foresight drew a quiet ache through him. The king could see what was coming, and still could not stop it. What followed, later, would prove the point.
Jaehaerys had failed to foresee the wolf-king's strategy of marching south, but that was no fault of his.
Few wolves hungered for the south. The North offered its own vastness, its own freedom. That an old wolf would one day choose to go south was madness, plain and simple.
"Ah," Jaehaerys said, as if chasing a thought he had nearly lost. "Speaking of it. A young lady of House Redwyne was once meant to marry your great-uncle, Prince Daeron."
The king's mouth twisted, not quite a smile.
"But Prince Daeron preferred men to women, so the match had to be abandoned. And your grandmother was once meant to marry Lord Tyrell."
He exhaled, and the breath sounded tired.
"In the end, after all the members of our House married as they pleased, those two nobles became husband and wife instead."
Rhaegar watched the king closely.
The rulers of Westeros should have been King Aegon V and his family, unshaken and whole. Yet their regrets, and their broken betrothals, had carved deep into the realm's balance, and helped set the stage for the rose's ascent.
Westeros clung to rank and equivalence as if to iron law. Great nobles married great nobles. Choices narrowed by birth order, by whether one was the eldest or the spare.
His great-uncle Duncan had arranged a match for him with a daughter of House Baratheon.
His grandsire Jaehaerys had arranged a match for him with a young lady of House Tully.
And for the third son, Prince Daeron, a match had been arranged with a maiden of House Redwyne.
All of them carried weight enough to shake the realm.
Even so, the differences between those matches were plain as daylight.
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