'A great man once told me: 'To elude a storm, you can either sail into it or around it. But you must never await its coming'...
'Later, my sister said something similar: 'The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers'...
'Verily, to them, I say:
'I am the storm.'
- Quote taken from 'The Travels of Fyrio Fartold'
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"So I said to him, 'Well, I believe you might be looking up the wrong end."
The small council convened in their chambers. Laughter in the air as King Viserys delivered an exceptional punch line.
Those in attendance laughed along.
There was Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin. Though he had a lush set of hair back then, his saggy skin — especially around his eyes — made the man appear even older than his mid-fifties. That said, by all accounts, he was a diligent and discerning Master of Coin.
Next there was Grandmaester Mellos. Were it not for his lack of hair and scholarly robes, you could not be blamed for mistaking him for Lord Beesbury. It didn't help that the pair sat next to each other.
Mellos arrived in Kings Landing some decade prior at the behest of King Jaehaerys. The old king, enamored with Prince Rhaenar's early genius, sent word to the Citadel, and as a result, the conclave sent Mellos and some companions to become Rhaenar's tutor.
Further along the table, closer to the King, was Lord Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws. Despite his family's strong blood ties to the first men and reputation for their martial prowess, Lord Lyonel was a well-studied man, having studied at the citadel and forging six chain links before arriving at court.
Finally, opposite Lord Lyonal in the seat closest to the head of the table was Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. Otto was the father of Lady Alicent, and his service to the crown extended to three different kings. In this manner, when it came to stewardship, Ser Otto was perhaps the most experienced in all the realm.
But there was one man present who was not laughing. Sat at the opposite end of the table from the king was Lord Corlys Valaryon, Master of Ships. Still, he was not one to talk over his king. He waited patiently for the laughter to settle down.
Then Lord Corlys said calmly, "My Lords, the growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself 'The Triarchy.'"
He stood and unrolled a map of the Stepstones, a chain of islands southeast of Westeros.
"They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation."
"Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys," said King Viserys.
Lord Corlys regarded the king's face for a moment. 'Rhaenar may be his son, but his eyes are all they share.'
However, Corlys' distaste for the passive of King Viserys was properly veiled by his political acumen.
"A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy."
It was at that moment that Rhaenyra entered the chambers. Out of her dark riding gear and now in a gold satin dress that clung to her bodice and showed her slim frame.
Lord Corlys did a slight nod of acknowledgment to the princess as he continued his brief, "They call him 'The Crabfeeder' due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies."
"And are we meant to weep for deed pirates?" asked the King.
"No, Your Grace," said Lord Corlys, deflated by the question. With each passing reply where his King obviously took no interest in the matter, an ember of frustration sparked in his stomach.
"Rhaenyra," said the King, happy for the distraction, "You're late. King's cupbearer must not be late. Leaves people wanting for cups."
"I was visiting mother," replied the princess, and she kissed Viserys on the cheek.
One sniff and the King could tell the lie, "On dragonback?"
Lord Corlys knew he was defeated by this point. The matter of the Stepstones would have to be brought up another time.
'This inertia is madness!' he thought, and went back to his seat. Rhaenyra went about her cupbearer duties and filled each Lord's chalice with wine. But when she got to Corlys he covered his cup.
Lord Beesbury took the opportunity to speak, "Hey, Your Grace, at Prince Daemon's urging, the Crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch. I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat in the council and provide an assessment on his progress as commander of the Watch."
Indeed, the seat to the King's left was empty.
"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present task?" asked Viserys, "And that his thoughts and energies aren't occupied?"
"Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs."
"Then let us all consider your gold well invested, Lord Beesbury."
Nope. In just a few sentences of this conversation and Lord Corlys got triggered back to his matter at hand, "I would urge you not to allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports—!"
Ser Otto had remained stoic all this time. He said sternly, "The Crown had heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement."
Corlys widened his eyes at that. Ser Clement Crabb, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood behind the King, his hand instinctively drifting to the hilt of his sword in response to the Seasnake's slip of expression.
Corlys gazed long and hard at the King, hoping for some sign, any indication that the severity of the issue had registered on the monarch's face.
Viserys returned his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the Seasnake dared to feel hopeful. He held his breath in anticipation.
But reality settled in, a foolish dream. Corlys released a silent sigh, shoulders sagging with disappointment.
In that moment, Corlys wished for Prince Rhaenar to finally assume an official position in the small council.
He embodied the essence of action. At age 11, he transformed a rag-tag bunch of Crownland peasants into a standing army. Corlys himself had witnessed their unimpressive state when he assisted in ferrying them over to Dragonstone.
By 14, Rhaenar had personally led a successful campaign against the Mountain Clans, vanquishing them from the Vale in less than six moons. For this, the King bestowed to him Blackfire, the famed Valyrian blade once wielded by Aegon the Conqueror.
'Rhaenar's affiliation with the Vale is widely known,' pondered Lord Corlys. 'With close connection to both House Arryn and House Royce, there is no doubt his faction is wondering how this development might impact trade in Gulltown. The council requires his voice now more than ever.'
Yet, Rhaenar argued that his youth disqualified him from joining the council officially, citing concerns about undermining its prestige. "It would insult this council," he always said.
Such assertions were nonsensical to Corlys. In all but name, Rhaenar was the de facto Prince of Dragonstone,.(Despite the technicality of Prince Daemon's continued rule until Rhaenar officially turned 16).
If Rhaenar pushed the matter, Viserys would readily bestow official status upon him.
However, the Prince seemed content to delay, and the rest of the small council were equally willing to go along, keen to safeguard their own authority while ensuring the council chambers remained free from the stench of a dragon rider.
Why does Rhaenar choose this approach? Corlys couldn't shake the feeling.
'The wind is stirring.'
Ser Otto continued, "Shall we discuss your future child's tournament, Your Grace?"
King Viserys beamed with glee, "I would be delighted!"
He turned to the Grandmaester, "Will the maesters' name day prediction hold, Mellos?"
"You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have been… poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be."
"The cost of the tournament is not neglible," added Lord Beesbury, "Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?"
Lord Lyonel groaned at that. How many times must he go over this?
"Ugh, most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing already. To turn them back now—"
King Viserys took over, "The tourny will take the better part of a week. Before the games are over, my son will be born, and the whole realm will celebrate."
The way King said 'son' piqued Rhaenyra's interest.
'Why this obsession with another son, Father?' she thought. 'You have Rhaenar and me, don't you?'
Mellos tried to be the voice of reason, "We have no way of predicting the sex, Your Grace.
"Of course," the King replied, "No maester's capable of rendering opinion free of conditions, are they now? There's a boy in the Queen's belly, I know it. And my second son will soon put an end to all this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself."
Lord Corlys leaned back in his chair and glanced at the Hand of the King.
'So that's your game, Otto? It is unclear if you have forsaken the pursuit of securing Rhaenar's hand for your daughter. Surely, you do not lend credence to the tales of 'Rhaenar the Reckless'?'
Corlys found himself mired in a similar vexation. How often had he and his lady tried to persuade the King to betroth their daughter, Laena, to the prince?
All Corlys could do was shake his head.
'The lad remains a stripling, yet we labor tirelessly to mold him to our desires. Nay, I suspect he takes pleasure in our guesswork; our futile attempts to exert control.'
A cool wind swept the council chambers. Or was it his imagination?
Either way, Lord Corlys shivered.