perzys ānogār - house of the dragon

chapter 3

"I had a dream," Viserys sighed into his hands as he looked at his eldest daughter.

"A dream?" Rhaenyra asked as she wondered why her father had her requested in his chambers, declaring it a serious and private matter.

"It was a dream? A vision? I do not know," Viserys held his head by his hands as a pulsing pain was gathering in his head. He tried to remember the details, but all he knew was that a war was coming. Dragons against dragons, fire burning men as wolves ate their remaining flesh. "I saw dragons fighting dragons, fire lighting our lands, and wolves eating the flesh of men who fought to protect us."

Rhaenyra paled at her father's words, tensing. Perhaps it was only a vision, but one could never be so sure. "Do you suggest a war between Houses?"

"That is the problem, Rhaenyra. I do not understand it. There could be thousands of meanings behind it. Perhaps the North had taken our dragons and waged war against us; perhaps it was our House fighting against one another. There is no one exact meaning," Viserys groaned as blood began dripping from his nose, staining his robes. Rhaenyra quickly supported her father and directed him towards a leather chair as she stood beside him, watching in worry.

"I know one thing, there will be war. When? I do not know. It could be in hundreds of years, it could be now, but the North and our House will take part in it. Or even it could have been just a dream I had. One could never be too sure," he said, his eyes clouding in worry about what this could mean.

"One can never know the true meaning of dreams, which it just could have been, father," Rhaenyra said as she placed a comforting hand on her father's shoulder. "I understand your worry, if anything, we should strengthen our ties with the North, to prevent any possibilities."

"That is what I was thinking of; however, there is truly only one possibility, which I have certainty it will work," Viserys said, his eyes drifting to look at his heir, her brows furrowed, keen to know her father's plan. "A betrothal between the two houses."

"And who do you wish to marry off? Aegon is young, however, I do not know any daughter's of Lord Rick-" Rhaenyra's eyes widened at the realization of who her father was talking about, and the man winced as he saw the anger in his daughter's eyes. "You cannot possibly wish Rhaea to be married off and sent into far lands where you will not even know whether she will be alive. How will she survive winter?"

"I do not know, but we are given little to no choice."

"Father, there has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath, and Lord Rickon swore to be loyal to me when you named me heir," Rhaenyra argued, annoyance lacing her tone as she began pacing around her father's chambers, fiddling with the rings on her fingers.

"Exactly," Viserys said, pointing his finger at Rhaenyra. "Lord Rickon swore his loyalty. But his son, who will soon become the Lord of the North, might not feel the need to hold his father's oath." Viserys huffed, his eyes turning sterner as he looked at his daughter. "Despite everything, I will send Rhaea to the North; I have requested your presence in hopes that you have a different idea. I am not happy about this either."

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, but nothing came out as she harshly pulled her rings. She wished she had a better idea—one where her sister wasn't sold off like an animal at the mere age of five summers.

"Cannot the boy come here? To King's Landing?" Rhaenyra negotiated. She didn't want her sister to leave her; they meant the world to one another, and they were the only thing they had, both being the daughters of Aemma.

"Lord Rickon would not let his son leave Winterfell. If he is one day to become the Lord of the North, he must train and learn to make him a powerful leader. And we both know Rhaea is only the Princess of Dragonstone once she becomes of age. She does not have an important duty, unlike the boy."