THE LADY - Jacaerys Velaryon

xviii. A Council Of The Great Houses

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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A  C O U N C I L  O F  T H E  G R E A T  H O U S E S

           VISERYS TARGARYEN WAS a naïve king. He had been poisoned by the talons of his lord hand and his wife, they slowly took over who he was, took over his family. The Hightower's were slowly engraving themselves to sit upon the Iron Throne.

           Their blood. They wanted their blood on the throne.

           But, long before the Hightowers has planted their descendants—three boys and a girl—in House Targaryen, Viserys had already supplanted an heir. Rhaenyra Targaryen. She formed no blood of the Hightowers, and instead, Viserys claimed, she was dawned upon him by the Valyrian gods, as a gift.

           And what a wonderful gift she was.

           Viserys was turned sickly, and quickly the kingdom started to realise that when he past there was one of two ways the throne could be passed down too.

           Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir, the firstborn child on King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma Arryn. The Realms Delight, first of her name, the first Queen to sit the Iron Throne.

           Or, Aegon II Targaryen, the firstborn son of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, he would be named a usurper by oathkeepers and the true king by oathbreakers. Second of his name.

            Viserys couldn't see the claws of the Hightowers sinking deep in him and draining him of his power, but what he could see was the brink of war the kingdom seemed to fall into.

            As he sat at the head seat upon his council for the first time in what felt like years, he could feel their piercing stares penetrate his rotten skin. Hearing his raspy groans of pain echo across the halls made him grimace in embarrassment. He was a king, yet he was as weak as a commoner.

            "We have been given some intel, Your Grace, from a spy in Essos that a magister has begun to gather and army and is planning on invading the west." Lord Otto Hightower said from beside the king, he sat taller and his voice boomed and didn't sound weak.

           Viserys, compared to Otto, looked pathetic. But this was his kingdom, his crown, his rules. No matter how hard Otto Hightower tried, he would always be the Lord Hand, he would wipe the shit the king couldn't.

            "And what have we done about that?" Viserys questioned, tilting his head to the Lord Hand, silently wishing Lord Corlys was here instead.

            "We have sent ten ships over, with five thousand men overall, but that will not be enough."

            "Why did you not console me on sending my men to battle?!" Viserys questioned angrily, now finally realising his wife sat beside him, a grimace on her face. Calmly, she placed a hand on his arm, making him whip his head to her.

            "Viserys, you were not...your mind was—terribly clouded." She whispered the last part, hoping the lords would see that the crown was not weakening. But they didn't need to hear the words of the queen when the king was sitting in front of them becoming a sloppy mess.

            Viserys nodded slowly, she was right, he was becoming a little slow, he couldn't even apprehend the words his wife had just muttered without putting in some extra thought.

            "What do you suggest we should do when the five thousand men fail? My Lord Hand?" Lord Beesbury questioned from across the other end of the table, his jaw clenched as he stared at the three royals ahead of him.