-Aemon's POV-
After the funeral, the family was tense.
No one said anything aloud—we were all waiting for Otto to reach King's Landing, and none of us wanted to worsen Queen Alysanne's condition. But the undercurrents were already shifting. The matter of succession loomed over us like a storm.
Whispers moved like shadows through the Red Keep. Father and Uncle Daemon had started meeting with the lords of the Vale and the Reach. There were quiet alliances forming, interests clashing behind closed doors. Lord Corlys Velaryon was gathering his fleet, and the Baratheons of Storm's End had pledged support to Princess Rhaenys' claim.
When Otto Hightower arrived, he was named Hand of the King without hesitation. Tension filled the halls.
And then came the worst news—Queen Alysanne was dying.
I didn't stop to think. I ran.
Rhaenyra held my hand the whole way to her chambers. I could barely breathe. When we arrived, the room was already full—so many people, too many. The King stood near her bed, pale and silent.
She was whispering something to my father... and then to Rhaenys. I saw the way their faces shifted—shame, maybe. But I didn't care. I just wanted to reach her in time.
Rhaenyra and I moved forward together, and each of us took one of her hands. She looked up and gave us a soft smile.
That smile—it reminded me of my mother from my past life. A kindness that felt eternal… but I knew it wouldn't be.
With trembling fingers, she wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Will you send me off with tears, Aemon? Rhaenyra? Give me one last smile."
I tried. I really tried. But I couldn't stop crying.
"I'm sorry," I choked. "I'm sorry. I always arrive too late... I can never do anything."
She shook her head weakly. "Life and death are both gifts, Aemon. Some things we cannot stop. Living long is not always a blessing… and living with regret is far worse. Just—don't lose yourself. Not to pain, not to anger. Losing your life is better than losing your soul."
Her words froze me. My breath caught in my chest.
She looked straight into my eyes. "You'll get there… when the time comes… Empe—"
Her voice caught. Her hand loosened.
And just like that, she was gone.
"NO!" Rhaenyra screamed, clutching her hand. Mother rushed in, pulling her back, but the damage was done.
I couldn't move.
Her words echoed in my head. You'll get there… when the time comes...
But it hadn't felt like she was talking just to me.
The capital mourned.
Good Queen Alysanne, beloved by all, was gone. She had lived with grace, mercy, and wisdom. Now House Targaryen prepared for another funeral.
On Dragonstone, Vermithor lit her pyre at the command of King Jaehaerys. I had never seen him look so broken. The man who had once ruled with absolute authority now stood silent before the flames, a shadow of the king he used to be.
And still, Westeros did not rest.
After mourning came politics.
The question of succession returned with a vengeance. With war looming on the horizon, the King summoned his only living son, Archmaester Vaegon, from the Citadel. After a brief private council, the King made a decision.
A Great Council would be held at Harrenhal. All the lords of Westeros would gather to cast their vote for the next heir to the Iron Throne.
Great Council of 101 AC
Harrenhal
They said nearly a thousand lords came. The nearby town of Harrenton swelled to become the fourth-largest city in the realm, just for those thirteen days.
Fourteen claims were discussed. Nine were dismissed quickly. Archmaester Vaegon was passed over due to his vows. Princess Rhaenys and her daughter Laena—discarded for being women.
That left two names on every tongue: Prince Viserys Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.
Primogeniture favored Laenor—his mother, Rhaenys, had been the daughter of Prince Aemon, the eldest son of King Jaehaerys. But proximity and political favor leaned toward Viserys. He had ridden Balerion the Black Dread. He was older. He had already fathered a daughter and a son
Laenor, just seven, had recently bonded with Seasmoke. And of course, his father was Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake himself—wealthy, renowned, and dangerous to offend.
Arguments flared. Some favored bloodlines, others favored strength. The Starks of the North surprised many by supporting Laenor, possibly still bitter about the King taking the New Gift for the Night's Watch.
In the end, tradition won. The lords of Westeros, though their numbers were never publicly revealed, overwhelmingly chose Viserys. Rumors said it was twenty to one.
Only the Velaryons and their closest allies—House Celtigar, House Bar Emmon, House Baratheon—had stood for Laenor. House Stark and their bannermen also supported him quietly.
The King did not attend the council. He remained in King's Landing, frail and grieving.
But when the vote was declared, he did not object.
Viserys was named Prince of Dragonstone—the next heir to the Iron Throne.