Fire and Ice: The Heir's Pact

by Thefoxandthewolf

Summary:

The Iron Throne is not won with dragons alone.
While the Hightowers silently weave conspiracies and the court demands that the princess choose a husband, Rhaenyra Targaryen guards a secret more precious than gold or iron: Aegon's prophecy, which speaks of the enemy who will come from the north.
Refusing fragile alliances with sycophantic lords or forced marriages, the heir to the throne silently plots her boldest move yet.
When the court wonders who will be worthy to share the princess's bed, the answer remains hidden, a mystery that fuels intrigue and strengthens her position.
In the icy heart of Winterfell, however, grows the only alliance capable of uniting fire and ice.
Cregan Stark—as direct as steel and as firm as the walls of the North—becomes not only her ally, but her match. Together, they form a union that no council foresaw and no enemy would dare challenge. But in King's Landing, every secret is a weapon, and every revelation could set the Seven Kingdoms ablaze.
When the heir's pact is finally revealed, it won't just be the succession that's at stake—it'll be the fate of all Westeros.

Notes:

When everyone expected Princess Rhaenyra to be given over to a marriage of convenience, she chose silence—and silence became her weapon.
Between dragons and conspiracies, the heir to the throne keeps a secret that could change the fate of Westeros: a pact sealed not in the south, but in the ice of the North.
When Cregan Stark's name is revealed, fire and ice willwill unite— and no enemy will be safe.

Chapter 1: First steps

The torches burned silently, reflecting the golden glow of the newly placed crown upon her head. The hall still echoed with the oaths of fealty, but Rhaenyra knew words were as fragile as glass. Every lord who knelt before her carried, deep within, a secret calculation:How long would my father's will last? How long before someone dared to challenge my right?
Looking up at Alicent, standing beside the king, a chill ran down her spine. Her friend's fingers tangled nervously in the green fabric, and Otto Hightower's gaze weighed heavily on them both like a shadow that grew longer with each passing day.
That night, in the silent chambers, Rhaenyra didn't think of glory, nor of the dragon blood that ran through her veins. She thought of survival. She thought of who, in suits, would stand by her side when her father was no more.
It was at that moment that she understood a cruel truth: it wasn't enough to be the heir of dragons. She needed to bering weaver.
And while the court slept, Rhaenyra swore an oath: she would not be a pawn in other men's games. She would be the player.
To do so, he would need to move into a terrain he had previously disdained—the female court. Amidst the seams, whispers, and muffled laughter, King's Landing's most lethal poison ran. Ladies-in-waiting: it seemed banal, but in his hands it would become a network of information and power.
She couldn't choose just anyone. They had to be young women from important houses, of pure Hightower blood, and above all, loyal to her. If she had eyes and ears in every hall, she'd always be one step ahead.
With the decision engraved in her mind, Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Tomorrow, she would take the first step in the real game for the throne. The sooner she began, the less room the Hightowers would have to advance.
The sun had risen lazily over King's Landing, dyeing the stained-glass windows of the Red Keep crimson and gold. Rhaenyra was already awake, though her still-sleepy servants dared not ask why the princess seemed so wide awake.
She hadn't slept well. The weight of the crown still burned on her head, even when she wasn't wearing it.
He sent for Ser Harrold Westerling. The knight entered, as always, with the rigid posture and impenetrable expression of one who lived for duty.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head.
Rhaenyra studied him for a moment. Harrold was loyal to his father, but also to her. He knew he could be trusted more than many of the lords who knelt in the hall.
“I need something,” she said, her voice firm despite her youth. “Ladies-in-waiting. Not just any… but young women from respectable houses, who have no Hightower blood and no obligations to them.”
Harrold arched his eyebrow.
—Does the princess desire company or guard?
A slight smile curved her lips.
— Both. But above all, eyes and ears.
The knight hesitated, as if weighing his words.
— Many will say it's too early to start surrounding yourself with spies.
Rhaenyra lifted her chin.
"Many have already begun plotting against me before the crown even touches my head. If I'm to be heir, I need more than oaths. I need true loyalty... and information."
For a moment, Harrold stared at her in silence. Then he nodded.
"I know a few young women who fit that profile. Two from the Vale, one from the Riverlands. Daughters of lesser houses, but of honorable lineage. I can send discreet invitations."
Rhaenyra took a deep breath. The game was beginning.
"Do so. And tell them they won't just have the privilege of serving the heir. They'll have a place by my side in the future."
Harrold inclined his head in agreement. As he left, Rhaenyra turned to the window. Below her, King's Landing bustled with daily routine, oblivious to the plots brewing within the walls.
There, between seams and whispers, his first web would be forged.
And if the Hightowers thought she was alone, they would soon learn otherwise.
Two days later, Rhaenyra's private chamber was prepared. It wasn't the throne room, nor the council chamber, but the atmosphere was still imbued with weight. The heir to the throne would receive her first ladies-in-waiting—but not as friends, but as pieces on a chessboard.
The first name announced wasLyanna Arryn, niece of the Lady of the Valley. Tall for her age, with eyes as blue as the mountain sky, she entered with the proud posture of the falcons of her house.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing with practiced elegance.
Then he enteredMarilda Blackwood, of the dark lineage of the Trident. Dark-skinned, with a serious gaze and a firm voice, she carried in her countenance the austerity typical of her family, a historical enemy of the Brackens.
“I’m at your disposal, princess,” he said, as if each word were a shot arrow.
Finally, Ellyn Tully, one of the Lord of Riverrun's nieces. Young, with an easy smile and watchful eyes, she seemed more curious than solemn. Unlike the others, she didn't bow deeply; she merely inclined her head.
— I hope to learn a lot by serving your grace.
Rhaenyra observed every gesture, every choice of word, every silence. Three young people, three possible futures.
"I know you were all brought here for honor," the princess began, standing before them. "But I'm not fooled: the court of King's Landing is a nest of snakes. Honor is a beautiful word, one that many swear by in public and break in private."
The three of them looked at each other in discomfort. Rhaenyra smiled slightly.
"Serving me won't just be about preparing dresses or sharing confidences. I want eyes, ears, and, above all, loyalty. Not to fragile promises, but to me."
Lyanna was the first to respond:
"The Arryns are hawks. We fly high and do not bow easily. My loyalty is yours, princess."
Marilda crossed her arms.
"The Blackwoods know well the price of betrayal. I am not given to flattery. If I accept her service, it is because I believe in her right."
Ellyn just laughed softly, tilting her head to the side.
— I like games, Your Highness. If this is the greatest game of all, then may I be playing the right game.
Rhaenyra stared at her for a moment longer. Sincere? Ironic? Ambiguous? It didn't matter. The important thing was that they were all already in the web.
—Very well. From today on, you are not just my ladies. You are my shadows. And together, we will illuminate the lies that hide in this court.
The three knelt in unison, and for the first time since her naming, Rhaenyra felt she was not alone.
The game was beginning and Rhaenyra had already taken the first step without anyone knowing, as much as she loved her family she knew they couldn't be trusted, this was shown when her father announced who she would marry, the way her cousin Rhaenys treated her after the announcement, the words of her uncle, whom she loved but could never be with, this showed that when it comes to the Iron Throne everyone abandons her without thinking twice.

Chapter 2: THE FIRST WHISPERS

Not even three days had passed since the young women had arrived, and already Rhaenyra's web was beginning to unfold.
It was Ellyn Tully who brought the first news. The girl had entered her chambers late at night, her hair still damp from the mist in the gardens.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing with an air of amusement, “I’ve discovered something that might interest you.”
Rhaenyra lifted her head, closing the book she had been pretending to read.
— House.
Ellyn approached with light steps.
"I passed the private gardens, the ones near the Tower of the Hand. Otto Hightower was there, walking with Lord Staunton. They spoke softly, but enough for me to catch a few words." She smiled, almost as if telling a joke. "They say the king must marry again."
Rhaenyra's heart sank, though her face remained impassive.
— That's nothing new.
“Ah, but it’s the name that matters.” Ellyn leaned in, her eyes shining. “Alicent.”
Silence. Just the crackle of the candle in the holder between them.
"Are you sure of what you heard?" Rhaenyra's voice was low, firm.
Ellyn shrugged, still with that air of someone enjoying poison.
—I have good ears, princess. Otto spoke as if he had already won.
Before Rhaenyra could answer, Lyanna Arryn hurried in, drawing attention.
"Your Highness, rumors are already circulating among the servants. They say the king is enchanted by the sweetness of young Alicent, who helps him read when he is tired." Her blue eyes sparkled. "It's a trap."
Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a moment. The world seemed to sway beneath her feet. Her friend, her confidant, had now become a potential stepmother—and rival.
Marilda Blackwood, who had remained silent in the corner, finally spoke, her voice hard as stone:
"If that happens, it won't just be a matter of bed. It will be power. Her children will have the blood of the king... and sooner or later, they will question their right."
The words hung in the air like a sentence.
Rhaenyra straightened, her face hard.
"So that's it. They play with whispers and rings. Very well." His gaze swept over each of the three ladies. "But now I play too."
She walked to the window. Below, King's Landing burned with life, unaware of the silent war that was already beginning.
"If my father takes Alicent as his wife, the future will be in dispute." His eyes burned like embers. "But know this: when the dragon awakens, not even shadows dare remain."
The three ladies looked at each other. It was clear: they had chosen the right side.
Rhaenyra kept her eyes fixed on the city, but inside her thoughts raced like wildfire. Alicent… her childhood friend, her confidant, now transformed into Otto's pawn.
It was then that Ellyn spoke again, in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone:
—But there is something curious about all this, Your Highness.
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
— Continue.
"Everyone says Lady Hightower is pure as snow, but there isn't a servant in the Red Keep who doesn't know that, since Queen Aemma's death, Alicent visits the king… at night." Ellyn laughed softly, shaking her head. "And unchaperoned."
Lyanna scowled.
"That's unwise. In any court, a maiden walking alone to a man's chambers would be the target of ridicule."
Marilda crossed her arms, her expression stern.
"And Otto wants to sell you as a worthy wife, as a future queen. But if we spread the right stories, you won't be seen as a saint—but as ambitious."
Rhaenyra felt her chest tighten. A part of her ached at the thought of using this against Alicent… but another, the part born to rule, understood that this was the way.
“Then so be it,” he said finally, his voice cold as steel. “The very whispers Otto sends to elevate her may be her undoing.”
The ladies watched her attentively.
Rhaenyra turned, her gaze firm and determined.
"I will not strike the first blow. But if Otto dares move his piece against me, I will make Alicent's name the weight that sinks it."
Silence spread, thick. For the first time, the three young women realized something that hadn't been said aloud: the princess no longer saw Alicent as a friend. But as a threat.
And threats, in court, had only two outcomes: either they were destroyed or they were turned into weapons.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, and added, her voice icy:
— If you want her to be a holy queen, I will.I will crownotherwise. Like the whore queen. If my auntSarawas remembered as the promiscuous princess, why couldn't Alicent Hightower carry the same burden?
A heavy silence filled the room. There was no turning back.
At that moment, the ladies-in-waiting understood that theplayer was born.

The dawn of the day was something different, as if a confrontation was being prepared. Few knew, but that afternoon would bring something that no one thought possible: an announcement from the king about his new marriage, something that would surprise people and cause the biggest rift in the family, something that would never be healed until the king's death.

The afternoon sun bathed the gardens in a soft light, gilding the leaves and reflecting off the fountains. It was their favorite spot when they were still just girls, free from crowns, advice, and intrigue.
Alicent was already there, sitting in the shade of a tree, her face serene, leafing through a book. When she heard footsteps approaching, she looked up—and her eyes lit up when she saw Rhaenyra.
“Rhaenyra!” he said, as sweetly as ever, closing the book and standing to greet her. “We’ve hardly seen each other for days.”
The princess smiled, but the gesture did not reach her eyes.
"It's true." He moved closer, hugging her briefly. The floral scent Alicent always wore enveloped her, bringing back memories of simpler times. But now, each memory felt like a thread breaking.
The two walked side by side through the garden.
“I have heard… many whispers,” Rhaenyra said, her voice calm, almost casual. “About you and my father.”
Alicent blushed, looking away.
"They're just rumors; you know how cruel the court is. I've just... been looking after him since Queen Aemma left. He needs someone by his side."
Rhaenyra tilted her head, studying her with a half smile that revealed nothing.
"How kind of you." He paused briefly, letting the silence weigh heavily. "Although sometimes too much kindness is mistaken for... ambition."
Alicent swallowed hard, but kept her tone sweet.
"I would never want anything of yours, Rhaenyra. You are my friend."
Rhaenyra stepped closer, her eyes fixed on her like a dragon sizing up prey.
"I hope so." Her voice was low, firm, like a disguised warning. "Because if the world dares to pit us against each other, then we'll stop being friends. And I… I never lose."
The wind blew through the leaves, breaking the silence. Alicent took a deep breath, forcing a fragile smile.
"Always so dramatic, Rhaenyra. You're still the same as when we ran through these gardens."
The princess smiled back, this time cold as steel.
“No, Alicent.” She straightened her shoulders, her eyes burning like embers. “I’m not the same anymore.”
The two stood there, side by side, looking at the waters of the spring. The surface was calm. The currents were raging beneath.
And in Rhaenyra's heart, one certainty: the war had not yet begun, but it was already decided.
The Great Hall echoed with the murmur of voices, the sound of cloth rustling against marble, the clink of hastily poured wine glasses. Lords and ladies crowded beneath the Targaryen banners, waiting for the king's word. The news had traveled faster than the heralds themselves: Viserys would make an announcement of great importance.
Rhaenyra entered with a straight face, flanked by Ellyn, Lyanna, and Marilda. Her heart was pounding, but her face held only dragonlike serenity. Each step echoed as if it were the prelude to war.
Perched atop the throne, Viserys looked more fragile than ever, but his eyes were steady. Beside him, Otto Hightower stood erect, his stony expression hiding his satisfaction. Slightly behind, like a sweet, shy shadow, stood Alicent. She was dressed in green, a deep shade that seemed handpicked for this moment.
The murmuring ceased as Viserys raised his hand.
"My lords, my ladies," he began, his voice heavy with solemnity. "House Targaryen has always been sustained not only by the strength of dragons, but also by the bonds of unity that strengthen us in times of uncertainty. Since the death of my beloved Aemma, I have walked in mourning… but a kingdom cannot live in mourning."
He looked at Alicent, and in that moment the silence seemed heavier than any oath.
“Today I announce that I will soon take a new wife.” A pause, measured, calculated. “Lady Alicent Hightower.”
A collective breath swept through the hall, like wind on hot coals. Some ladies clapped their hands over their mouths, lords exchanged suspicious glances, and in the background someone let out a muffled laugh of surprise.
Otto remained motionless, but his eyes shone with the satisfaction of someone who had won a battle without drawing his sword. Alicent lowered her face, feigning humility, but her rapid breathing betrayed her.
Rhaenyra, however, didn't move a muscle. Her blood pounded in her ears like Syrax's distant roar, but her lips only curved in a barely perceptible smile. A cold smile. A smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Ellyn Tully, at her side, leaned in slightly, whispering just to her:
—The king may have announced the marriage… but the city is already whispering another version.
Lyanna lifted her chin, her eyes flashing.
—The crown may call her queen. We will call her whatever we wish.
Marilda just crossed her arms, stiff as steel.
Rhaenyra didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on Alicent, who now bowed in thanks before the court. With each applause, each look of approval, the princess felt the invisible thread of friendship snap completely.
In the back of his mind, only one certainty echoed: this was not an announcement of unity. It was a declaration of war.
And when the dragon wakes, even queens must tremble.
The announcement had ended, but the hall didn't fall silent. On the contrary: as soon as the musicians began to play, as if nothing had changed, murmurs multiplied in every corner. Glasses clinked, fans fluttered, and every word seemed laden with venom.
“Green…” a Tyrell lady murmured, her gaze fixed on Alicent. “The very green of Oldtown, the color of the beacon’s flame when the Hightowers call their bannermen to war.”
The comment spread like wildfire. Within minutes, everyone was repeating in hushed voices: "Green. War green."
"A bold gesture," said a lord of the Vale, raising his glass ironically. "To dress like this before the crowned heir… it seems more like a declaration than a coincidence."
— Or insolence — added another, chuckling softly.
Rhaenyra stood motionless in her rightful place of honor, each word piercing her ears like a knife. Alicent smiled shyly at the greetings, feigning innocence. But even innocence, Rhaenyra thought, could be a mask.
Ellyn Tully approached discreetly, as if commenting on something trivial, but the venom was in every syllable.
"These are no longer just rumors, Your Highness." His lips barely moved. "The court is seeing what is truly happening. No longer the meek girl… but the Hightower in war colors."
Lyanna Arryn, her eyes flashing with disdain, added:
— So be it. If she wears green, we'll wear black.
Marilda Blackwood, arms crossed, murmured:
—A color isn't just a cloth. It's a flag. Otto knows that. And the city will know it too.
Rhaenyra raised her wineglass to her lips, but did not drink. She simply let the crystal reflect the torchlight. Behind the polished surface, her eyes burned.
He knew that there, in the heart of the hall, before the entire court, a new battlefield had been opened. Not with swords. Not with dragons. But with colors, symbols, and whispers.
And with each whisper that echoed, Alicent's green dress ceased to be just fabric. It became a banner.
Rhaenyra set down her cup, straightening in her seat. Her face was serene, but her mind was burning.
"Then so be it," he muttered, to himself. "If she chose the colors of war, she will have war."

Chapter 3: The Shadows of the Red Keep

The night was dense, stifling, as if the very walls of the Red Keep held too many secrets. The city was still talking about the feast, and every tavern repeated the same words: green,the green of Oldtown, the greenof war.
High in the tower, behind closed doors, Rhaenyra had gathered her ladies. The hall was lit only by low candles, the flames flickering, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
Ellyn Tully, as always, was the first to break the silence:
"I've never seen the corridors so bustling. The soldiers whisper, the maids talk, even theseptõesthey whisper. Her dress was a sure thing, Your Highness. Otto must be chuckling to himself.
“Laughing now,” Lyanna Arryn replied, her eyes hard. “But laughter soon dies when honor is stained.”
Marilda Blackwood crossed her arms, impassive.
"We don't need swords to cut Alicent. It's enough that the city sees her not as a pure queen, but as the lover who haunts the chambers of a widowed king."
Rhaenyra sat at the table, listening silently. The wine before her remained untouched, her gaze fixed on the slowly dying flame of a candle. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, controlled, but filled with iron.
"Then spread out. Make everyone hear." His gaze swept over each of them, unwavering. "Tell them that since my mother's death, Alicent walks alone to the king's chambers. Tell them that Otto pushes his own daughter into the royal bed. Tell them that her virtue is not whiter than snow, but green as the flame that calls for war."
The ladies looked at each other. There was a veiled but undeniable order: turn rumors into accepted truths.
Ellyn smiled, amused as always.
"The cooks and laundry ladies love a good story. Tomorrow, the whole town will be repeating it."
Lyanna lifted her chin.
— And if she dares to proclaim herself a holy queen, she will be crowned by the mouth of the people as a prostitute queen.
Marilda, in a serious tone, added:
— May every word spoken in the alleys and corridors be like a stone thrown. And when the wall falls, no one will remember who pushed it first.
Rhaenyra stood. The heat from the candles made her shadow loom tall and imposing against the wall. Her eyes burned, and when she spoke, each syllable was like the blade of an unsheathed sword:
— Otto made his move. Now it's my turn. If they chose green, let the black man answer.
Outside, the early morning winds fluttered the flags of the Fortress. In King's Landing, no one slept peacefully that night.
And in the silence between the stones, the first war of whispers was born.
The sun had barely risen, and already a constant buzz echoed through the corridors of the Red Keep, like the hum of bees in a hive. Servants murmured as they passed, soldiers exchanged glances and chuckled, and even the septons whispered between prayers.
In the taverns of King's Landing, wine flowed alongside loose tongues:
—They say the Hightower maiden is not as pure as she seems.
— Since the queen died, she visits the king alone… without a septa, without a companion.
—Pure? Ha! It's Otto himself who pushes her into the royal bed.
— Green was the dress, but red is the shame.
The story spread as if on wings of its own. And no one remembered who had told it first.

In the Tower of the Hand
Otto Hightower listened impassively as a knight brought him the report of the rumors.
— My Lord, even in the kitchens they say that Lady Alicent is already sleeping with His Grace.
Otto's face didn't move, except for the slight squint of his eyes. When the man finished, he dismissed him with a curt gesture.
He stood alone, staring out the window. The city rose before him, noisy, alive, but to Otto every whisper was a pointed sword.
He took a deep breath, controlling his anger.
"They want to tarnish her purity. They want to turn our greatest weapon into weakness."
But his mind, as always, was spinning in cold gears.
"Very well. If they say she already belongs to the king… so be it. Once he takes her as his wife, no one can accuse her of being less than a queen. And a queen with sons can bring down any dreamy heiress."
Otto knew how to play. And where there was poison, he would plant an antidote.

In Alicent's chambers
Alicent, however, was not made of iron like her father.
Sitting in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair with trembling hands. The maids tried to smile, but they couldn't hide their suspicious looks. The words came to her in fragments, like knives thrown at her:
— …they say he visits the king at night…
— …not so innocent…
— …Otto hands it over as currency…
Tears stung, but Alicent swallowed them. When the door opened and Otto entered, she stood up quickly.
— Father… they talk about me. They say I'm… — her voice trailed off. — That I'm a prostitute.
Otto walked over to her, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.
"Listen to me, daughter. Words have no power if they are turned into deeds. Today, they are rumors. Tomorrow, when the king announces he will take you as his wife, all these whispers will become justification for the need for marriage. The people will believe you have always belonged to him. And the crown will erase every stain."
Alicent lowered her eyes, suffocated. She wanted to believe, but the pain still burned inside her. The green dress, which should have been a symbol of triumph, now weighed down like a chain.
"They don't see me as a friend, nor as a lady… just as a weapon."he thought, swallowing hard.

From Volta to Rhaenyra
Meanwhile, high atop Maegor, Rhaenyra listened to her ladies report how the rumors were already multiplying.
Ellyn smiled with satisfaction:
"Even the septon who leads the court prayers told me that confessions have increased this morning. Everyone now speaks of lust in the Red Keep… and always with the same name on their lips: Alicent."
Lyanna laughs hard:
—People always cling to the most scandalous stories.
Marilda, more restrained, added:
"But be careful, Your Highness. Otto can use this to his advantage. If the king rushes to announce the marriage, these rumors become the perfect excuse."
Rhaenyra listened in silence, then raised her wineglass. Its red reflection shimmered in the candlelight, like liquid blood.
"Let them marry, if that's what they want." A cold smile curved his lips. "The sooner Otto shows his cards, the sooner I'll know how to undo them."
TheGreat Hallwas silent except for the crackling of torches that cast long shadows on the walls. The Iron Throne, forged of iron and fire, looked more menacing than ever, standing tall as a reminder that power was not given, but taken.
Rhaenyra entered with firm strides, followed by her ladies—Ellyn Tully, Lyanna Arryn, and Marilda Blackwood. Each walked with their chins held high, as if their presence were an extension of the princess's strength. But inside, they all felt the weight of expectation.
The eyes of the court turned to them… and then, inevitably, toAlicent Hightower, who stood beside the king. The green gown she wore was delicate, but amid the Targaryen gold and red, it looked like a banner.
The silence was broken by the king's voice:
— My lords, my ladies…
Viserys looked frailer than ever, but his voice still carried the authority of the crown.
—After the loss of my beloved Aemma, I was plunged into grief. But a kingdom cannot live in darkness. It needs stability… and a queen to hold the throne by my side.
A murmur ran among the lords, who already guessed what was to come.
The king took a deep breath, as if carrying a weight greater than he could bear.
— Therefore, I announce before everyone… that I will take the ladyAlicent Hightower.
The hall erupted in murmurs. Some clapped hesitantly, others murmured with their hands covering their lips. The name echoed like thunder splitting the sky in two.

Rhaenyra's gaze
The princess remained motionless, her face serene as marble, but inside the blood burned in her veins.
Alicent. Her friend. Her confidant. Now proclaimed stepmother and, worse, rival.
His heart sank, but his mind was already calculating. Alicent's crowning didn't just mean a new queen. It meant children who would carry the king's blood… and Otto, always Otto, as the shadow behind the throne.
"They believe they have won,"he thought, his eyes burning like embers."But they don't know what it's like to wake a dragon."

Otto Hightower
From the side of the room, Otto observed every glance, every reaction. The applause, the whispers, the indignant murmurs. It was all music to his ears.
"Today, my daughter becomes queen," he thought. "Tomorrow, your sons will vie for the throne. And one day, it will be my blood that reigns over Westeros."
The smile on his lips wasn't one of joy. It was one of triumph.

Alicent
Alicent's hands trembled as the king laced his fingers through hers. The green dress felt like it weighed tons, as if every fold were made of iron. She kept her head down, trying to hide the blush rising in her face.
"Friend… forgive me,"he thought, glancing at Rhaenyra. But deep in his heart, he knew that forgiveness was no more.

The Whispers
The lords looked at each other, the ladies covered their mouths to hide venomous smiles.
— So it's true…
— The king took his daughter's friend!
—She had been visiting him since the queen's death… and without a companion.
— Otto rules in Viserys's place.
The words spread like poison, rising from the walls of the hall to the streets of King's Landing.

The people
Outside, the announcement was spreading faster than the wind.
"The king has wedded the Hightower maiden!" the merchants shouted.
"The princess's friend?" the prostitutes laughed. "Even we don't have that much audacity!"
And among the common men, the comment was always the same:
— If even the king takes his daughter's friend, who can trust the promises of sovereigns?

The End of Friendship
High above, before everyone,Rhaenyra did not moveHer face was the perfect mask of an heiress, but inside her something had broken forever.
"Today, I didn't lose a friend. Today, I gained an enemy."
And in the shadow of his eyes, for the first time, the fire of war was born.

Chapter 4: The Voices of Blood and Sea

Daemon
Daemon Targaryen watched from afar as the crown rested upon his niece's head.
The hall vibrated with oaths of loyalty, but within it only silence grew.
“They kneel to her… not to me.”
The weight of dishonor still burned in his chest since he had been cast aside as heir. But seeing Rhaenyra—a girl, a dreamer, crowned as his successor—was like salt in the wound.
Daemon didn't just envy the title. He envied the power of choice she now wielded. The king, by proclaiming her, gave her not only the future throne, but the key to alliances he himself had been unable to forge.
And yet, in some dark corner of his mind, there was a hint of pride. The dragon girl, as bold as he himself.
But pride and resentment are like wine and poison—alike in the cup, different in the mouth.
Rhaenys
Rhaenys Velaryon, the "Queen Who Never Was," kept her expression calm as she watched her niece receive the crown.
Inside, he remembered the Great Assembly, the day his blood had been considered inferior simply because it was female.
Now they saw in Rhaenyra what they had denied her.“Hypocrites”, he thought, but didn't allow the word to show on his face.
Still, there was a spark of hope in her eyes. If Rhaenyra truly was accepted as heir, then perhaps Laenor's children would have a greater future than anyone imagined.
But politics was not about hopes, but about chains. Rhaenys knew that every applause at that ceremony concealed a calculation of betrayal.
Loan
For Laena, however, everything burned like barely contained jealousy.
As the court bowed to Rhaenyra, young Velaryon clenched her fists. She too was dragonblood, too, riding a winged beast that struck fear into even the bravest men. But around her, no one knelt.
Laena watched Rhaenyra not just as a princess, but as a rival in beauty and attention. Wherever Rhaenyra went, eyes followed her. Wherever Laena appeared, she was still remembered as "the one offered to the king and rejected."
This resentment, small and silent, was beginning to take root. Today it was just a shadow in her heart. Tomorrow, it could grow into distance or poison between them.
Laenor
Laenor, on the other hand, observed everything practically. Her father, Corlys, saw Rhaenyra's appointment as a chance to cement House Velaryon even closer to the throne.
But Laenor, unlike her sister, harbored no envy. Her world revolved around naval battles, glory at sea, and the silence of secrets she held in her heart. He respected Rhaenyra, but knew her fate would be a burden that might consume even the strongest.

The Wedding Announcement
When, days later, Viserys announced to the court that he would take Alicent Hightower as his wife, the four reacted differently.
Daemon let out a low, bitter laugh.“So the old man lets himself be led like a dog by Otto. Pathetic.”But inside him, a flame lit: with the king weakened and manipulated, sooner or later King's Landing would need someone like him.

 

Rhaenys felt her blood run cold. The marriage was not only an affront to Rhaenyra, but a direct political blow to the Velaryons. The Iron Throne was moving away from the Sea and shackled to the suffocating weight of Oldtown. She gripped Corlys's hand tightly, as if silently promising war.

 

Laena couldn't contain a whisper of bitter satisfaction. For the first time, Rhaenyra's brilliant friend would be eclipsed by another woman. Alicent, as young as they were, but now queen. And part of her longed to see how Rhaenyra would react to being outdone. That taste of revenge wouldn't go unnoticed.

 

Laenor remained silent, but his mind raced. The decline of Velaryon influence meant that sooner or later, his house would have to choose sides. And Laenor knew the right choice would be the one that placed the dragons above the Hightowers.

 

In that same hall, while the applause and murmurs still echoed, Rhaenyra and Alicent looked at each other for the first time not as friends, but as pieces on a chessboard.
Daemon sharpened his ambition.
Rhaenys tasted the contempt.
Laena fed jealousy.
Laenor was already looking for a strategy.
A king's marriage had not only united two houses—it had opened rifts that, sooner or later, would turn into chasms.
The Voices of Blood and Sea
Daemon
Daemon Targaryen watched from afar as the crown rested upon his niece's head.
The hall vibrated with oaths of loyalty, but within it only silence grew.
“They kneel to her… not to me.”
The weight of dishonor still burned in his chest since he had been cast aside as heir. But seeing Rhaenyra—a girl, a dreamer, crowned as his successor—was like salt in the wound.
Daemon didn't just envy the title. He envied the power of choice she now wielded. The king, by proclaiming her, gave her not only the future throne, but the key to alliances he himself had been unable to forge.
And yet, in some dark corner of his mind, there was a hint of pride. The dragon girl, as bold as he himself.
But pride and resentment are like wine and poison—alike in the cup, different in the mouth.
Rhaenys
Rhaenys Velaryon, the "Queen Who Never Was," kept her expression calm as she watched her niece receive the crown.
Inside, he remembered the Great Assembly, the day his blood had been considered inferior simply because it was female.
Now they saw in Rhaenyra what they had denied her.“Hypocrites”, he thought, but didn't allow the word to show on his face.
Still, there was a spark of hope in her eyes. If Rhaenyra truly was accepted as heir, then perhaps Laenor's children would have a greater future than anyone imagined.
But politics was not about hopes, but about chains. Rhaenys knew that every applause at that ceremony concealed a calculation of betrayal.
Loan
For Laena, however, everything burned like barely contained jealousy.
As the court bowed to Rhaenyra, young Velaryon clenched her fists. She too was dragonblood, too, riding a winged beast that struck fear into even the bravest men. But around her, no one knelt.
Laena watched Rhaenyra not just as a princess, but as a rival in beauty and attention. Wherever Rhaenyra went, eyes followed her. Wherever Laena appeared, she was still remembered as "the one offered to the king and rejected."
This resentment, small and silent, was beginning to take root. Today it was just a shadow in her heart. Tomorrow, it could grow into distance or poison between them.
Laenor
Laenor, on the other hand, observed everything practically. Her father, Corlys, saw Rhaenyra's appointment as a chance to cement House Velaryon even closer to the throne.
But Laenor, unlike her sister, harbored no envy. Her world revolved around naval battles, glory at sea, and the silence of secrets she held in her heart. He respected Rhaenyra, but knew her fate would be a burden that might consume even the strongest.

The Wedding Announcement
When, days later, Viserys announced to the court that he would take Alicent Hightower as his wife, the four reacted differently.
Daemonhe let out a low, bitter laugh.“So the old man lets himself be led like a dog by Otto. Pathetic.”But inside him, a flame lit: with the king weakened and manipulated, sooner or later King's Landing would need someone like him.

 

RhaenysHer blood ran cold. The marriage was not only an affront to Rhaenyra, but a direct political blow to the Velaryons. The Iron Throne was moving away from the Sea and shackled to the suffocating weight of Oldtown. She squeezed Corlys's hand tightly, as if silently promising war.

 

LoanShe couldn't contain a whisper of bitter satisfaction. For the first time, Rhaenyra's brilliant friend would be eclipsed by another woman. Alicent, as young as they were, but now queen. And part of her longed to see how Rhaenyra would react to being outdone. That taste of revenge wouldn't go unnoticed.

 

LaenorHe was silent, but his mind was working quickly. The decline of Velaryon influence meant that sooner or later, his house would have to choose sides. And Laenor knew the right choice would be the one that placed the dragons above the Hightowers.

 

In that same hall, while the applause and murmurs still echoed, Rhaenyra and Alicent looked at each other for the first time not as friends, but as pieces on a chessboard.
Daemon sharpened his ambition.
Rhaenys tasted the contempt.
Laena fed jealousy.
Laenor was already looking for a strategy.
A king's marriage had not only united two houses—it had opened rifts that, sooner or later, would turn into chasms.
Two Years Later
Time, as always, did not heal wounds in King's Landing—it only deepened them.
Two winters had passed since Alicent's wedding, and the palace felt different. The once-murmering corridors were now more subdued, for Rhaenyra had learned to use them. Where Otto sowed doubt, she reaped allies. Where Alicent sought to establish herself as queen, Rhaenyra undermined her image with memories of the green dress and the rumors of youth.
Small gestures had changed the game:
Hesitant lords received his personal attention on hunts.

 

Ladies of the court, previously inclined to flatter Alicent, discovered that serving the princess earned them more favors.

 

Even the septons, pressured by discreet offers, softened their criticisms and praised Viserys's chosen heir.

 

But then came the birth.
Aegon.
The boy had cried loudly on his first day, as if already foretelling the storm he would bring. In the streets of King's Landing, the people murmured:“a male child… a son of royal blood”. In the taverns, the hopes of many turned to him.
Rhaenyra had felt the weight of that cry in her heart.
Not just because of the political threat, but because every smile Viserys gave as he cradled the baby was like a blade against his own flesh.
Still, he didn't give in.
If Otto saw in Aegon the future of his ambition, Rhaenyra decided to see in him a piece to be molded.
After all, a child could be taught to love—and to obey.
During visits to the nursery, she always approached him affectionately, taking him in her arms before Alicent could even react. She smiled, rocked him, and sang softly to him. The maids commented that the prince seemed calmer under the princess's touch than under his own mother's.
“He’ll learn to see me as a sister, not a rival,” she thought, her eyes fixed on the small, flushed face. “And when she grows up, her loyalty will be to me, not Otto’s.”
The gestures were subtle, but constant:
Delicate gifts left at the crib.

 

Stories told in the ear, always placing her as a protective figure.

 

The image of the princess with the prince spread across the walls of the court as if it were natural, inevitable.

 

Alicent could see it. Alicent was suffering. But before the king, any complaint seemed petty. After all, who would dare reprimand the princess for loving her little brother?
And so, Rhaenyra wove her net, strand by strand.
With every look, every smile, every subtle noise, what was once a whisper now became a wall.
But deep down, she knew: that little prince could be both shield and sword against her. A single breath of fortune's winds would be enough to turn him into an enemy.
And it was in this silent game—of caresses and hidden daggers—that the court lived out its days.
Two years older, two years more experienced, but no less dangerous.

Chapter 5: Two Years of Silence and Whispers

The Nursery: Alicent and Rhaenyra
Little Prince Aegon was sleeping, his fingers curled into fists, when Rhaenyra entered the room silently. Alicent was already there, tired, her eyes red from a sleepless night.
“He’s so peaceful in your arms,” Alicent murmured, forcing a smile.
Rhaenyra cradled the child, her eyes shining in the dim light.
— He knows who I am. Blood binds us… and so does love.
Alicent bit her lip. She wanted to snatch her son from her arms, but the gesture would seem too hostile. So, in a restrained voice, she replied:
"You treat him like a brother. But don't forget, Rhaenyra… he's the king's son too."
The princess looked up, steady but with a cold smile.
—And that's why you should learn from an early age to respect your older sister. That's how you maintain peace in a home.
The two stared at each other for a long moment, where no words were enough. There was affection in the gesture, but venom in the intention. The silence between them was no longer one of friendship, but of disguised war.

Rhaenyra's Allies
Over the course of these two years, "House Black" began to take shape. Rhaenyra, with the help of her ladies and Daemon, attracted subtle support:
Casa Velaryon: Corlys and Rhaenys, resentful of the king's past disdain, approached the princess. Their riches from the sea and their fleet lent weight to their cause.

 

Casa Arryn: Lyanna Arryn's presence at court bore fruit; Rhaenyra was remembered in the Vale as a direct blood heir.

 

Casa Tully e Blackwood: The loyalty of these houses was consolidated in King's Landing thanks to the friendship of the ladies Ellyn and Marilda.

 

Commoners of King's Landing: surprisingly, the princess cultivated the sympathy of the people, something that Alicent never achieved.

 

Among the People
It was common to see Rhaenyra descending into the courtyards and markets, accompanied by discreet guards. She chatted with the midwives, watched the children run barefoot, and even allowed herself to listen to the merchants' complaints.
"Your Highness, the taxes on fish are starving us to death!" shouted an old fisherman.
Rhaenyra placed her hand on his shoulder, replying:
"I will take your words to the council. And if they do not listen to me, I will know how to remind them of who feeds this city."
This kind of gesture resonated. Soon, in the taverns and fairs, the people murmured respectfully:
— The princess is of dragon blood, but she speaks like one of us.
— Alicent wraps herself in veils and prayers… but Rhaenyra listens.
Little by little, the heiress became not only the king's chosen one, but the queen of hearts in King's Landing.

Daemon's Point of View
Daemon watched it all with a mixture of pride and desire. His niece was maturing, skillfully learning the game of power, and this made her even more fascinating in his eyes.
“She’s not just Viserys’s heir,” he thought, “she’s a living dragon.”
But Daemon also sensed Aegon's threat. And as much as he admired Rhaenyra's efforts to reach out to the boy, he believed the only way to secure the throne was the simplest: eliminate the threat while it was still fragile.
So he often bit his tongue, holding back the temptation to act on his own.

Rhaenys's Point of View
Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, watched with practiced eyes. She admired Rhaenyra's courage in descending upon the people, but feared that such an approach would be like playing with fire.
"The love of the people is fickle," he once told Corlys. "Today they love you, tomorrow they may call you a usurper."
Still, deep down, he felt pride. “She’s everything I could have been,” he murmured silently.

Corlys's Point of View
Corlys Velaryon was more pragmatic. For him, Rhaenyra represented a chance to finally unite the seas and the throne. The king's disdain for rejecting Laena as a bride still burned in his heart, but supporting the princess was a way to regain prestige.
"When the throne is hers, the sea will be ours too," he told his children. "Dragons and waves together are unstoppable."

Borrow Velaryon
Laena, however, saw things from a more personal perspective. She had always felt fascination and envy for Rhaenyra—her beauty, her prestige, her boldness. When the two were together, Laena smiled, but deep inside, jealousy burned, growing with every gesture.
Aegon's birth only heightened this feeling, as she realized the entire court revolved around Rhaenyra, not her.
This jealousy would be a bitter seed that, in the future, could poison the friendship.

Laenor Velaryon
Laenor, unlike her sister, saw Rhaenyra almost as a natural ally. Growing up together at court, they shared the weight of family expectations. He knew her own secrets and desires, but respected his cousin's strength.
For him, supporting Rhaenyra also meant protecting the honor of his house.
The Divided City
Two years later, King's Landing was split in two:
On the one hand, theGreen, sustained by Otto and the birth of Aegon.

 

On the other hand, theNegro, growing stronger under Rhaenyra's charismatic leadership.

 

And in between, the streets, the taverns and the alleys murmured:
— Who will reign? The king's wife or the king's daughter?
—Dragon's blood or Hightower's blood?
The city's candles were already burning with two colors, and the war had not even begun.
Harvest Day in King's Landing
It was autumn, and the streets of King's Landing were bustling. TheHarvest DayIt had been celebrated for generations, a festival in which the people offered some of their fruits to the Sept of Baelor in exchange for blessings for the coming winter.
Viserys, increasingly frail, had insisted on attending the ceremony, carried in his golden litter. Beside him walked Alicent, draped in green veils, impeccable as ever—but distant.
On the other side of the square, there appearedRhaenyra, not in luxurious attire, but in a simple scarlet gown, the color of dragons. She came not in a litter, but on horseback, with her head held high and a frank smile. Behind her, discreet but visible, wereDaemon, Corlys, Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor, watching attentively.
The crowd reacted immediately.
"It's the princess!" the children shouted, running to her.
—The heir to the Iron Throne! — the men and women murmured.
Rhaenyra dismounted and, without hesitation, picked up a child, a girl with disheveled hair, who handed her a red apple.
"It's for you, my princess!" said the little girl, embarrassed.
Rhaenyra smiled and kissed his forehead.
—Then I will keep it with me as a sign of good luck in the harvest.
The crowd burst into applause, and the scene spread across the square in seconds.
From the palanquin, Alicent watched. Her face remained serene, but the fist hidden in the green fabric clenched tightly.

The People's Point of View
The commoners murmured among themselves:
— The princess is one of us.
— As for the queen… she doesn’t even seem to see the people.
This comparison grew like wildfire. Where Alicent seemed distant, Rhaenyra seemed close. Where one was veiled, the other was covered in smiles.

Daemon's Point of View
Daemon, standing in the shadow of a column, watched with satisfaction.
“She understands,” he thought. “It’s not enough to have dragons. You have to win hearts. A people who love their queen are a silent army.”
But at the same time, his dark gaze wandered to Alicent. “And Otto understands, too. He won’t let this go.”

Rhaenys's Point of View
Rhaenys, arms crossed, watched the scene with a half smile.
"She has charisma, no doubt about it," Corlys murmured.
But he soon added in a serious tone:
—The people who applaud her today may be the same ones who will call for her head tomorrow, if famine comes. This love is a double-edged sword.

Corlys's Point of View
Corlys, however, saw further.
“No, my lady,” he replied. “She already rules. Look closely… Viserys lies forgotten in his litter, and all eyes are on Rhaenyra. The throne has already begun to change hands.”

Laena's Point of View
Laena watched with a lump in her throat.
“She shines too brightly…” he thought, watching as everyone ran to the princess, as mothers lifted their children so that Rhaenyra could bless them with a gesture.
A flash of envy burned in his chest. "She will always have the world at her feet. And me? Who will look at me?"

The Climax of the Scene
The procession advanced to the Sept. The chief septon raised his hands to the heavens, calling down the blessings of the Seven. And when he finished, he asked for someone to offer the main gift at the altar.
Before Alicent could move, Rhaenyra stepped forward with the red apple she had received from the child.
He placed it on the altar and said aloud:
"May the fruit of the people be what protects the people. Today I offer you not gold or jewels, but what grows from the earth and the labor of your hands."
The crowd erupted in applause. Alicent simply lowered her eyes, the green of her veils appearing even more somber against the princess's bright red.

The Echo in the Whispers
That night, King's Landing murmured:
— The queen wears green, but the true flame is red.
— Who would have thought? The king is getting old, but the people have already chosen his successor.
The Night of the Green Whispers
In the darkness of the Tower of the Hand, Otto Hightower paced back and forth, his hands behind his back, his face set like iron. The open window let in the distant rumble of the city—still awake, still talking.
“It was a spectacle,” he said finally, his voice thick with venom. “Every gesture she made was calculated. Every smile, every word. And it worked.”
Alicent sat silently before the mirror, undoing the pins in her hair. Her reflection showed her expression tired, but not haggard. Just… tense.
"She just picked up a child, Dad," he tried to soothe. "People get carried away by such small things. Tomorrow they'll have another distraction."
Otto spun to face her, his eyes flashing.
"Don't be naive, daughter. Today she wasn't just carrying a child. She was carrying the future." She approached, resting her hands on the table. "And while the people applauded the princess, they barely remembered the king. Nor you, his queen."
The silence was heavy. Alicent lowered her eyes, her fingers nervously playing with her hairpins.
"I knew her as a friend," he murmured. "But today… I don't know who she is anymore."
Otto narrowed his eyes.
— She is the obstacle. No more, no less. And every obstacle, Alicent, exists to be removed.
The young woman took a deep breath.
“But… what about Aegon?” He looked up, his voice a little firmer. “He’s still a baby, but everyone says he’s beautiful and healthy. If he grows up to be the legitimate heir, perhaps…”
Otto interrupted her with a gesture.
"Exactly," he said. "The boy is our blade still unsheathed. While he is a child, he poses no threat. But when he grows up, he will be the banner under which all who detest the princess's arrogance will unite."
Alicent bit her lip, unsure.
— The people… seem to love her.
His father came over and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"The people are fickle, my daughter. Today they love, tomorrow they hate. Do you know what endures? The faith of the Seven. Tradition. The fear of a kingdom ruled by a woman who knows no bounds." His eyes burned. "That is what we will nurture. Not just whispers... but convictions."
Alicent closed her eyes. She felt the weight of the role she had been given.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower, but determined:
— So be it. If she wants to play with smiles, we'll play with shadows.
Otto smiled, satisfied.
— That's how you say it.

Meanwhile, in the hallways...
Servants and pages were already spreading their own versions of what they had seen.
“Rhaenyra, the people’s princess.”
“But don’t forget,” another voice whispered, “that the queen is the one who sleeps next to the king. And her children are the legitimate ones.”
The city was burning with rumors, half red, half green.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Fire and Ice: The Heir's Pact