Inside the Royal tent Viserys was sitting drinking his wine He mutters to himself, gazing at the fire, before Otto Hightower quietly steps into the tent & sits besides him.
Otto (carefully):
"Your Grace… if I might yet again raise the question of the Princess's betrothal."
Viserys sighs.
Viserys:
"Is there no end to it?"
Otto presses on, but respectfully.
Otto:
"Prince Aegon is your heir's closest kin. A match between them would unify the blood of Old Valyria. Aegon is your son—"
Viserys chuckles bitterly, cutting him off.
Viserys:
"Aegon… is two. Perhaps when he's four, we can start planning the bedding ceremony!"
Otto gives a short bow and remains silent. Viserys shakes his head.
Viserys (Irritably):
"I have came here to hunt not to do this fucking politicking."
Otto:
"Let is speak no more of it, Your Grace."
Otto bows out politely.
Viserys drowns his worries in his cups.
Sometime later, Lord Lyonel Strong steps inside & tells him that riders has been said to find Rhaenerya.
Viserys (glancing up, annoyed):
"Some powerfull King I am having no control over his own daughter of seven & ten?"
Lyonel (mildly amused):
"King Jeherys ruled peacefully for half a century where her daughters nearly drive him to madness. It's custom now Your Grace."
Viserys chuckles despite himself.
Viserys (smirking):
"That it is."
Lyonel (more serious now):
"I came only to offer my counsel… if you'd have it."
Viserys :
"Let me guess you think your son Ser Harwin Beakbones the strong night in the seven kingdom is the best match for Rhaenerya."
Lyonel " you faltter me Your Grace but no it seems to me there are two best matches for Rhaenerya first is Ser Laenor Velaryon:- he is from pure Velaryon decent & it would mend the rift between your families. My second suggestion is Lord Rodrik Arryn:- Currently he is ruling the wealthiest kingdom in the seven kingdom, he is near her age, Not so full of himself & the way things are going your grace he will take seven kingdom into the future & house Targeryen needs to be part of it.
Lyonel (measured):
"The Princess's station is significant. Her match will shape the political landscape for decades. These two choices, in my humble opinion… that could both preserve your line and bind powerful houses from across the realm."
Viserys considers, swirling the wine in his goblet.
Viserys:
"Lord Rodrik is… unconventional. Perhaps too much so."
Lyonel:
"True. But he commands loyalty. He has ambition… yet lacks the hunger for power that clouds others. And unlike Driftmark, the Vale is not known for its aspiration to the throne."
Viserys leans back.
Viserys (quietly):
"Laenor… or Rodrik."
He nods to himself.
Viserys:
"For once, someone offers sound counsel without trying to sell me their own kin."
Lyonel bows and takes his leave.
Viserys stares into the fire a moment longer… the weight of kingship growing heavier even in its quietest moments.
Lord Rodrik Arryn had long since grown tired of the tiresome small talk and the transparent ambitions of the gathered nobles. Every other conversation was a veiled proposition to wed their daughters to him, or a thinly cloaked attempt at dragging House Arryn into trade deals of dubious merit. With Jaymee by his side and a small escort of guards trailing loosely behind, Rodrik had quietly slipped away into the deeper woods.
They had wandered for hours, finding a quiet lake cradled between thick groves and gentle slopes. The water was clear, the sun glinting off it like molten silver. Rodrik sat at the water's edge, a smooth stone in his hand, idly skipping it across the surface.
Jaymee stood a few paces back, arms folded, his eyes scanning the tree line. "You seem pensive, my lord."
"Just thinking," Rodrik replied, tossing another stone.
Jaymee gave a low chuckle. "You're not at war anymore. You can breathe."
"I know. And it's unsettling."
As he said it, the sound of hooves and armor brushing branches caught their attention. Rodrik rose, brushing the dust from his cloak. Emerging from the trees was none other than Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, blood splattered across her riding leathers, her golden hair disheveled but her bearing proud and defiant. Beside her rode Ser Criston Cole, whose expression teetered between dutiful calm and exhausted relief.
Rodrik blinked. "That's either a very successful hunt or a very bad morning."
Rhaenyra dismounted, unbothered by the blood. She looked up and paused, recognizing Rodrik.
"Lord Arryn," she said with a raised brow. "Come to hide from the pageantry as well?"
"Pageantry is a generous word for the vultures gathered out there," Rodrik said dryly. "You look like you just strangled one."
Rhaenyra smirked faintly and glanced down at the blood. "A boar, actually. It charged me. I killed it."
Rodrik gave a small nod, impressed. "Well, that settles the succession issue. You clearly don't need protecting."
Criston Cole gave a small smile but remained silent.
Rhaenyra stepped closer to the lake and stared at her reflection. The blood-streaked image staring back was a far cry from the composed princess of courtly events.
"They all want to cage me," she murmured. "Make me a wife. A token. An heir in a pretty dress."
Rodrik stepped beside her, his tone softer. "You know, in the Vale, falcons don't live in cages. They build their nests on the highest peaks and fly as they please."
She looked at him, amused. "Is that a proposal, Lord Arryn?"
Rodrik chuckled. "Just a reminder. You were born to fly. Not to be passed around like wine at a feast."
There was a brief pause. The lake shimmered in the silence.
Rhaenyra broke it with a sigh. "The King wants me to marry Jason Lannister."
Rodrik winced. "That explains the blood."
She smirked, then looked toward the trees where her camp lay hidden. "I should go clean up before my father sees me like this."
Rodrik nodded. "And I should go pretend I enjoy being propositioned by sweaty lords with more gold than sense."
Rhaenyra mounted her horse. "Good luck with that."
"You too, Princess."
Here's the next chapter continuing directly from the conclusion of the royal hunt, leading into the return to King's Landing and the crucial political developments around the train project:
Chapter: Rails of Power
The royal hunt had come to its end, not with a triumphant roar of a white hart slain, but with muted victory and whispered concerns. King Viserys had returned to the capital in better spirits than he had left, but the weight of the realm still sat heavily on his shoulders.
The Council Chamber – Red Keep
A small council was called the morning after their return. Viserys entered the chamber late, rubbing his temples. Ser Otto Hightower, always sharp-eyed, watched Rodrik like a raven sizing up a silver coin. Lord Lyonel Strong stood calmly at the end of the table, quill ready. Lord Beesbury shuffled papers on taxation. Queen Alicent sat quietly to the side, her gaze drifting more often than not to Viserys.
"My Lords," Viserys began, easing into his chair, "before we dive into the grain tithes and Stormlands roadworks, there is a matter of innovation. Of the future."
He looked at Rodrik.
Rodrik stood with an air of quiet command, no boasting, just clarity. "Your Grace, Lords of the Council — as you know, the Vale has been testing a new mode of land transport. The Iron Falcon. A steam-driven engine capable of pulling carriages over steel tracks, swiftly and in all seasons."
He unfurled a large map on the council table. Lines marked potential routes: from Gulltown to the Eyrie, from Harrenhal to King's Landing, and a vast web fanning out to Oldtown, Lannisport, even Sunspear.
"This could be the arteries of the realm," Rodrik continued, "moving grain, gold, and people faster than ever before. War, famine, trade — all would be transformed. But to do so, it must go beyond the Vale."
Viserys nodded, "And that's where our agreement comes in."
Otto cleared his throat. "A bold venture, Lord Arryn. But to profit from the King's lands, the King's aid, and the goodwill of the realm — and ask to keep its purse?"
Rodrik didn't flinch. "I do not ask for coin, Lord Hand. I offer a partnership. House Arryn will fund and build the rails. We will maintain them. But the Crown will own a share in all revenues outside the Vale. In perpetuity. And we pay a leasing fee to any House whose lands we cross."
Lyonel Strong raised an eyebrow. "And the security of these tracks?"
Rodrik gestured to the map. "Each track station will have guards, local craftsmen, and tollmen. Jobs and trade for your lands. The more this network grows, the more value you receive. This is not just a machine — it's a web binding the kingdom."
Viserys smiled faintly. "It's bold. And boldness built Old Valyria."
Otto still hesitated, but Viserys raised a hand. "It is settled. The Iron Falcon spreads, and the Crown shares in the future it brings."
A moment of silence. Then, Lord Beesbury, ever one for accounts, said, "I'd like to see one of these engines in motion, Lord Rodrik. Perhaps a short ride…"
Rodrik smirked. "You'll be the first guest, Lord Beesbury."
Later That Night – Queen Alicent's Solar
Alicent poured wine for Otto, who stood at the window, watching the city lights.
"He's dangerous," Otto said flatly. "Too popular. Too effective. The Vale rises under him like a second crown, only without dragons."
"He's loyal to Viserys," Alicent replied softly. "I believe he means well."
"And that's the problem," Otto murmured. "He's young, clever, and idealistic. And now he's allied with your husband in a venture that will reshape the Seven kingdoms."
In the Shadows – Rhaenyra's Quarters
News had reached Rhaenyra through her network of spies and friends.
"So he got the King to fund his steam-hissing beast," she whispered to Criston Cole, who served her information more keenly than food. "He's better at playing their game than I thought."