Otto POV
The king shits and the Hand wipes. That's how the infamous saying goes.
In his two decades of service in court, the second son of House Hightower has made himself one of, if not the most powerful man in the realm.
He's not a princely dragon-rider or a lord paramount with a large army. His only tools in his pursuit of greatness were his sharp wit and adaptable thinking.
They turned out be more than enough.
Upon the old King's health failing, he took the reins of the fledgeling Targaryen dynasty. Jaehaerys' preferred heir Viserys seemed a soft hearted man but Otto assumed his guidance and sage council will steer him down the right path.
How wrong he would be.
But his younger self didn't know the hardships and tribulations of the future. He only cared about living up to the responsibility the Conciliator entrusted to his hands.
Even then, the Rogue prince was a thorn in his side. Daemon was and still is a mercurial butcher with the emotional maturity of a child. Time and time again he advised Viserys to send him away.
In the early days of his reign, he rejected all voices of reason. The king went so far as to give him several position on the small council.
Otto's only relief was that Daemon got bored with all of them within a few months. And wasn't remotely competent in his duties. Proving the veracity of the Hand's claims. The prince was nothing but spoiled and lazy, with a too high opinion of himself.
Viserys wanted his brother to serve at court anyhow. Find him some position that suits him my friend, he said.
An absurdity of the highest order.
But, like the faithful servant he is, Otto suggested the city watch. Daemon was despite every failing a half-decent swordsman. Violence was the only language he spoke fluently. He could train other soldiers and bring some stability by force if that's what it takes.
He underestimated his appetite for anarchy. Instead of creating a strong unit under the Crowns's banner, Daemon cultived a hive of thugs and killers loyal only to him and his own code of justice. Murder and mutilation ran rampant in the streets of King's Landing.
But naturally who gets the blame.
Of course it's Otto's fault. He should've predicted my brother's berserker rage and gave him a more fitting position.
The Hand suppressed his anger. Sooner rather than later, the prince would blunder and fall.
And Otto will be there to gloat.
His prayers were answered the night of the heir's tourney. Daemon, drunk on barrels of wine or just his own inflated ego proclaimed himself the one true successor to the crown. He toasted to his own nephew's death styling him the heir for a day.
Otto was torn between gleeful and stupefied. How does one do something so stupid. Perhaps excessive inbreeding in the royal house leaves permanent mental disabilities.
He wasn't one to turn a gift horse in the mouth. He gathered the council, relayed the news as was his duty. And just let the king direct his anger and grief on a worthy target.
His suggestion of naming Rhaenyra as heir seemed well intentioned.
How he suffered for it in the days to come.
It was an honest mistake. Viserys has talked to all who would listen about the baby boy his wife would deliver, ensuring his succession.
He should've specified when he signed the marriage pact with Otto, that the son to inherit his crown could only ever come from Aemma's womb. Every other woman could birth a thousand sons and all of them will come second to his daughter and her bastards.
It was an affront to every God and decency itself how his grandsons were disinherited for the sole crime of not being the king's favorites.
Viserys had good Queen Aemma killed for a male babe yet couldn't be bothered with the three Alicent bore him.
How the seven have punished him. He thought he orchestrated the best marriage for his dauther. No second son could ever dream of wedding his blood to the throne.
Viserys was sickly besides and an affable man with little spine. His only daughter would stay by his side and have power, prestige and won't suffer a stranger who speaks with his fists above all.
The king's abuse takes a different form. Far more sinister and damaging. By keeping quiet of the Velaryon boys' true parentage and not changing the succession, he's doomed Alicent's children to die pointlessly.
Otto has no desire to let that happen.
***
Otto and his daughter sat in his solar the Tower of the Hand. He's received a few missives he'd like to discuss.
"The Velaryons have answered our message. They've not revealed their allegiance. I wouldn't expect them to over a raven. But they're willing to negotiate." He hands Alicent the scroll to check for herself.
"That's good news. It's within their best interest to support us. If Lord Coryls doesn't think so, perhaps his younger brother Ser Vaemond will be more amenable to our plans."
He probably would be. It's the fate of a second son to vie always for more. Otto's lucky enough to be who he is now without anyone's help.
"Indeed. I've already gathered quite a few of House Velaryon aren't happy with three bastards masquerading as their kin being their overlords. We're both benefitting from this arrangement and helping the Sea Snake save his own reputation from plundering to the ground."
He understands Corlys better than most. They're made from the same cloth. Both of them desired a direct link to the crown and used their daughters to do do. The only difference is Otto successed where the Driftmark lord failed.
What a hollow victory that turned out to be.
"What of the houses of the Reach? Did House Tyrell and Tarly answer our summons?"
His birthplace, the largest and richest kingdom, was always a den of rival factions. Blood feuds were as old a time and strong to this day. The Tyrell paramouncy was seen as the highest of insults to old powers like his own House, the Florents and others.
That is why it was necessary they tie the other Houses to their cause by marriage and royal favor. If not, the Reach might simply cannibalize itself on the eve of Viserys death.
The hand of his great-nephew Lyonal was already promised to Lady Celia Tully of Riverrun. But to secure House Tarly of Horhill, Lyonal's younger brother Garmund was offered to Lord Alan Tarly's daughter and heir Lady Sam, with a hefty bride price.
The Lord of Highgarden, Leo Tyrell was still a babe in the cradle, so Otto intends to suggest to the Lady Regent Alyssa Tyrell née Fossoway to make her younger brother Loras a knight of the Kinsguard and grant a five year long tax exemption on certain goods.
It wasn't economically advisable with the amount of food production at Highgarden but it's very likely anything less than a royal marriage wouldn't catch their interest.
A half Hightower king is something that frightens the delicate balance of power in the kingdom so they can fight for the Black cause or just declare neutrality altogether.
That cannot be allowed to happen.
"I've received their answer. Lord Ormund has checked with Lord Tarly already. All that remains is a few formalities and appointments in court. Lady Tyrell will attend to discuss but that's all she says."
"We've practically the whole Realm united under our banner. Daemon and Rhaenyra will be lucky if their household guards answer their call to arms."
He laughed at that point. Is it so hard to believe no one would risk his own female and bastard relatives staking a claim on his lands. Succession wars will be ubiquitous from Oldtown to the last Hearth.
Look at what Viserys' favoritism wrought.
A young empire on the verge of imploding.
Thankfully, Otto and his family won't allow that to come to pass.
**
Bran Stark POV
The second son of Eddard Stark was dreaming again. He spent most his days in the weirwood net. Traveling across thousands of miles and hundreds of years.
The three-eyed-crow told him not to stray too far from his instructed path. To drift in the oceons of green will cause him be to lost and never return again.
But Bloodraven is dead. And his advice affects him very little.
What is there to live for in the present.
His father lost his head a lifetime ago. His mother's body was defiled and thrown in the river and his brother Robb's direwolf adorned his mutilated corpse. Jojen died to get him to North of the Wall.
No, his siblings are still alive. Jon and Sansa are at Winterfell.
He doubts he could ever see them again.
The white walkers will overrun the Night's Watch. They'll kill every living thing that crosses their path and grow their army even further.
Once, he spread his wings and traveled back to the era before the infamous Dance of the Dragons.
The story interested him greatly as a child. The war between brother and sister to ascend the throne. House Targaryen never restored the power they had in the days before the death of King Viserys I.
What if they did. What if the dragons still roamed the sky. He's heard of and seen Daenerys Targaryen. Her dragons are still young and can't hope to stop the Night king and the undead horde on their own.
But over twenty dragons existed at the time of the dance. Many were old and large. If he could just find someway to warn of the incoming threat.
He could save everyone.
A twelve year old cripple to decide the fate of the world: past, present and future.
It's his destiny. It must be.
**
It took many attempts to reach the distant past. It was in the South besides. His power derived from the heart trees is significantly diminished away from his Gods.
But he reached his goal nonetheless. It was the princess Helaena who heard his call. He felt nothing but empathy for the tragic sister-wife of King Aegon II.
If he could spare her and only her, his mission wouldn't be a total disaster.
But something he never imagined happened when he traveled across her dreams.
She saw him too.
She was a greenseer like he was.
He was so alone since Jojen died. No one can ever feel how miserable and beautiful his gift could be.
The ache inside his youthful heart lessened somewhat. He and Helaena became friends. As much as two people from different times and cultures could ever be friends.
The dragon princess was lying her head on the grass, eyes closed beside the heart tree at the Red Keep. They spent most of their time here. She as a physical being, he a mere whisper on the wind.
"We've been talking for moons now. But you still haven't told me your name?"
Heleana admonished him but the small smile on her face told him she wasn't truly angry. He doubts she could ever be.
"It adds mystery I think. We've no need of names and titles. Don't you agree?"
She opened her eyes in mock outrage. "Of course, but I can't just keep calling you time-traveling boy in my mind. Tell me your name. Please."
He wasn't ashamed to say he folded to her demand near instantly. No one but Rickon or mother got him to do their bedding so quickly.
"It's Bran. Bran Stark."
She stood up in excitement and started jumping up and down. It was definitely exaggeration on her part.
"Like my wolf, Cregan. Are you my many-times grandson?"
What. In. The. Bloody. Hell.