A Soldier Adrift: Captain Westeros

What If?: Long Live The King

The Targaryen delegation was late that morning, leaving what some had called the STAB alliance to cool their heels in the pavilion that had been set up outside the city walls, picking at small hors d'oeuvres and sipping at what wine the army could find. In time though, the gates opened and the royal party rode out, armour glittering under the sun as usual. Steve was growing tired from all the pageantry, but the high lords with him seemed to take it in stride. The usual posturing took place as the score of men arrived, guards sizing each other up as their lords shared barbs hidden by a mask of manners.

Finally, Rhaegar took his seat across the table, Arthur Dayne and Jon Connington at each hand and the High Septon with them, while Rickard Stark, Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Robert Baratheon faced them. Some few other lords and courtiers stood behind each side, numbers limited by agreement, neither party trusting the other. It was a change to the royal side, opposed to the day prior.

“Tempers were high yesterday,” Rhaegar said. “I hope the night has allowed us to master ourselves.”

“Even a king’s words must be chosen with care,” Jon said. “Especially a king’s.”

“That is true,” Rhaegar said, expression deliberately neutral. “I understand and agree.”

“I hope you do, King Rhaegar,” Rickard said.

“I - excuse me?” Rhaegar said.

“Actions have consequences,” Hoster said. “Even words.”

“You can’t negotiate with a man you can’t trust to keep his word,” Robert said. His fury had boiled on and off through the war, but now it was firmly leashed, satisfaction a great salve. “But now we’re lucky enough to negotiate with you, Your Grace.” He raised a goblet in toast.

Dayne and Connington shared a look behind Rhaegar’s head, understanding and alarm all in one. Their hands went to the swords at their hips, but the lack of aggression from the other side of the table made them hesitate.

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“Take your hands off those swords, boys,” Rickard said, speaking with the tact Northmen were so renowned for. “You’re in the presence of a King, you know.”

“Until my father passes on, I am only a Prince,” Rhaegar said firmly. “He was unwell this morning, but that is all.”

“What cause would you have to believe otherwise?” Connington demanded. “Need I remind you, we are in the midst of negotiations.”

“It is a faithless man who would attempt harm against their King during such a time,” the High Septon said, voice quavering.

Rickard laughed at the old man. “I can show you the depths of my faith, if you’d like.”

“My father may not be the most hale of men, but the only death he needs fear within the Red Keep is one of natural causes,” Rhaegar said.

“I don’t know,” Robert said. “There’s plenty natural about dying to a broken neck or a dagger in the back.”

Rhaegar relaxed minutely. “That may be so, but such things have not befallen my father. Though I may choose to do things differently when I am King, I am still here in his name.”

“Then what does ‘King Aerys’ demand from us this day?” Hoster asked. “Does he still demand our heads, or just those of our heirs?”

“The King’s passions were perhaps overly inflamed,” Rhaegar said. “I can offer you my personal guarantee as to the safety of your daughter, Lord Stark.”

“How can I take your word for Lyanna’s safety when you cannot even protect your own mother?” Rickard said.

A complicated expression crossed Rhaegar’s face too quickly to decipher, before polite puzzlement took its place. “I’m sorry?”

“The whores in our baggage train are better protected than the Queen,” Robert said.

Minutely, Dayne flinched.

“You will hold your tongue!” Connington spat.

Robert snarled at Connington, but Jon laid his hand on his foster son’s shoulder.

“Enough!” Jon said. “This has gone on long enough. King Rhaegar, you have spoken of doing things differently. What demands would you make of us, with your capital besieged and your armies far away?”

“I am here under my father’s authority,” Rhaegar stressed, “and what he wishes for is peace, and the acknowledgement and renewal of certain oaths. Further blood need not be shed, not when our divides might be healed by patience and forbearance.”

“Patience and forbearance,” Rickard said. “Lord America.”

Across the table, gazes flicked to the imposing foreigner, silent all this time.

Rather than speak, Steve retrieved a small item from his pocket and placed it on the table with a dull .

All eyes present focused on the ring that sat on the table, and the three-headed dragon seal embossed upon it.

“The King is dead,” Steve said. “Long live the King.”