"Barthlon Stark, huh. Kid, you're more worried about your daughter's marriage than I ever was about mine." Draezell chuckled as he flicked his eldest son on the forehead. "That damn Cregan... I don't know whether it's the northern air or that stubborn Stark blood, but somehow, at his age, he's still having sons. And Alysanne too—at her age, still willing to mess around with that man."
"Father, Lord Cregan isn't that much younger than you…" Rhaegor murmured.
"I know," Draezell smiled faintly, but the smile quickly faded into bitterness. For a moment, he found himself at a loss for words. After a long silence, he pulled the topic back to the child. "Barthlon is Cregan's youngest. They say he's not much like his father in his youth—more refined, delicate. The dark hair of House Blackwood and the grey eyes of House Stark come together quite well in him."
He paused before continuing with what he knew of the boy. "The lad's good with a sword, well-read, brave, upright, and he's even good with the northern drums. His age is just right too." At this point, Draezell's face twitched involuntarily.
Like himself, Cregan had a long life ahead. Rhaegor also bore signs of longevity. But unlike Draezell, Cregan had outlived his firstborn.
Though inheritance disputes were rare in the North—unlike in the South—even in times of long summers and short winters, northern lords were always prepared for the Long Winter.
After all, a lord in the North truly had to risk his life to survive winter.
"Father, you know Dany's temperament…" Rhaegor groaned, rubbing his temples. He knew full well the character of his daughter. Unless something unexpected happened, most boys wouldn't catch her eye—and even if they did, whether they could put up with her temper was a whole other matter.
Two years ago, Daenyra had given birth to a younger brother for Igon and Daenerys—Hoffa Vaelarys. That pregnancy marked the end of Daenyra's safe childbearing years.
The third generation of the family was gradually taking shape.
"I'm not even sure Barthlon can win in a fight against Daenerys. And besides, Father, Daenerys will certainly become a dragonrider. Barthlon might inherit Winterfell. Would he be willing to marry into our family?"
Draezell raised an eyebrow at his son and suddenly laughed. "Oh you... I may not be willing to break tradition, but don't tell me you haven't thought of that possibility."
Rhaegor lowered his head, trying to hide the expression he could no longer suppress.
Of course he'd thought about it.
If Daenerys and Barthlon took a liking to each other, then the family could offer Barthlon a choice: the dragon or the castle. Stay and marry Daenerys, and he'd become the son-in-law of the greatest dragonrider family of the age. Even the royal family would have to show respect. The family wouldn't interfere—in fact, they'd support him and offer aid in the North. And if he still chose the small chance to inherit Winterfell?
Well then, too bad.
But such thoughts were best kept in one's head.
Rhaegor wasn't quite shameless enough to say it out loud.
"Haha, alright, enough teasing," Draezell chuckled. "Go find your Uncle Rey. Tell him we old men need to see more of the youth's vitality if we want to live longer. Weren't the children heading to the Summerfield market today to see the circus troupe from the Isles? Let's follow them quietly."
"Let's see just how marvelous this circus really is, if it can catch the eyes of our children."
The night gradually faded, and the sun rose high into the sky. The city shed its nighttime glamour and quickly donned the bustle of daytime. Merchants came and went, residents with hair of all colors filled every corner of the city, and caravans from all over the world, led by various beasts of burden, marched into the clean streets.
The children were visibly excited at the sight of it all—even the adults were somewhat overwhelmed.
Among them was Princess Elenna, holding little Syrae Vaelarys on her lap as she sat in a soft palanquin, chatting and laughing with Seryna, Rhaenya, Jacaerys's wife Helena, and Dan's wife Valenna. Young Brynden Silverblood sat at the center of the palanquin, eyes glued to the other children playing outside. He was far too small to join them.
Thanks to Seryna's efforts, the pale-skinned, frail boy with a large red birthmark no longer bore the obvious mark of bastardy—the surname "Rivers" was not placed upon him.
Rumor had it that when the Lord of House Bracken learned how fortunate Melissa Blackwood's son had turned out to be, he nearly lost his mind.
Though he had profited greatly from the bodies of two female kin, gaining much under Aegon's patronage—the Lord of Bracken had even served briefly as the kingdom's Master of Coin—he was quickly dismissed by an infuriated Prince Viserys. Yet even stripped of his cabinet seat, the Lord of Bracken still held a considerable court position.
And that's why so many girls' fathers were all too eager to have their daughters—or sisters—crawl into Aegon's bed.
When Aegon helped, he really helped. Though gaining offices in King's Landing was now difficult, there were no longer any obstacles in Oldtown.
——It was said that many of Aegon's key ministers were the fathers or brothers of his mistresses.
This group had even formed a considerable political faction.
It was only a rumor—but still enough to hint at what kind of things Aegon had been doing.
Daenerys and Sebastian, the two eldest children, each led a small group of younger children, following alongside their mothers' sedan chairs in an orderly fashion. Though there was some playful scuffling, they never strayed far from the group.
Igon had also wanted to bring along Daemon or Osserys, but was coldly rejected by his sister.
The reason was simple: "You're a child, so go play with the other children."
Igon felt deeply wronged.
The crowded street parted like a tide the moment the silver-dragon-bannered sedan chairs came into view. As if afraid of getting too close, everyone—locals and foreigners alike—stepped aside the moment they saw the telltale silver hair or unusual coloring, not to mention the fully armored Silverblood knights riding alongside them. The group's identity was instantly obvious.
Some in the crowd even knelt down.
"Sister, is that the circus everyone's talking about?" Igon asked.
He didn't stop them—no one did, really. None of them tried to stop the people from kneeling.
For rulers, the fear and reverence of the people were essential. There was no need to correct such behavior.
The circus, which had been in the middle of having a lion jump through a ring of fire, immediately halted its performance.
The ringmaster, pale with anxiety, rushed out with his troupe and dropped to one knee before the children.
"We didn't know miladies and young masters would be attending—we haven't prepared anything," the ringmaster said, on the verge of tears. Even the circus's lions and elephants bent their knees, though it was unclear whether that was the result of training—or the lingering scent of dragons in the air.
"No matter, no matter," it was Igon who spoke. Like the other children, he stared curiously at the tents the circus had set up.
"I heard that during yesterday's performance, your troupe showed a long-winged wyvern from Sothoryos. Might we see it?"
"Of course, young master. Not just a long-winged wyvern—we've even seen a real dragon!"