The farce between the Red Lion and the Golden Lion ended quickly—but it tore open their rift once more, raw and bloody, for all to see.
On one side stood Roger Reyne, the Red Lion of Castamere, red-bearded and smug.
On the other were Ser Jason Lannister and Ser Tywin Lannister, both golden-haired, blue-eyed, and stone-faced.
This feud had dragged on for decades.
Under the rule of Tytos Lannister—the Laughing Lion—the Reynes' contempt and greed toward their liege lord had reached its peak. They borrowed vast sums from House Lannister, then turned around and mocked their own lord twice as hard.
The Red Lions were playing with fire.
Conflicts between great houses and their powerful bannermen were not rare.
The Riverlands had House Frey, grown fat on tolls from the Twins and already eyeing House Tully's seat.
The Reach had the Hightowers and Redwynes, families whose strength rivaled the Tyrells.
But to let things escalate to this point—this was uncommon.
Between the Red Lion and the Golden Lion, peace was no longer an option.
Tywin glanced at Roger Reyne. The chill in his eyes faded, replaced by calm indifference. He noticed his younger brother, Kevan, and subtly signaled him not to step forward. Kevan might be serving as Roger's squire—but first and foremost, he was a Lannister.
Power was a dancing flame.
A noble crown.
And also a blade that cut its wielder.
Power was never just a game. It always demanded blood and fire.
Those who held power without the strength to command it were destined to be consumed.
Tywin had already made his decision.
The Reynes would be erased—root and branch.
House Lannister's foundations ran deep. After the era of the Laughing Lion, Roger and his kin would meet a true lion.
Tywin's gaze shifted—and softened, just a little.
Joanna.
Sweet, beautiful Joanna.
His moonlight. His rose.
King Jaehaerys II watched the snapping lions with weary eyes. Marching west to suppress internal conflict was beyond the kingdom's strength—especially with a foreign war already underway.
Besides, from King's Landing's perspective, a divided great house was not necessarily a bad thing.
Let them tear at each other.
The Iron Throne would reap the benefits.
Cradled in his mother's arms, Rhaegar observed everything quietly.
The gears of Tywin Lannister's fate were beginning to turn—and the Red Lions were doomed.
For the first time, Rhaegar truly felt the savagery of power.
Red Lion. Golden Lion.
By marriage and blood, they were practically kin—yet here they stood, ready to kill one another.
Westeros was a land where men devoured men.
So many noble houses had already vanished into history:
House Durrandon. House Hoare. House Strong.
As long as the rule remained the strong eat the weak, bloodshed was inevitable.
If lesser lords dared bare their fangs at great houses, then one day—under the right conditions—even great houses would turn their gaze toward the dragons.
Without dragons, House Targaryen no longer ruled by absolute right.
The crown's authority, already limited, continued to shrink.
Without dragons, the Targaryens would only walk further down the road of decline.
Until, one day, an alliance of great houses would rise by chance—and cast the dragons down.
Achievement Unlocked:
Game of Thrones — Minor Player
You witnessed the internal strife between the Red Lion and the Golden Lion.
Player Aptitude increased slightly.
A soft chime echoed in Rhaegar's mind.
Warmth spread through his body—vitality, like sap flowing through a growing tree.
The stronger his achievements, the more his Life Tree flourished.
The Blackfyres and the Targaryens were already irreconcilable enemies.
Rhaegar looked out over the assembled warriors and felt an urge—to salute them, to wish them victory.
This was a war of justice against evil.
On the Iron Throne's side stood heroes of every land.
But the Ninepenny Kings?
They were a grotesque constellation.
Pirates. Exiles. Ambitious merchant princes. Disgraced knights. And at their center—the monstrous Blackfyres.
The Pirate Queen, Old Mother.
Samaro Saan, the so-called Last Valyrian.
Jahabha Qhoqa, the Ebony Prince of the Summer Isles.
Lysono Maar, the sellsword called the Titan.
Spotted Tom, the Butcher.
Ser Derrick Fossoway, the Bad Apple.
Nine Eyes, leader of the Jolly Fellows.
Aquadro Adarys, the Silver Tongue.
And Maelys Blackfyre—the Monstrous, last of his line.
Even knowing how history would unfold, Rhaegar still wanted to give these men something—just a little encouragement.
He squirmed in his mother's arms.
Princess Rhaella blinked in surprise.
"Rhaegar… what are you doing?" King Jaehaerys noticed the movement.
"Do you want to greet the warriors?" Rhaella realized suddenly, disbelief flickering across her face.
Perhaps when the Seven chose this child, the coin they tossed had landed on greatness.
Rhaegar was born a warrior—precocious, beautiful, and strong.
At the king's nod, Rhaella carried him forward.
Tywin watched the child thoughtfully.
Once, he had dreamed—of marrying Joanna, of golden children.
A son to be the greatest knight.
A daughter to be a queen.
If their ages matched… Rhaegar would have been the perfect son-in-law.
Rhaegar raised his tiny fist.
One by one, he bumped fists with the warriors.
Lord Mandon.
Ser Jason Lannister.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull.
Lord Hoster Tully.
Behind them—Roger Reyne, scowling; Brynden Tully; and a stunned young Ser Barristan Selmy.
"This child is young," Duke Mandon declared passionately, "yet he will forge deeds no man before him has achieved."
Lord Hoster felt a sting of envy. Why did his house lack such a prodigy?
"Long live the king!"
"Long live the prince!"
The roar shook the sky—like a raging river, unstoppable.
"The gods bless Prince Rhaegar," voices whispered.
Achievement Unlocked:
Game of Thrones — Minor Player
Your salute inspired the warriors.
Player Aptitude increased slightly.
Lucky One:
As a fortunate Targaryen, your luck spreads to those you salute.
"Prince… would you honor me as well?" Barristan's voice trembled.
He stood tall—young, fearless, brilliant.
A blade freshly forged.
After the deaths of the two Duncans, many already looked to him.
And now—acknowledged by Prince Rhaegar himself—his future fame was assured.
"I will not fail your expectations," Barristan vowed. "I will protect everyone."
Rhaegar smiled inwardly.
He hoped Barristan truly would—especially Duke Mandon.
And in truth, Rhaegar already intended to bind this knight to himself.
Such men were rare.
Strong. Honorable.
And the Kingsguard had not yet rotted into mediocrity.
Better to seize him early.
Education, after all, was best done by force-feeding.
Only through hardship could one grow stronger.