"A Shield in the Storm: The Captain’s Oath"

The air in the capital was heavy with unease. Though the rebellion had yet to breach the Crownlands, whispers of defeat in the Riverlands had reached even the lowest of the city's beggars. The Mad King Aerys had grown more erratic, his moods shifting between manic laughter and violent outbursts. The small council chambers had become a battlefield of their own, with lords and courtiers fighting to secure their places before the world collapsed around them.

But today, all attention was on the Dragon Prince.

Rhaegar Targaryen was returning to King's Landing.

---

Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard stood at the city gates, clad in his white armor, watching as the column of riders approached. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, though he felt no immediate need for it.

Beside him, his sworn brothers, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Barristan Selmy, stood in quiet anticipation. They were among the last pillars of honor in a court that had long since lost its virtue.

Rhaegar rode at the front, his silver armor gleaming in the midday sun. The rubies on his breastplate glowed like embers, and his violet eyes held the same quiet melancholy they always did. He was not a man who relished war, yet war had come for him all the same.

Jonothor exhaled, glancing at the riders behind the prince. Dornish banners fluttered in the wind—House Dayne, House Jordayne, and a handful of other lesser lords who had pledged their strength to the Crown.

It was not the full might of Dorne.

It was not enough.

---

Within the Red Keep, Grand Maester Pycelle sat hunched over his desk, listening to the murmurs of the court. The return of Prince Rhaegar had sparked renewed hope among some, but Pycelle was old enough to recognize desperation when he saw it.

King Aerys had driven away the realm's strongest allies with his paranoia and cruelty. Tywin Lannister had abandoned the court, retreating to Casterly Rock. The Reach, under Mace Tyrell, had yet to fully commit, hesitant to throw their full weight into a war they were not certain they could win.

And now Rhaegar had returned, seeking to salvage what remained.

Pycelle stroked his beard, wondering if even the prince's return could undo the damage his father had done.

---

Queen Rhaella stood on the balcony of Maegor's Holdfast, looking down at the courtyard where Rhaegar dismounted. She had not seen her son in months.

He looks thinner, she thought. More weary.

For a brief moment, she wanted to rush down, to embrace him, to whisper apologies for everything that had led him to this moment. But she did not move. Aerys would not allow such sentiment.

She glanced toward the Tower of the Hand, where Jon Connington had once stood. His failure had seen him dismissed, cast aside like so many before him. Who would Aerys discard next?

Would it be Rhaegar himself?

She prayed, though she was not sure the gods still listened.

---

Varys – The Spider's Web

In the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, Varys moved like a phantom. He had known of Rhaegar's return before the prince had even crossed into the Crownlands. His little birds had seen to that.

The realm was at a crossroads, and Varys knew that whichever way the tide turned, he had to be prepared.

"Rhaegar is a warrior," he murmured to himself, "but is he a king?"

He had spent years navigating the madness of Aerys, ensuring that Westeros did not collapse entirely under the weight of one man's paranoia. But now, the rebellion was no longer just a distant threat.

The rebels were winning.

And if Rhaegar could not stop them, the city would burn.

---

Rhaegar entered the Red Keep in silence, his armor dusty from the road. He ignored the murmurs of the courtiers, their desperate glances, their whispers of salvation. He had not come to court to play politics.

His father awaited him.

The halls of the royal palace had become a prison, suffocating and oppressive. The tapestries, once grand, now seemed faded, the golden dragons tarnished with dust and time.

The throne room doors loomed before him. Two Kingsguard stood at attention, their expressions unreadable.

Rhaegar stepped inside.

---

The Iron Throne loomed above him, a twisted mountain of swords and suffering. And upon it, his father—Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—sat in madness and ruin.

Rhaegar stopped before the steps of the throne, bowing slightly.

"Father," he said.

Aerys grinned, his teeth yellowed, his nails long like claws. His hair, once silver, was now tangled and unkempt.

"My son returns!" Aerys cackled. "Come, come! Tell me, what gifts have you brought me from Dorne?"

Rhaegar kept his face impassive. "Men. Allies. Lords willing to fight for our cause."

Aerys snorted. "Not enough men."

"No," Rhaegar admitted. "But it is a start."

The king's grin faded, his gaze narrowing. "And what of Tywin?"

Rhaegar hesitated. "Lord Tywin remains at Casterly Rock."

Aerys' fingers drummed against the throne's armrest. "The Lion watches. But does he wait to save us, or to strike us down?"

Rhaegar did not answer. He already knew the truth. Tywin Lannister would not march unless it was to his benefit.

Aerys suddenly leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"And what of my grandson?"

Rhaegar tensed. His son, Aegon, was still in the capital, under the care of Elia Martell.

"He is well," Rhaegar said carefully.

Aerys' lips curled into something between a grin and a sneer. "Good. I shall need him soon."

Rhaegar did not ask what he meant. He did not want to know.

---

Rhaegar left the throne room knowing what he had always feared—his father was beyond saving. The realm stood upon the edge of a blade, and soon, blood would stain the ground of Westeros.

The war was no longer just about Robert Baratheon's rebellion.

It was about the survival of the Targaryen dynasty itself.

And Rhaegar had returned to ensure it did not fall.

---

Rhaegar stood in the royal war chamber, gazing at the large map of Westeros spread before him. The markers that denoted loyalist forces were woefully outnumbered by those of the rebels. The Riverlands were lost. The North and the Vale were firm in their rebellion. The Stormlands, under Robert Baratheon, had proven an overwhelming force in battle.

The war was no longer something that could be contained. It was a matter of survival now.

As he studied the map, the chamber filled with voices—lords, strategists, and sycophants all eager to be heard. He remained silent, letting them speak. He needed to hear their minds before making his decision.

---

Lord Owen Merryweather, the current Hand of the King, cleared his throat. His once-confident demeanor had waned under the weight of the Mad King's rule.

"The rebels are gathering their forces in the Riverlands," Merryweather said. "We have no time for hesitation. If they march unchecked, they will reach King's Landing before the year is out."

Rhaegar inclined his head but did not speak.

Merryweather hesitated before continuing, "We must recall Lord Tyrell's army from the Reach. Mace Tyrell has been slow, but if he moves now, we can press the rebels between the Reach and the Crownlands."

A murmur of approval rippled through the chamber. But Rhaegar knew better. Mace Tyrell's ambition was greater than his sense. The Lord of Highgarden would not move unless he saw an advantage. And right now, he was waiting—watching.

---

Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard stepped forward. Unlike the others, his concern was not for the kingdom but for his kin.

"My sister and her children are in this city," he said. His voice was calm, but the tension beneath it was clear. "You ask Dorne for men, but what assurances do we have for their safety?"

Rhaegar met his gaze. "None," he admitted. "But that is why I must win this war. For Elia. For Aegon. For my family."

Lewyn's expression did not change, but he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the prince's resolve.

---

Ser Barristan Selmy stood beside the other Kingsguard, his posture rigid and upright. He was not a man who enjoyed politics, but he understood war better than most in this room.

"Your Grace," he said, addressing Rhaegar, "we must assume Robert Baratheon will march south soon. We must meet him before he reaches the gates of the capital."

A few lords murmured in agreement. Others hesitated.

"The rebels have not only the North and the Vale," Lord Crakehall countered, "but now House Tully and their forces as well. To meet them in open battle may be folly."

"We have no choice," Rhaegar said at last. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the chamber like a blade.

The lords fell silent.

"If we do not meet them, they will reach the capital and sack it. My father…" he hesitated, "my father will burn this city before surrendering it. I will not allow that to happen."

Barristan nodded. He understood. This was not just about victory. This was about preventing catastrophe.

---

Though Tywin Lannister was not present, his absence loomed over the discussion like a shadow.

Ser Richard Lonmouth, one of Rhaegar's closest companions, voiced the thought on many minds.

"We need the Lannisters."

Rhaegar exhaled through his nose. He hated the truth of that statement. His father had driven Lord Tywin away, humiliating him before the entire realm. And yet, the power of Casterly Rock remained undeniable.

"If Tywin joins the rebels," Lonmouth continued, "we will be finished."

Rhaegar nodded. "Then we must act before he makes his choice."

---

Though Rhaegar now held command of the war effort, the greatest danger remained within the Red Keep itself.

His father.

Aerys did not trust him. He did not trust anyone. The King had already begun planning his own defense of the capital, ordering wildfire to be placed throughout the city. He spoke often of how he would rather see King's Landing burned to the ground than let Robert Baratheon sit the Iron Throne.

Rhaegar had known madness ran in their blood, but now he was watching it unfold before his eyes.

Could he still save his father?

Or was it already too late?

---

The war chamber had debated for hours, but at last, the decision had been made.

Rhaegar would march to meet Robert Baratheon in battle.

The royalist army would gather in the Crownlands, bolstered by the forces of the Reach and whatever support could still be gathered from the loyalist Riverlords.

If they won, they could push the rebels back, reclaim the Riverlands, and force the war into a new stage.

If they lost…

King's Landing would burn.

Rhaegar looked around the chamber, memorizing the faces of the men who would fight beside him. Some were loyal. Some were merely afraid. And some, he knew, were already considering where they would stand if the battle turned against them.

For better or worse, the final act of the war was beginning.