The Red Keep had not seen such a gathering in decades.

From the moment the great gates opened, the courtyard filled with banners old as fire and blood itself—silver seahorses, black dragons, pale towers, and forgotten sigils carried across the Narrow Sea. Every noble house of Valyrian descent had answered the call of King Viserys, their ships cutting through the waters toward King’s Landing as if drawn by destiny.

Inside, the castle burned with light. Hundreds of candles flickered against polished stone, reflecting in goblets of wine and the watchful eyes of dragons carved into every pillar. The air was thick with heat, silk, and something unspoken—pride, perhaps… or the quiet tension of bloodlines that remembered too much.

At the center of it all sat the Iron Throne, looming as always, its blades catching the firelight like a warning.

King Viserys had called this gathering not for war, nor dispute—but for unity. A celebration of shared heritage. Of Old Valyria. Of the blood that still ran strong, though the empire itself had turned to ash long ago.

And yet… as lords and ladies exchanged pleasantries, as laughter rose with the music, there lingered a subtle edge beneath it all. Eyes lingered a moment too long. Words were chosen just a bit too carefully.

Dragons may have been at rest… but their blood was not.

Tonight, alliances could be forged.

Or futures quietly set into motion.