AN: I just rewatched HTTYD….. and Toothless is so cute cute cute cute. (✿ ◕ᗜ◕)━♫.*･｡ﾟ
(Btw, I will not always reference what happens in cannon events unless it's truly important or relevant to our main character).
TYWIN
The Tower of the Hand stood tall and proud over King's Landing, its windows offering a commanding view of the city below. Inside his private solar at the tower's summit, Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, sat behind a massive desk of polished oak, his back straight as a sword, his expression impassive as he read the latest report from his network of informants.
Sunlight glinted off the golden pins that secured the Hand's chain of office to his crimson doublet, casting small reflections across the room's stone walls. At forty, Tywin Lannister remained an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered, with a clean-shaven head save for golden side-whiskers that framed his severe features like a lion's mane.
His green-gold eyes narrowed slightly as he reached a particularly interesting passage in the report.
The incident at Crackclaw Point has become the talk of markets throughout the Crownlands. According to multiple accounts, Prince Thalor and his dragon intervened when bandits attacked a merchant caravan. The prince reportedly used the dragon with remarkable precision, targeting only the brigands while ensuring the merchants remained unharmed. The dragon's fire is described as unlike traditional dragonflame—more controlled, more focused. Witnesses claim it strikes like lightning rather than washing over an area like wildfire.
Most notable is the growing sentiment among the smallfolk. Where tales of Targaryen dragons once inspired only terror, these new stories carry a different tone. "The Dragon Prince," they call him, speaking of protection rather than destruction. In taverns from Duskendale to Rosby, common folk raise cups to Prince Thalor's health.
Tywin set the parchment down, his mind calculating the implications of this development with the precision of a master player of cyvasse. It was not the first report he had received about the second Targaryen prince and his unusual dragon. For years now, his informants had been bringing him accounts of Nightfury's unprecedented intelligence, of Thalor's remarkable maturity and skill with the beast, of training sessions that suggested preparation for something beyond mere spectacle or sport.
But this—this public demonstration, this deliberate creation of a heroic narrative—this was new. And potentially significant.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter," Tywin commanded, his voice as crisp and authoritative as always.
Ser Kevan Lannister, his younger brother and most trusted advisor, stepped into the solar. Shorter than Tywin but similarly broad-shouldered, Kevan had the same golden hair, though his was beginning to thin with age. He carried several scrolls under one arm.
"The tax reports from Lannisport you requested," Kevan said, placing the scrolls on the desk. His eyes fell on the parchment Tywin had been reading. "More news of the young prince?"
"Indeed." Tywin pushed the report across the desk, allowing his brother to scan it. "It seems Prince Thalor has decided to become a champion of the common folk."
Kevan read quickly, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Interesting timing. Just as the king's behavior grows more erratic, his second son emerges as a protector of the realm."
"Precisely." Tywin steepled his fingers, considering. "The question is whether this is a calculated political move or simply the impulsive heroics of a boy with a dragon."
"He's only seven," Kevan pointed out.
"Seven in years, perhaps." Tywin's gaze drifted to the window, where a black speck could be seen circling high above the Red Keep—Nightfury, apparently engaged in one of his daily training flights. "But by all accounts, the boy thinks and acts with the calculation of someone far older."
"You suspect deliberate image-crafting, then? A seven-year-old planning political narratives?" Kevan sounded skeptical.
"I suspect," Tywin replied carefully, "that we would be fools to apply normal expectations to this prince. Whether it's the Targaryen blood or something else entirely, Thalor is no ordinary child." He returned his attention to his brother. "And that presents both opportunity and challenge for House Lannister."
Kevan nodded, understanding immediately. House Lannister's position at court had grown increasingly precarious in recent years. King Aerys's once-close friendship with Tywin had soured, giving way to suspicion and occasional public slights. The king's declining mental stability only worsened matters, making his favor as unpredictable as summer snow.
"You're thinking of Cersei," Kevan guessed.
"Of course." Tywin rose from his desk and moved to the window, watching the distant dragon's aerial maneuvers with calculating eyes. "She will be of marriageable age soon. We had always assumed Rhaegar would be the match to pursue. But perhaps we should reconsider."
"The crown prince is still the heir," Kevan reminded him. "And by all accounts, a promising one—intelligent, skilled at arms, well-loved by the people."
"For now," Tywin agreed. "But a crown prince without a dragon, in an age when dragons have returned..." He left the implication hanging.
Kevan joined him at the window, watching as Nightfury executed a series of tight spirals that would have been impossible for the larger, bulkier dragons of Targaryen legend. "You think the succession could be contested?"
"I think," Tywin said carefully, "that when a Targaryen rides a dragon, traditional rules become... flexible. History has shown this repeatedly." He turned from the window, his expression hardening. "And I think King Aerys grows more unstable by the day. His fixation on Prince Thalor and that dragon borders on religious fervor. Who knows what notions he might entertain regarding the succession, especially if his relationship with Rhaegar continues to cool."
"It would be unprecedented," Kevan mused. "Passing over the firstborn son without cause."
"Dragons make their own precedents," Tywin replied firmly. "And regardless, we need not pin our strategy on such a dramatic development. Even as the king's second son, Prince Thalor with his dragon would be a valuable alliance for House Lannister. Particularly if the stories of the creature's unusual abilities are true."
Kevan nodded slowly, recognizing the path his brother's thoughts were taking. "So we begin positioning Cersei accordingly? Shifting our focus from Rhaegar to Thalor?"
"Not yet," Tywin cautioned. "For now, we observe. We gather information. And we ensure that when the time comes to present Cersei at court, she is prepared to impress both princes." A thin smile briefly crossed his severe features. "My daughter is nothing if not adaptable. She will understand what is required."
Kevan seemed about to reply when another knock came at the door, more urgent this time.
"What is it?" Tywin called, annoyance flashing briefly across his face.
A red-cloaked Lannister guard entered, bowing hastily. "My lord Hand, the king has called an immediate Small Council meeting. He was most... insistent about your attendance."
Tywin and Kevan exchanged glances, both recognizing the careful phrasing that suggested one of Aerys's increasingly common outbursts.
"Very well," Tywin said, reaching for the chain of golden hands that symbolized his office. "Did His Grace mention the purpose of this sudden council?"
"Something about dragon dreams, my lord," the guard replied, clearly uncomfortable. "He was quite agitated, speaking of ice and darkness in the North."
Tywin's expression revealed nothing, but internally, his interest sharpened. This was not the first time Aerys had mentioned such dreams, nor the first time the North had featured in his ravings. And more significantly, Tywin's own informants had reported similar themes in Prince Rhaegar's research in the royal library, and in the training regimens designed by Prince Thalor.
Three Targaryens, independently fixated on threats from the North. Coincidence seemed increasingly unlikely.
"I shall attend immediately," Tywin decided, straightening his crimson doublet. "Ser Kevan, continue reviewing those tax records. We'll resume our discussion later."
As Tywin strode from the solar, his mind worked furiously, analyzing this new piece of information and its potential implications for House Lannister. Dragons, succession questions, and now some supposed threat from beyond the Wall—the game was growing more complex, the stakes higher.
But complexity had never deterred Tywin Lannister. If anything, it energized him.
A lion thrives in chaos, he reminded himself as he descended the Tower of the Hand. While others see uncertainty, we see opportunity.
Whatever was brewing among the dragonlords, House Lannister would be positioned to benefit. He would make certain of it.
---
The Small Council chamber was tense when Tywin arrived, though he allowed no hint of haste or concern to show in his measured stride. King Aerys sat at the head of the table, his appearance a jarring contrast to the composed Hand. At thirty-four, the king's once-handsome features were increasingly haggard, his silver-gold hair lank and unwashed, his violet eyes holding a feverish gleam that had become distressingly familiar to those who served him closely.
Beside the king sat Prince Thalor, looking remarkably composed for a seven-year-old summoned to a council of state. His unusual green eyes took in the assembled advisors with an assessment too shrewd for his years. Nightfury was curled at his feet, the dragon now large enough that his presence in the chamber required councilors to arrange their chairs at awkward angles.
"At last, my loyal Hand arrives," Aerys said, his tone making the honorific sound almost like an insult. "Perhaps now we can address the visions that have disturbed my sleep these past nights."
Tywin took his seat with dignified calm. "I came as soon as I received your summons, Your Grace. How may the council serve?"
Aerys leaned forward, fingers drumming an erratic pattern on the table's polished surface. "I have seen it again—the army of the dead marching south, bringing the endless winter. The enemy that nearly destroyed us all once before, in the Long Night."
Grand Maester Pycelle shifted uncomfortably. "Your Grace, these dreams—"
"They are not merely dreams!" Aerys snapped, slamming his fist down hard enough to make the councilors flinch. "They are visions, warnings. The blood of Old Valyria flows true in me, and it shows me what comes." His gaze shifted to Thalor. "Tell them, my son. Tell them what your dragon has seen."
All eyes turned to the young prince, whose expression remained remarkably calm despite being suddenly thrust into the center of attention. Tywin watched him with particular interest, noting how the boy seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking—a rare quality in one so young.
"Nightfury dreams, as all creatures do," Thalor began, his high voice nevertheless carrying a peculiar authority. "But his dreams often show places he has never visited, events he could not have witnessed." The prince's hand rested lightly on his dragon's head. "For several months now, he has dreamed repeatedly of the Wall, and of what lies beyond it. Of creatures made of ice that bring the dead back to a twisted semblance of life."
The skepticism on the councilors' faces was evident, though most were too politically astute to voice it openly. Only Lord Staunton, Master of Laws, dared a gentle rebuke.
"My prince, while I would never question your bond with your remarkable dragon, might it not be possible that these are simply nightmares, perhaps influenced by stories you've heard? Old Nan's tales of White Walkers and ice spiders are frightening enough to disturb anyone's sleep."
Thalor met the older man's gaze steadily. "Perhaps, my lord. I cannot claim certainty. I report only what Nightfury has shown me, and the consistency with which these visions recur."
Tywin studied the interaction with sharp interest. The boy neither insisted belligerently on the truth of these dreams nor backed down sheepishly. Instead, he presented the information and allowed the council to draw their own conclusions—a remarkably mature approach that spoke to either excellent coaching or unusual natural political instinct.
Aerys, predictably, was less measured. "You doubt my son? You doubt the dragon's visions?" he demanded of Staunton, who paled visibly. "Perhaps you doubt my own dreams as well? Do you think your king mad, Lord Staunton?"
"N-never, Your Grace," Staunton stammered, sweat beading on his brow. "I merely suggested—"
"My son's dragon is unlike any in our history," Aerys continued, his mood shifting abruptly from rage to something like reverence. "Nightfury understands speech, draws maps, remembers complex information. Why should his dreams not be equally extraordinary? Why should they not be warnings from the gods themselves?"
The king turned to Tywin, eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been quiet, Lord Hand. What does the great Lion of Casterly Rock think of these visions?"
Tywin met the king's gaze unflinchingly. "I think, Your Grace, that wisdom lies in neither blind acceptance nor dismissal of such matters. The histories speak of a Great Other beyond the Wall, of a Long Night that nearly consumed the world. Whether these are literal truths or metaphors has been debated by maesters for centuries." He inclined his head slightly toward Thalor. "But when a Targaryen dreams of dragons, prudent men pay attention. When dragons themselves dream... that seems worthy of at least investigation."
It was a carefully calibrated response—neither endorsing the king's increasingly paranoid worldview nor dismissing it outright. And it positioned Tywin, once again, as the voice of reason and pragmatism among the councilors.
Aerys seemed almost disappointed not to have provoked a more dismissive response he could rage against. He drummed his fingers faster, seemingly battling conflicting impulses.
"Investigation," he repeated finally. "Yes. The Night's Watch must be strengthened. Ravens must be sent. And Thalor—" He turned to his son with sudden intensity. "You and Nightfury must prepare. The dreams have shown you facing this enemy, leading the fight against the darkness."
Something flickered across the young prince's face—a momentary tension quickly mastered. "I will continue my training, Father," he said carefully. "Nightfury grows stronger every day."
"Good, good." Aerys's attention wandered, his mood shifting again. "Lord Commander Hightower, double the Kingsguard presence around Prince Thalor's chambers. Nothing must interfere with his preparation."
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, bowed his head in acknowledgment, though Tywin noted a brief exchange of glances between the knight and the young prince—something unspoken passing between them.
Interesting. The Lord Commander seemed to have developed some manner of understanding with the boy. Another relationship to monitor.
As the council meeting continued, devolving increasingly into Aerys's rambling speculations about ancient prophecies and threats beyond the Wall, Tywin maintained his outward composure while inwardly analyzing every nuance of the situation.
The king's obsession with his second son continued to grow, as did his apparent belief that some great destiny awaited Thalor. More concerning was the evidence that the boy himself, along with his dragon, seemed to share at least some of these convictions. Not with Aerys's manic fervor, but with a quiet certainty that was, in its way, more compelling.
And if there was any truth to these visions—any at all—then the implications for the realm, and for House Lannister's position within it, were profound.
By the time the council was dismissed, Tywin had reached several conclusions. First, Prince Thalor's importance in court politics would continue to grow, potentially rivaling or even surpassing Rhaegar's in the king's estimation. Second, the unusual dragon Nightfury represented a military and political asset unlike anything seen in Westeros for generations. And third, something genuinely strange was occurring with regard to the North and the Wall—something that had captured the attention of all three royal Targaryens, albeit in different ways.
As Tywin rose to leave, he found Prince Thalor's green eyes upon him, watching with an assessment that seemed impossibly knowing for a child of seven. For a brief, unsettling moment, Tywin had the distinct impression that the boy was reading his thoughts, anticipating his political calculations.
Then Thalor inclined his head slightly—a gesture of respect between equals rather than a child's deference to an elder—and turned away, Nightfury flowing to his side like a living shadow.
The encounter, brief as it was, left Tywin with a rare sense of uncertainty. He was accustomed to being the most politically astute person in any room, to seeing three moves ahead while others struggled to grasp the present situation. Yet something about Thalor Targaryen suggested a mind equally strategic, equally calculating, despite his tender years.
A troubling notion, but also a potentially useful one—if House Lannister could secure an alliance with such a prince.
---
"Father, you wanted to see me?"
Cersei Lannister stood in the doorway of Tywin's private solar in Casterly Rock, her golden hair cascading over the shoulders of an emerald gown that matched her eyes—eyes that were so like his own, filled with the same keen intelligence and ambition.
At eight years old, she was already showing signs of the great beauty she would become, her features delicate yet strong, her bearing regal despite her youth. Tywin had ensured that his daughter received an education befitting not just a great lady, but a potential queen—politics, history, courtly graces, and the subtle arts of influence and manipulation that often proved more valuable than any formal power.
"Yes, come in," he instructed, setting aside the reports he'd been reviewing. "There are matters we must discuss regarding your future."
Cersei entered and took the seat he indicated, her posture perfect, her expression attentive. Joanna would have been proud to see how their daughter had developed, Tywin thought with a momentary pang that he quickly suppressed. His wife's death in childbed four years earlier had left him with twin golden children and a gnawing emptiness he permitted himself to acknowledge only in rare, private moments.
"I'll be bringing you to court next year," he informed Cersei without preamble. "You're approaching an age where your presence at King's Landing will serve House Lannister's interests."
Her eyes lit up with poorly concealed excitement. "To meet Prince Rhaegar?" she asked eagerly.
Tywin studied his daughter thoughtfully. Like most noble girls her age, Cersei had developed something of an infatuation with the crown prince, based on songs and stories of his beauty, his skill at arms, his melancholy charm. It was natural enough, and potentially useful—but incomplete.
"You will meet the entire royal family," he clarified. "Including Prince Rhaegar, yes. But also Prince Thalor and his dragon."
Something flashed across Cersei's face—surprise, perhaps disappointment at the prospect of divided attention. "The second son? But Father, I thought—"
"You thought I intended to secure a betrothal between you and the crown prince," Tywin finished for her. "And indeed, that remains a possibility. Rhaegar will need a worthy queen when his time comes."
He rose and moved to the window, gazing out at the setting sun that bathed Casterly Rock in golden light. "But the game at court grows more complex. Prince Thalor, despite his youth, has become a figure of significant importance. His bond with Nightfury, his unusual abilities, his growing popularity among both nobles and smallfolk... these factors cannot be ignored in our calculations."
Cersei frowned slightly, processing this information with the political acumen he had carefully cultivated in her. "You think he might challenge Rhaegar for the throne someday?"
Tywin turned, pleasantly surprised by her quick grasp of the situation. "I think that with a dragon at his command, Prince Thalor's future holds many possibilities. And House Lannister would be wise to keep all options open."
He returned to his desk, sitting across from his daughter. "I am not instructing you to set your sights on the second son instead of the first. Rather, I expect you to assess both princes carefully when you come to court. Form your own judgments about their characters, their strengths and weaknesses, their potential as husbands and kings."
"And then?" Cersei asked, her green eyes sharp with understanding beyond her years.
"And then we will determine which alliance best serves House Lannister," Tywin stated simply. "The crown prince may seem the obvious choice now, but much can change in the years before you reach marriageable age. The king's favor shifts like quicksand, and his fascination with Prince Thalor continues to grow."
Cersei nodded slowly, considering. "What is he like? Prince Thalor, I mean. The songs speak so much of Prince Rhaegar, but little of his brother."
"Unusual," Tywin replied after a moment's thought. "Intelligent beyond his years. Composed in a way children rarely are. His green eyes—"
"Green?" Cersei interrupted, surprised. "Not violet like most Targaryens?"
"No. Green as summer grass. It's one of many ways he differs from his forebears." Tywin leaned forward slightly. "But most significantly, he possesses a dragon unlike any described in historical accounts. Smaller, faster, more maneuverable than the great beasts of conquest. And intelligent—remarkably so. The creature understands speech, remembers complex information, even communicates after a fashion."
He saw the calculation in Cersei's eyes, the reevaluation of possibilities. Good. She was learning.
"When you come to court," he continued, "you will have opportunities to observe both princes. Use those opportunities wisely. Learn their interests, their concerns, their ambitions. Become someone they notice, someone they wish to speak with again."
"I understand, Father." Cersei straightened, her expression resolute. "I won't disappoint you."
"I know you won't." Tywin allowed himself a rare, slight smile. "You are a lioness of the Rock. You were born to be a queen."
Pride bloomed on Cersei's face at his approval. "What of Jaime?" she asked after a moment. "Will he come to court as well?"
Tywin's expression hardened slightly at the mention of his son. Jaime showed great promise with a sword, but lacked the political cunning that Cersei had inherited. More concerning was the twins' excessive closeness—a matter Tywin intended to address by separating them in the coming years.
"Not immediately," he said. "I have other plans for your brother's education. Lord Crakehall has agreed to take him as a squire. It will be good for him to learn from a seasoned warrior, away from the comforts of the Rock."
He noted a flicker of disappointment in Cersei's eyes but chose not to address it. The twins' unhealthy attachment would fade with distance and separate duties, he had determined. And Jaime would develop the martial skills befitting the future Lord of Casterly Rock, while Cersei refined the social and political acumen necessary to be a queen.
"Now," Tywin said, drawing their discussion back to its central purpose, "tell me what you know of dragons from your studies. If you are to impress a dragon prince, you must understand what makes his companion special."
As Cersei began recounting facts she had memorized from Maester Creylen's lessons, Tywin listened with half an ear, his mind still working through the complexities of the situation at court. Aerys's increasing instability, Rhaegar's scholarly remove, Thalor's unusual maturity and his growing bond with a creature of legend—all pieces on a board that shifted with each passing moon.
House Lannister would adapt, as it always had. And when the time came for alliances to be formalized, for marriages to be arranged, the lions would secure the most advantageous position possible.
Whether that meant a golden-haired queen for the crown prince, or for the dragon prince, remained to be seen. But Tywin Lannister would ensure that either way, House Lannister's future would be secured.
And if the Targaryens' dreams of ice and darkness proved more than mere fantasy—if some threat from the North truly did loom in the future—well, the Rock had stood against winter winds for thousands of years. It would stand for thousands more, so long as lions ruled it with claws sharp and minds sharper.
Tywin Lannister would see to that personally. As he always had.