When the blood of the dragon meets the soul of the dragon, the continent begins to burn.
The Baratheons are steadfast, strong, and formidable. Leanna Baratheon is no different. She is the storm, and no one, Targaryen or other, will bring her down.
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"How can you support this?" Leanna snaps, twisting on her heel to pace back the length of the room.
"It's not that simple," Viserys appeals to her. She knows she's going about this all wrong. Too harsh, her tone entirely unacceptable when speaking with the heir.
Except Leanna is angry.
A firestorm unleashed on her brother-in-law, ignoring both Daemon and Aemma as they watch the exchange.
"Except it is that simple. You should have walked into that room and enforced your right as heir to the Iron Throne to prevent their vote. Perhaps you have not been paying attention as of late, but that bastard of a Hightower is the one who nearly convinced the Citadel to cut ties with the Baratheon house entirely! Thank the gods for Grand Maester Allar's clear mind, or else I would likely be swinging from the gallows somewhere."
"I can't change anything now."
"Oh, you most certainly can," she wheels again, walking right up to Viserys with her finger extended accusingly. "You have every right to walk into your grandfather's chambers and tell him to overrule the Small Council. And," she scoffs, "you can put an end to the whispers of the things he expects his young daughter to do to our ailing king in the dark of night."
"All those in this castle know that my grandfather is not in his right mind."
"And yet he is still our king, is he not? Does his word still not mean all? Or would you rather have a Hightower head this kingdom in a pretense of the good of your family. I will not sit idle by, and neither should you."
"You must consider the enemies I will make now that he has already been sworn in."
"Your sway will make their annoyance insignificant in the long run. Listen to me, Viserys. If you allow Otto Hightower and his greedy accomplices to run rampant through these halls, this kingdom is going to fall apart."
"Who would you propose as Hand instead, then?" He asks, obviously expecting a lackluster answer. As if she hasn't thought this over tenfold.
"Corlys Velaryon."
"He has already been driven to resign from the Small Council once before over his grudges. What makes you think he wouldn't do it again?"
"He won't," she answers. "There is too much for him to gain from that position. What better way to make peace with Driftmark? You will ease the tensions before your rule has ever begun."
"Why not Rhaenys?" They both turn to look at Aemma. She steps forward, hands clasped before her. "She would be a most formidable Hand."
"If we were to replace Otto Hightower with a woman, there would be a price on all of our heads," Leanna responds grudgingly. "Believe me, I would see it through under any other circumstance. Yet Corlys, with his wealth and reputation, can easily be reasoned for with the other lords."
