The Victors

At the Feast

The Queen Dowager's face remained carefully neutral but Rhaegar could feel her disapproval. For first time since becoming a widow she was visiting a great banquet – she usually preferred dining with her long time attendants and little Daenerys whom she kept at her side, in her own chambers most of the time. It's been six years since he had defeated Robert Baratheon at the Trident but she still preferred the solitary life of a widowed queen and barely led any public life, spending much of her time at Dragonstone with Daenerys and Viserys. Still, she had agreed to attend the banquet tonight and Rhaegar could already feel her dismay. In truth, he shared it – the music was too loud, the meals in the wrong sequence, the wine not cold enough. And that was without even mentioning the decorum, or the lack thereof – it was as if the ladies were left to their own devices. Of course, they were.

He looked at his Queen. At his right, Lyanna was not looking at him, grim and stony silent. Sure, he knew that she had been anticipating trying the new horse he had presented her with a few days ago but the sudden arrival of the men from the Iron Bank had forced both of them to rearrange their plans and give them an audience – both of them because two of them had brought their wives along. Lyanna's free spirit had not taken this sudden press of rules – in reality, just another one in the long lines of such occasions – benignly.

Again, his eyes went to his mother. He had wanted so much to make it perfect for her, make her feel that the Red Keep was a better place now without his father's bouts of madness. Instead, she was faced with brash behavior, licentiousness, boring conversations, and bad wine. But then, what could he expect of Lyanna? She was not a lady and she did not care about conventions and norms. She never had – and that was exactly what had drawn him to her in the beginning. He had longed for something different, something more. He had found it – and he had paid for it dearly. The Seven Kingdoms had paid the price, too, with thousands dead because of Rhaegar's love.

Thousands… His mind took him back to that terrible day when he had come back victorious, only to learn that his father, at the peak of his insanity, now saw him as an immediate threat. Not the heir of the Iron Throne but a rival for it. Let him be the King of ashes, Aerys had reputedly said. It was a fortunate occurrence that he had found his own death at the flames he had lit in the throne room before he could have the entire city burned down but the pyromancers had managed to take down some major buildings before the palace guards led by Jaime Lannister could stop them; the Maegor's Holdfast had not held. Nothing could have prepared Rhaegar for entering the city as a victor and seeing the flames rising from the Dragonpit as if the dragons had come back to life, bathing King's Landing in their hot breath; nothing could have prepared for the huge gates of the Red Keep being catapulted by the roaring fire to reveal the mouth of hell in front of his terrified eyes. And nothing could have had him prepared to hear that his wife and children, the younger one a babe he had only seen a couple of times, had died in the flames. He had seen Elia's body being prepared for the funeral. Half of her face had literally melted away. Aegon and Rhaenys looked untouched. Rhaegar prayed that the smoke had suffocated them, that they had not burned in the flames.

A man strode toward the dais. Rhaegar sighed. His Hand was quite troubled with the newest debt the Crown owed to House Lannister and at the same time, he insisted that imposing larger taxes would not resolve the issue. The Gold Cloaks needed their barracks repaired. The animosity between the Tyrrels and the Martells was raging anew…

Rhaella lifted a slim hand, beckoning the newcomer to her. Jon Arryn bowed. She smiled benignly. "I am overcome with joy to see you so well, my lord Hand," she said. "But you must know that official banquets are not the place to talk of politics – to talk of any work, indeed."

He started stammering a response; amused, Rhaegar saw how his face turned purple. Jon Arryn was a good man. Making him the King's Hand had been a good decision on Rhaegar's part but he was hardly the most tactful of people; still, he was mindful of good manners and was mortified that he had committed such a breach of etiquette.

Rhaella smiled and her purple eyes shone. She patted the table next to her. "Come on, my lord," she said and with a single look of hers, servants scrambled to bring an additional chair. "Tell me more of the Eyre. I have never been there but I've heard it's one of the most wonderful places in the world. Does one really need to be carried in a basket to reach the peak?"

Jon Arryn sat down, reluctantly. Lyanna leaned down against Rhaegar and said, "I think it's going beautifully, don't you think?"

"I do," he agreed.

"Tell me more of the new type of armour the blacksmiths are offering you," she went on and Rhaegar tried to suppress his irritation. He didn't mind Lyanna having her own interests, truly he didn't. But she had some duties that she didn't seem to realize she had to fulfill. Talking about new armours was fine but she was supposed to engage ladies in conversations focused on women things – and she didn't know how to do it and didn't seem to want to try. Wishing that she had gone to her ride instead of sitting here – there was nothing wrong with that but she should have taken care of organizing the banquet in the best way possible. Instead, they were having a commotion of singers, dwarves, performers who were not coordinated between themselves and Southern foods that did not match the wine – the bad wine. Now, his mother and Elia had never taken care of the smallest details either but they had appointed people who were good at this. They had just needed to mention what they wanted done, in the most general of terms, for those people to get the idea and carry it out. He looked at his mother. Jon Arryn's stunted words had turned into smooth speech, his face alive. Rhaella was nodding and asking questions from time to time. Rhaegar smiled, suddenly reminded of the bright young queen his mother had once been before his father descended into madness, when Rhaella had presided over a magnificent court, making everyone at ease. How beloved they had been then, the young King and his Queen.

Rhaegar and Lyanna weren't. They were doing their best but they were constantly followed by whispers, hostile looks and sometimes, barely contained hatred. No one was willing to forget the price their love had taken from the realm.

"Maybe it'll be good if you go to the shelters for orphaned children," he turned to his Queen.

Lyanna looked confused. "Why?" she asked. "I am their patron and I think I'm doing my job well enough."

A singer raised his voice in yet another song for a beautiful maiden and a valiant knight. Applauses and clapping echoed all over the room. At the end of the dais, Arthur Dayne stood tall and impressive in his white cloak, his face stony but his lips twitched in the merest hint of disdain. Rhaegar sighed.

"I know, my lady," he said. "But you need to be seen doing it."

"Why?" Lyanna asked.

Rhaegar didn't answer . They had had this conversation dozens of times. She would never understand. That was what one did.

"Since we're talking about children…" she started and Rhaegar felt a burst of anger. He knew what was coming.

"No," he said flatly.

"But you don't even know what I was going to say!"

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed and smiled duly for their guests. She did the same. "You want me to let your brother's son to return to Winterfell, right?"

"Robb is barely five, a mere child, and he's been at King's Landing since he was a babe," Lyanna said. "My goodsister is desperate. Her other children don't even know their brother. Ned is…"

"Not here," he interrupted. "We'll be having this conversation in our chambers."

"No," she insisted. "This conversation? It's never a conversation. You don't listen to what I have to say."

She was right, Rhaegar guessed. But then, what did she have to tell him, really? Having Eddard Stark's heir here gave him the loyalty of the North. It wasn't as if they were abusing him. The boy lacked for nothing. He was well cared for, he was best friends with his cousin Prince Jon. He just couldn't go home, at least for another couple of years. At least.

"He's my brother's son…" Lyanna kept insisting.

Your brother's son. Yes, your brother's son. Not my son. My little boy died in the flames, his promise stolen before he even had the chance to fulfill it. If I can live with this, then why in the seven hells can't your brother live knowing that his son is alive and well, just apart from him?

"No," he said again.

Silently, Lyanna turned her back to him. Rhaegar could already say that her door would be closed for him tonight.