"I wish you were King."
"I will be, one day."
"I wish you were now."
"Why is that?"
"You wouldn't hurt anyone if you were King."
"The crown lies heavy on the head that wears it. A King always hurts someone."
"You wouldn't hurt your own."
"You?"
"Mama."
"I would hurt neither of you."
"I know. I love you, brother."
283 AC, Lord Harroway's Town.
He looked older, his brother. Taller, albeit he'd always been tall, after he'd done being small. More weathered, altough his face was as smooth and pale as it ever had been, before and after he'd been forced to grow. Older, he looked older.
Such was the way of things, wasn't it, and of course he would, wouldn't he.
Only, it wasn't, Rhaegar knew, not quite, and his brother only looked older because it had been almost a year since last he'd last seen him, and far longer than that since he'd last studied him.
He'd all but failed as an older brother, the Prince knew that too, and all he'd done – and not done – had all but made him into a terrible one.
Yet, selfishly, he still couldn't help lament that little boy Aeryn had been, waiting with bated breath for stories and tales, gazing up at him with a wide smile and twinkling eyes.
There was none of that boy, none of that smile, and none of that youth, in the unblinking red eyes of the man staring back at him.
They were sat, both, the sun's orange dusk outside and the tent's red fabric all around joining to shower them in scarlet, a measly table that could have easily been an endless sea, keeping them apart.
He'd always been one for books, his little brother, the Prince couldn't help lament too, and when the books and the tales had been harshly ripped away from his hands and his ears, he'd turned himself into one for whispers, and guile.
Yet however it was, whichever way it had gone, Aeryn should have never been made to lead armies, from tents and fronts, in piss and mudd, and Aeryn should have never been caused to don armour, dark and snarling just like his, but twice as slim..
It wasn't Aeryn's destiny, blood and war, it was his. He'd read it, and he'd studied it, and he'd prepared for it, and he knew it.
Fate was his burden, not his little brother's, and yet Aeryn had been burdened all the same, by madness and tragedy and faults not his, and for one bright moment, Rhaegar couldn't stop himself from despising it all, and despising himself most of all.
But just a moment it was, an instant in time, and the Dragon Prince swallowed, squinted, and forced himself forward, not to look back.
He'd be lost, Rhaegar knew, if he looked back.
A brother's concern, anyhow, he couldn't force out of himself. "How are–"
"I shan't ask of you, or of your northern trollop." He was ruthlessly cut off, by a voice that sounded different, too, from what he recalled. Smoother and harsher. "You shall make me the favor of not asking after the woman and children you have forsaken."
And the molten rock raising within him, a Dragon's temper, he couldn't quell either.
"I've forsaken nothing, brother." Rhaegar bit back, thinking of that little boy, and of Rhaenys, and Aegon, and Elia. And of Lyanna, too. He'd set things straight, make everything right, and only then would he ask forgiveness. Only then. "And you shall watch your words. I am your Prince."
A weak retort, that sounded weak to his own ears, like a taken man defending his paramour's honor, and his own. Or like a love stricken fool, grasping for straws, desperate for a maid who'd have clawed his eyes out, here and now, if she were present.
A weak retort, made weaker by the answer it earned him.
"Prince." Aeryn scoffed, the shade of a mocking smirk dancing at his lip. A vicious thing, not teasing, like it once had been. "May the Gods save us when you'll be King, my Prince."
When, thought the Prince, a desperate fool, not if.
How was it, then, that the tiny slip gave him little comfort.
Because it was a piece of wood in a sea of disdain, Rhaegar knew. But he should have been grateful, all the same, for it was a branch, and not a tear-stricken face, wishing death upon him.
"How is Mother?" The Prince carried on, not looking back. "Viserys? Are they well?"
His brother stood, abruptly, and gave him his back, walked to the nearby greater table and the chart laid on it.
"I am told you had time to see the King, yet it appears you did not have time to see your Mother, the Queen." Aeryn didn't even turn back, as he spoke, after a time. "What an awesome Prince you make, my Prince."
His hand flexed, then, and his jaw jumped. He'd called this upon himself, yet his pride still disallowed him to correct him, his brother, at least aloud. It was their Mother. "Answer the question, Aeryn."
"I was fighting your War, my Prince." Aeryn answered, as cool as winter. Lyanna had told him they'd met, in not quite those words. He could see why they hadn't taken to eachother, his wolf of fire and this dragon of ice. "I last saw Viserys and your Mother the last time I saw the Capital. They were crying, both, if you must know."
He did need to know, but he didn't feel better for knowing. He'd ask their forgiveness, too, but later, not now.
"What of Lord Baratheon?" Rhaegar stood and joined his brother, looming over the map. "Tully, Arryn, and Stark?"
Aeryn didn't even glance his way. "Them, I have not seen. Apologies, my Prince."
"Aeryn."
Again, nothing. "They're on the other side of the river, my Prince, as you surely know." He tapped one pale finger on the spot. "I suspect tomorrow they will not, and neither will we."
Rhaegar dearly hoped they wouldn't be. Tomorrow was the day he would start.
"Our main force, and I, shall meet them at the fort." Spoke the Dragon Prince, pointing too. "I'll bring Ser Jonotor Darry, while Lewyn Martell and the dornishmen will take the flank. You, and your force, and Ser Barristan, can–"
"I, my force, and Ser Barristan, have already spoken of what we shall do." He was interrupted. "As most here, already have. Again, my apologies. Next time I shall wait for my Prince's arrival, to plan war and battle."
Rhaegar kept his brow from twitching. "What shall you do?"
"Overlook." And didn't it almost made his shoulders slump, that simple answer.
He should know how many fights his brother had fought, where and when, but he didn't, and tomorrow he didn't want him fighting another. It'd be the last, of this kind, and he knew Destiny would only be sure to shroud one of them. Let the other be shielded by common shields.
"We have them outnumbered and outresourced." Aeryn continued, eyes narrowing. "We need them outplanned, too, so that we might put a swift end to this."
"We will."
"I shall sit on the bank, or on the hill, here." His brother went on, as if he hadn't spoken. "Rain arrows upon them, when I can, supervise when I can not, rally or join the fray, when and where it'll be needed." A pause, then, eery and stretched. "As such, the thousand man I have at my command will be more than enough. I do not require Ser Barristan. Take him with–"
"No." His head shook, sharp and firm. "I have Darry. You shall keep Barristan."
Aeryn's lip creased, up or down, now that the sun had gone and only dark remained, he couldn't tell. "You are Prince."
Rhaegar's curled too, up, in a frail smile, small and tentative. "You are too, brother."
And that pitiful thing swiftly wilted and died, left nothing in its wake, when all he received was a jeering sneer. "You've really come for your glory, haven't you? Just for that? Are you truly so afraid any might take it from you?"
He hadn't. And it wasn't about glory. But there was no point explaining, not here and now. "You shall have Ser Barristan, I shall have Darry. I am not asking."
"Very well, then, charge in, with Darry. Go." His brother jibed, taunted, at a moment's notice, looking down at the charts, and not at him. "Meet Baratheon. Fight him in the muck. See what it gets you."
If Aeryn was still the boy he'd been, he'd have called this a fear of a kind. From this man he'd become, shaped by Aerys and shaped by War, Rhaegar didn't know what to call it.
It shamed him, but he needn't need tell, not really.
"I will not fall, Aeryn." The Prince promised, with the certainty of a man who'd read his destiny. "I will not fail. I swear."
His brother just scoffed, once more, not glancing, once again. "Words mean nothing, Rhaegar. Yours least of all."
He knew, and he walked.
"I will prove it to you." Rhaegar spoke over his shoulder, the tent's scarlet flap in his hand and the evening's breeze in his silver hair. "I will fix things. Set them right. Everything. Tomorrow i'll begin, and tomorrow we'll talk."
He'd almost left, crossed the threshold, after a moment or a few of vain hope, when he was given pause.
"Brother." The Prince quickly looked back, the red eyes he found there, ensnaring his purple, weighting him down as heavy as any of his faults. "Today, or tomorrow, it matters not. I will always hate you the same."
Yes, Rhaegar thought, turning away, I know.
"Did you speak?"
"We did."
"Did you say your goodbyes?"
"We did not."
"You should have, my Lord."
"A wretch he may be, Jacelyn, but a liar he is not."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Nevermind."
This took a bit, but was kind of fun when I finally got down Rhaegar.
Well, my own interpretation, at least. I actually wrote this a couple times, because in the first drafts he was a bit too cocky/cuckoo.
But anyway, like always let me know what you think of it, and see you next time.
Mx. Caraxes: I've gone with naming the chapters after what Aeryn is to each POV, which is kinda cool and also hopefully helps some. Thanks about the Mad King! Glad the paranoia shone through the madness.