Rhaegar finds her the next morning in the gardens where she and the rest of his mother's Ladies have been breaking their fast and discussing the happenings of court with their silver queen.
Ostara doesn't notice him at first as her back is turned in his direction and her attention on little Viserys, who toddles about the table under his mother's watchful eye - ever the curious child, his brother. All of the Ladies smile and compliment him, they say he's a sweet boy and so well behaved considering he's only a few months shy of his second name's day. Ostara watches him, reaching out occasionally to steady him whenever he over corrects his balance and tries to send himself to the floor.
"Rhaegar, my boy, come and sit!" Rhaella commands the moment she notices him, startling Ostara slightly.
The young Lady glances away from Viserys, around the table, and in the direction every other Lady is looking in.
Rhaegar smiles as he moves to press a chaste kiss to his mother's slender hand. He looks rather charming today; hair braided back out of his face in a single plait that hangs down his back, clothes a subtle dusty purple that manages to not wash out his already pale coloring, and smiling kindly enough that it softens the normally somber cast of his face.
One for the warrior destined to bring the dawn, one for the dragonborn who lives not as a pawn. One for the man doomed to die, one for the beauty destined to fly. The rest for the children born in the peace, after the darkness Azor Ahai beats.
Ostara swallows thickly and shakes the remnants of last night's nightmares from her mind. She's going to have to find the Three-eyed Crow soon lest the rest of her nights be plagued with prophetic words and corpses.
"I'm afraid I must decline. I'm here to speak with the Lady Ostara." Rhaegar says to his mother, lavender eyes drifting to where Ostara is sitting.
There's a collective drooping of shoulders from the Ladies around her, nothing too noticeable but there all the same. Ostara wonders if these women are truly so desperate for a crown - or perhaps Rhaegar's attention- that they would react so poorly to not receiving it or if they're merely playing a roll for the eyes watching them from the shadows.
Ostara turns to the Queen.
"You're dismissed Lady Ostara." Rhaella says to her, smiling softly in a way Ostara only ever sees from her when Rhaegar or Viserys are around.
Rising from her chair Ostara nudges Rubeus' paw with her foot before moving to where Rhaegar is standing. He smiles politely while offering his arm to Ostara which she takes with a subtle roll of the eyes. Rhaegar must see it despite Ostara's best efforts because his lip quirks up in a soft little grin before he begins guiding her away from the group of Ladies and his mother.
It's silent for several long moments before Rhaegar pulls them both to a stop, pulls a rolled piece of parchment from his thin air, and presents it to her with a flourish.
Ostara stares at it for a long moment before leveling Rhaegar with a look.
"What is this?" Ostara demands perhaps a bit too harshly.
Rhaegar doesn't seem all that bothered by her tone though, he seems almost giddy for her to be asking these questions. It might have been enough to make her suspicious if it were anyone else she were talking to, but she knows Rhaegar well enough she supposes.
"I've been thinking about what you said the other day and I contacted the the Citadel asking for a Maester to be sent to King's landing."
"What did they say? Are they sending a Maester?" Ostara wonders, fingers stroking over the wax seal that has yet to be broken.
"Perhaps. Best to open it and see."
Grinning foolishly Ostara breaks the seal and quickly unrolls the parchment to look over the contents of the letter.
Heart nearly fluttering in her chest Ostara reads and re-reads the statement that the Citadel will be sending a Maester to King's Landing - Flea Bottom specifically - to stay at the orphanage and tend those living there. Before turning to Rhaegar she reads the letter one last time, just to be sure. When she finally chances a glance at Rhaegar she finds him regarding her fondly, like her happiness is the best thing he's ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Without thought Ostara slings her arms around Rhaegar's neck and hugs him fiercely.
She's an affectionate creature; more then willing to display her love of family and friends with little gifts, hugs, and chaste kisses. This is nothing new to her, but judging by Rhaegar's sudden stiffness it's new to him.
Pulling away Ostara doesn't even acknowledge the hug with even a smidgen of embarrassment and instead turns her attention to the parchment in her hands.
"How did you manage this?"
"I am a prince, Ostara."
"You're telling me that you commanded the Citadel to send you a Maester?"
"No," Rhaegar shakes his head, "I've enough respect for the Citadel that I'd not do a thing so low as that... I merely asked the Citadel to send a Maester."
Ostara doesn't necessarily believe that but it's not an impossibility that the Maesters at the Citadel would be more willing to listen to Rhaegar as he is. It's sexist as hell and Ostara's vaguely insulted but mostly she's just glad to have someone with a medical education and an ability to teach the children. Hopefully they send someone kind to take care of the children when she cannot.
"I owe you one, I suppose." Ostara remarks offhandedly, still focused on the letter in her hands.
"You owe me nothing, Ostara."
"No one does something for nothing, Rhaegar. Not here."
She glances at him and finds him frowning at her.
"You call us friends, Ostara, is this not what friends do for one another?"
"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that your father wants up to marry, would it?" Ostara asks dryly.
Rhaegar bows his head, hands moving to clasp one another behind his back.
"No, but I suppose you wish to discuss it then?"
The sudden tension in her familiar's body makes Ostara's eyes narrow slightly before she smooths her features into something softer.
"Yes. I enjoy you're company, Rhaegar, you are my friend and I treasure that but I do not intend to marry you based on the wishes of others." Ostara says as she tucks the freshly rolled parchment into the hidden pocket of her skirt.
"I would not expect you to." Rhaegar says with a bow of his his head causing the silver hair fluttering down his back to shift and catch in the light.
It looks incredibly soft. Ostara thinks she could run her fingers through it and never catch on a knot, unlike her hair, which tangles and frizzes with the intensity of her magic. It's only gotten worse as she's matured, but fortunately enough there is still a definable curl as opposed to a wild mass of tangle.
"I'm glad." Ostara glances off to the side. "Would you like to accompany me on a walk of the gardens?"
"I would be most honored." Rhaegar says before extending one of his arms for Ostara to take.
With a soft sigh of irritation, mostly directed at herself, Ostara takes the offered arm and allows the Prince to begin leading her through the garden. Neither of them really talk of anything important and it's fine, it's comfortable. More comfortable then Ostara expected it to be, really. She likes how calm Rhaegar is, how relaxed he is even after such an abrupt turn of events... It's good considering someone may very well be following them.
Ostara bites her lip to keep from frowning at the thought. If someone is following them through the gardens then it's best to keep any serious conversation to a minimum. Using magic right now would be too suspicious but Ostara isn't opposed to it should the need arise. If anything, it will offer an opportunity to speak with Rhaegar privately.
Absently, Ostara flexes the fingers of her left hand, a phantom pain shooting up and down her arm as Rhaegar guides her further into the gardens.
~X~
"Rubeus, to me." Her voice is sharp, similar to a whip snapping through the air when her beast gets to close to one of the courtesans wandering through the gardens.
The woman's eyes are wide and her hand trembles when she notices the curled lip of the shadowcat. Rhaegar thinks it odd as the beast had never shown any signs of aggression while in his presence, but then, it is not in a shadowcat's nature to be complacent and docile. Just as it is not in a dragon's nature to be content with chains and cages. The pommel of his sword in oddly cold against his skin and Rhaegar dreads the idea of using it on the girl's pet.
Thankfully, the shadowcat is more mindful of his mistress than Rhaegar had thought for when she barks at him the great hulking mass of silver and black fur growls once more at the terrified courtier before loping back to stand between his mistress and the other woman.
"Thank you, er... Yes, thank you, My Lady."
"Leave."
Green skirts swirl as the woman curtsies before rushing off down the path. Rhaegar watches her go, watches the gold embroidery in her skirts shimmer as she runs from them. Once she's out of sight Rhaegar turns his attention back to narrowed eyed comapnion, who is no longer watching the girl and is instead absently scratching her pet's head.
"She'd been following us for some time now." She offers, already stepping away from her beast to begin making her way down the path.
"How do you know this?"
This time she looks at him, eyes just as dark and lively as the last time he'd seen her, Rhaegar thinks she might be vaguely disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why that bothers him so much but it does. More then her beast nearly attacking an innocent woman, or perhaps not so innocent considering she's a courtesan of the Red Keep.
"Rubeus started acting oddly just after we'd left." Ostara remarks rather blandly causing Rhaegar to glance at the great beast.
His ears are no longer twitching, there's no more tension in his spine, he looks as he looked when Rhaegar saw him earlier. Why Rhaegar hadn't noticed it before is a mystery to him as he likes to think himself incredibly perceptive.
"That's quite the name," Rhaegar finds it's easier to talk about the shadowcat currently padding along ahead of them instead of her indifference. "Where did you come up with it?"
Ostara casts him a glance full of conflict before she says, "When I was young I found Rubeus and ever the impulsive child I took him home. After father said that I could keep him I might have asked for a collar of rubies."
"Might have?"
Her smile seems too practiced, painted across her face in such a way that it makes Rhaegar wonder if she's lying. But what reason would she have to lie about a name? Rhaegar chooses to ignore the little thought that crosses his mind for the briefest of seconds, instead giving the girl his full attention.
"As I said, I was an impulsive child and Robert certainly never discouraged such behavior. Of course, a collar full of rubies would have been incredibly impractical so my father told me no. I named him Rubues instead."
"You named him after rubies?"
This time she pauses before replying with a soft, but fairly distant, "Yes, what else would I have named him for?"
"It's just as good a name as any." Rhaegar remarks pleasantly, placating, soothing.
Her responding smile is a soft thing that eases the tension in her face a bit.
"Robert teased me for it quite often when we were younger. He always said that it was a foolish name to give a shadowcat."
"And what would Robert have had you call it?"
"Something silly I'm sure," the girl says impishly. "It couldn't have been much worse then Thunderclap, which was the name he bestowed upon his gyrfalcon, but it wouldn't have been better either."
There is a fondness in her tone that makes Rhaegar ache. He'd never had siblings in his youth, older or younger or the same age as him, and so he'd grown into adulthood without the arguments, taunts, and rivalry common among siblings... But he'd never had the fondness nor the joyful memories nor the inseparable bond that some siblings are wont to have either.
Viserys is a babe yet and he will forever be too young for Rhaegar to play with the way he might have had Rhaegar been closer in age to his little brother. So while there may be fond memories shared between them it will not be the same.
He's glad, at least, that Ostara has been able to do such with her siblings. To play, to jest, to pester. All things Rhaegar had done but never with someone of his own blood. Which is, perhaps, for the best. The idea of marrying a sister had never quite appealed to Rhaegar the way it appealed to his father and his father before him and fighting with a brother for the throne is even less appealing then marrying a sister.
"And Stannis? What were his thoughts on the matter?" Rhaegar finds himself asking.
"Stannis? Well, he didn't have much to say on the matter truthfully... He was very supportive of my keeping Rubeus, however."
"I see." Rhaegar isn't all that surprised.
Of all his cousin Steffon's children Stannis is the most stoic, the quietest, the one closest to Ostara. Rhaegar had seen it when they'd visited King's Landing as children, saw it whenever Ostara wrote to Rhaegar and mentioned Stannis, and again at Lannisport. Quiet and severe Stannis Baratheon may be but Rhaegar doubts he hadn't done anything to Robert for any perceived wrongdoing on the older boy's part. Not having anything to say on a matter never means there isn't something you can't do about it.
And as Ostara's twin the connection shared between her and Stannis is increased tenfold.
Rhaegar shakes the thoughts of siblings from his mind, not willing to find out where they might lead in regards to his future. He's had enough thoughts about his future to know that allowing himself to bother with them now would do nothing to help him in his effort to form a relationship with the girl that will hopefully be his bride if she ever feels compelled. He knows enough about women and girls to know that sputtering about demons and war and darkness does nothing to soothe them.
For all her fierceness Rhaegar suspects that even Ostara would shy away from such talk.
So he smiles charmingly at the curly haired Lady beside him, laughing when she makes jokes -she's surprisingly humorous and Rhaegar is relieved, for who would want to live their life with someone lacking humor - and guiding her when she admits to not knowing the gardens well enough to chose her own paths. It's quiet, peaceful, Rhaegar does not feel the weight of his duty quite so fiercely when he is speaking with Ostara.
A relief, especially when his duty tends to make itself all the more apparent the longer he remains in the Red Keep.
~X~
In his dreams, fickle things that they are, Rhaegar sees a land full of ice and snow where it's difficult to peer through the haze of a winter storm. When he turns to glance behind him there is a shadow in the distance. A building perhaps? Somewhere he can take shelter? Deciding that it is best to seek shelter then stay out in the open Rhaegar begins the difficult task of walking through the snow.
But in his dreams he does not walk.
He flies, and the higher he goes the easier it is to see. And so up, up, up he soars until he is gliding over dark, low hanging clouds and a world full of drab greys. It's thrilling, exhilarating, Rhaegar has only ever read of flying but if this is what it feels like he can understand why Rhaenys spent so much time on her dragon, so much time in the... A strong pulse of something hot and wild and just as primal as he is pulls his attention away from thoughts of his ancestors, his blood, his kin.
Without thought Rhaegar pulls his wings tight around him and allows himself to fall, a mighty roar leaving him as he plummets down, down, down at speeds that would have frightened him if he were anything but a dragon. As he falls he catches sight of a small figure standing in the snow, calling out without speaking but Rhaegar can still hear her. Mother. The thought is not his own but it is so fierce that Rhaegar will never question it, never doubt it.
Mother, you've called for me.
He can see the woman now, perhaps not as clearly through the haze as he might have liked, but he can see the wildness of her hair and the sharp, wicked curve of her mouth as she smiles. His wings snap out, catching him before his body smacks into the earth and carries his heavy body toward the woman who's begun walking toward him. Walking, then jogging, then sprinting through the snow.
Mother, command me.
Speaking, she's speaking but her mouth does not move. It's no matter, the-beast-that-isn't-Rhaegar understands her just fine. Heat pools somewhere in his chest before rising up, up, up to spew from his mouth in a twist of gold and red and brilliant orange. It's then that he realizes that the snow falling around him is not snow. It's ash, so much ash that it covers the land and falls from the sky and blocks out the sun.
The only light coming from his flame and the woman who has stepped through the fire toward him, only stopping when she's close enough to place one slender hand upon his jaw. But it is not the affection of the touch nor the calming words spilling from her lips that causes Rhaegar to freeze, but instead it is the eyes. Sharp and purple and shining fiercely in a face covered in ash and blood.
Rhaegar screams her name and the world turns to blackness.
~X~
Dragon dreams, Rhaegar thinks as he flips through one of his ancestor's journals, I wish to learn more of dragon dreams.
It is known that dragon dreams have come to those touched with magic within Rhaegar's ancestry. Many of his kin were plagued with the dreams, sometimes good came from it as is the case with Daenys the Dreamer, and yet other times... Rhaegar does not want to think of those times.
He cannot think of those times when the dragon dreams brought nothing but death and destruction to his house.
Rhaegar wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, or grind his teeth. He wants to do something other then sit in the library with Arthur's eyes on him and wonder why the fuck he's been dreaming about dragons and Ostara. This is not the first time he's dreamed of her either, now that he thinks about it Rhaegar can recall at least two other times he dreamed of her.
Once at Lannisport, he'd dreamed of white light and Ostara and... and... And Rhaegar thinks there might have been someone else too. Someone important for his mind screams at him to remember something he simply cannot. He hadn't remembered the dream at first, or perhaps if he did he merely brushed it off and forgot about it, but the longer he thinks the more he remembers.
There was a time, once when he was a little boy before Ostara was even a thought to her parents, that Rhaegar dreamed of a woman with soft hands brushing back his hair. He'd asked her when father would return, in a voice voice higher and lighter then his own, and the purple eyed woman with the swollen middle had merely smiled and told him to sleep. That everything would be alright in the morning. That she would never let anyone hurt him.
Rhaegar knows that the dreams can show the past or the future or perhaps even the present. The dreams show whatever must be seen and it is up to the dreamer to decide how to act.
So does that mean he'd dreamed of Ostara and her child? Their child? And if he had dreamed of them could it mean that the forgotten person in his other dream could have been their child as well?
So many questions, so many question and so few answers.
"Are you unwell, Your Highness?" Aruthur inquires, brows furrowed.
"No, Arthur, I'm quite alright," He promises as he closes the journal and sets it aside. "Do you have plans for this evening?"
The furrow disappears as Arthur smirks, "Feeling restless?"
"Something like that."
"Hm, well I'm to guard your mother this evening. Perhaps tomorrow?"
Rhaegar nods absently, fingers brushing over the supple leather of one of his ancestor's journals.
He'll be switching his guard duties with Ser Barristan or so Rhaegar assumes, either way Arthur will be guarding him tomorrow evening and that's all Rhaegar asks for. Sneaking out is easier with Arthur because the knight doesn't ask questions or report back to his father or warn Rhaegar against his trips to Flea Bottom where he blends in among the common folk. It's the only true way to escape his duties and the eyes of the servants, the only true way to find out what the people think of their rulers. Rhaegar has been sneaking out to Flea Bottom for years now. He knows which tunnels lead where and the guard rotations and who can be persuaded to keep their mouths shut and who will run off to whisper into his father's ear.
"May i ask you something, Arthur?" Rhaegar asks, voice low so that no one else can hear them.
"Of course."
"What is your personal opinion of Ostara Baratheon?"
Something passes over Arthur's face. Exasperation perhaps?
"Your Highness, I don't think it approp-"
"I'm asking for your personal opinion, Arthur... I'll not have you killed for it."
Arthur sighs, that pinched look he gets when he's annoyed briefly painting his features before he settles his face into something more neutral.
"I think that the Lady Ostara is too smart for her own good. It'll get her killed if she's not careful."
"How do you mean?"
"Well it's... Hard to explain... There's an air about her, I suppose, that makes me think she knows more then she's letting on." Arthur glances around before turning back to Rhaegar. "I also find myself wondering if she's hiding something... I could explain some of her behavior."
Rhaegar frowns, "Thank you, Arthur."
"May I speak freely, Your Highness?" Arthur asks.
"Of course you may, Arthur."
The knight licks his bottom lip, a nervous habit he's never quite been able to shake. "Perhaps you should inquire after her behaviors? It would save you the effort of plotting."
"I'm not plotting." Rhaegar retorts, vaguely affronted.
"Scheming then. Whatever you want to call it, Rhaegar, talking to Ostara is perhaps your best idea?"
Rhaegar offers a curt nod, angry with himself for being so predictable and annoyed with Arthur for being so close to him that the other knight knows what Rhaegar's plans are without having to be told. It's a bother to say the least but... Well, Arthur has never intentionally mislead Rhaegar. It might not mean much in a place like King's Landing but it means something to Rhaegar.
Or rather, it means enough that the plan to talk to Ostara is set aside for the moment as Rhaegar figures out another way to sort out his dreams and the Baratheon girl's place in them.
~X~
The tavern Arthur and he frequent is uncommonly quiet, the typical rowdy patrons sitting among themselves discussing topics in low tones that none save their small group can make out. Rhaegar is thankful their attention is on other things then him and Arthur tonight.
Running his thumb over the rough handle of his mug Rhaegar casts another glance around before turning to Arthur, who has yet to touch his own mug and hasn't taken his eyes off of the room since they sat down. Rhaegar understands. Arthur has always been a careful man, always true to his duties, and tonight is no different. Just because he's accompanied Rhaegar to the tavern does not mean he'll slouch in his duties as a protector.
Rhaegar takes a sip of watered down ale before turning his full attention to Arthur.
"I've been having dreams." He tells the other man.
Arthur raises a golden eyebrow at Rhaegar and says, "Many men dream."
"Yes, but I believe these dreams are the type to have plagued my kin in the past." Rhaegar whispers so that no one will hear him.
This admission makes Arthur frown and lean back in his seat.
"You're certain?"
"I wouldn't have mentioned it if I weren't. I've had three that I can recall, perhaps more, I'm uncertain."
"What is so special about these dreams? Perhaps they mean nothing."
"I've had dreams of dragons and children and each one has always had one commonality - Lady Ostara."
Tension causes the vein in Arthur's neck to jump as he shifts forward in his seat.
"Surely you jest!" Arthur hisses at him.
"No, I've had many dreams of her I believe. I only recall a few but I'm certain it was her."
"You don't think she's... What I mean to say is..." Arthur purses his lips, lost for words or perhaps unable to convey them the way he wishes he could.
Rhaegar nods.
"Yes, I believe that she is. Why else would the dreams come to me? Why else would I see her?" Rhaegar swallows heavily, a strange feeling that he can't identify swelling in the pit of his stomach. "The dragon must have three heads."
Ostara is his friend, even before she came to King's Landing and his father had begun pushing for a marriage she has been his friend. If she were only appearing in his visions due to that Rhaegar is sure things would have been shown to him differently but... One does not dream of children and dragons and a woman walking through fire simply because she is his friend.
Something about Ostara Baratheon makes her special. So incredibly special that Rhaegar aches with the realization of it.
Very suddenly a sharp want spreads through Rhaegar's chest.
He wants the things he saw in his dreams; dragons to come back to the world, a family to raise and protect, and a wife to love, to love him in return.
This is why he dreams of Ostara. It has to be why he dreams of Ostara. What else could it mean? Surely the Gods would no be so cruel as to give him visions of everything he's ever wanted in life only to have them ripped away from him? Rhaegar raises his mug to his lips and sips. Ostara is lovely and kind, Gods is she kind, Rhaegar's never met a more intelligent woman either.
He'd always known that one way or another his father would have them wedded and bedded. That one day she'd be his queen... While he'd never been opposed to the idea Rhaegar finds himself more excited for it then he probably should be. If he was going to help guide the realms into a time of peace and prosperity then he had wanted to do it with someone like Ostara.
Now? After the dreams and so many letters exchanged? After the time they've spent together?
Oh, how Rhaegar aches with the want of it, her, them.
Unfortunely, she seems less than pleased with the idea of marrying him. An odd thing - a woman not wanting to marry him, a woman not wanting to be a Queen... But perhaps that is not the reason she pulls away from the idea. Hadn't she said that she'd only marry him if she wished to? If that's the case Rhaegar has a chance, all he needs to do is show Ostara that a life with him could be good. Court her properly, gain her affection, and should things not actually work out between them then Rhaegar will know that he tried at the very least.
"You're not very good at sneaking, are you?" Ostara asks causing every muscle in Rhaegar's shoulders to tense.
Across from him Arthur sucks in a breath, turning his head to stare at the girl who's caught them pretending to be common in a tavern with less then stellar repute. Rhaegar follows, twisting around to stare at Ostara and finding his breath catching in his throat. Because she's wearing a pair of tight fitting breaches tucked into dark boots, a white tunic hidden beneath a heavy leather shirt that is held closed with brass buttons, and her hair is hidden beneath a plain scarf and she looks every inch the girl she is but her eyebrow is raised and her eyes are... Is she ashamed?
"Good evening, Lady Ostara." Arthur greets.
"Ser Dayne, perhaps the next time you two attempt to sneak out of the Keep you do so a bit more carefully? Your disguises wouldn't fool anyone who's ever seen you before tonight."
Oh yes, that is disappointment.
Rhaegar feels a bit like a child being scolded for doing something naughty.
"Are you alone, Lady Ostara?" Rhaegar asks, hoping to shift the topic toward her and away from himself.
"Of course not, Rubeus is around." She says with an exasperated huff.
That is incredibly ominous and Rhaegar doesn't like the implications. Neither does Arthur if the tension in his jaw is anything to go by. But the shadowcat would not hurt anyone would he? Surely not... Not unless Ostara commanded it of him. So perhaps the real question is whether Ostara would call her beast to harm another or not. Rhaegar doubts she would.
But just because her pet wouldn't harm an innocent doesn't mean he makes for a good protector. No matter how fierce, a beast can be easily killed. Even the dragons were not immune to the masses of terrified commoners that fell upon them int he dragon pit.
"Well, I'd best be off then, if I linger I'll be caught." Then she's turning on her heel and walking toward the door, "I haven't you're immunity to reprimand after all."
"Perhaps Arthur should escort you back." Rhaegar suggests which earns him a snort from the girl.
She turns to look at them both, hands on her hips and mouth pressed into a line, looking every bit the authoritarian Barristan looks when he's irritated with the other guards.
"That's hardly necessary... I'm sure I can handle myself should things get hairy, not that they will, it's much easier for a girl to be sneaky when she's not being followed."
Then she's walking away, disappearing through the tavern door without so much as another word or look at them. It leaves Rhaegar feeling unstable, like he's done something incredibly unbecoming which, yes, in a way he has. Sneaking about isn't exactly something Princes are supposed to do and guards are certainly not supposed to encourage them which is what Arthur's doing... But for some reason he doesn't think Ostara's upset with him for sneaking out of the Keep.
And it's the uncertainty that has Rhaegar's head pounding by the time he and Arthur return from Flea Bottom early the next morning.
~X~
A hand comes into his view, holding a vial of something opaque.
Rhaegar glances away from his reading to find Ostara standing beside him at his usual table in the library with one eyebrow raised and a faint amusement coloring her features.
"I figured you might need it. For the headache." She explains, hand still outstretched.
And Rhaegar's head pounds as he takes the medicine from her. For surely that's what it is... Surely she'd gotten it from Pycelle. It looks different from the remedy he's used to taking but at this point Rhaegar's too nauseous to care.
"Thank you." He whispers, anything much louder would have caused too much noise for his senses at the moment.
He hadn't meant to drink nearly as much as he had last night, truly he hadn't. But one mug of ale had turned to two then three then four and then he and Arthur had slipped off to another tavern where they ordered more ale because it would have looked strange for two men to come in and not drink.
"Of course, if you need anything else let me know. I'm more then willing to help a friend in need." Ostara's tone is laughing, much different from the tone she'd used the night before, and then she's walking away from him and Rhaegar doesn't think to stop her until she's gone.
But the vial is warm in his hand, the medicine sweet on his tongue. Rhaegar thinks that he doesn't like the thought of Pycelle being alone with Ostara. Not one bit. Not at all. Especially when Rhaegar knows of Pycelle's fondness for young Ladies with pretty smiles and sweet voices. His fingers curl and clench, clench, clench around the vial until the sound of glass beginning to crack forces him to relax his grip.
He'll deal with Pycelle once his head stops pounding