Chapter 11: Interlude - the Seven
Jaron Velaryon watched the Seafyre leave King's Landing with a sense of dread. "Stranger take you, Baratheon."
The tide ebbs.
He'd hoped to give Lelouch experience at sea under the watchful eye of Adamm, mayhaps win a battle or two before testing him with true command. Not like this though, with the numbers so skewed against them!
But Lelouch's willfulness and Baratheon's ploy had trapped him. What was he to do? Had Lelouch's plan been less thought through, it could have been dismissed as a child out for vengeance or glory. But Royce had to make his quip, insult his family! It could not go unanswered.
Then the Hand put the final nail in by consenting and the matter was out of his hands. King Jaehaerys did not act without support from his small council, unlike Aegon.
What was he to do then? Speak out after having given his implicit support? He would look the fool.
If the Seven were kind, Lelouch might live through a narrow victory. A storm or some divine act would deliver it into his hands, though it would be costly. A defeat would be a setback, and might threaten Lelouch's right to be master of ships when his time came. But if he died...
What a fine mess his damned pride had landed them in. That was the truth of it. To want his future grandson to sit on the Iron Throne, was that such a crime?
He had lost one child to fire already, would the gods rob him of another? Wildfire was volatile on the best of days. Besides, the Wisdoms of the Alchemists' Guild had failed already, which was why they were in this position to begin with. At least Lelouch had taken his own precautions to keep the ship carrying wildfire at a distance.
Would it be enough? So many things could go wrong. At this time of year, even the seas might claim his son. It would be poetic, and the gods loved such things if His High Holiness' ministrations had any truth to them.
Warrior give him courage. Smith steer his ship, Jaron thought, and whispered, "Mother have mercy. He is a boy for a few months still, not even a man grown."
If the Wisdoms burned his son, he would put their whole guild in King's Landing to the sword, and pox on any man who thought to stop Jaron Velaryon!
"You spoke with my son, did you not, Ser Dennis?" Jaron asked.
The Knight of the Seax nodded. "Briefly when I escorted him to the Red Keep, my lord."
"You've never made your thoughts unclear when prompted. What do you think of him?"
"Angry," Ser Dennis said immediately, "and clever. That makes him dangerous."
Jaron tipped his head. "Explain."
"It's in his eyes. Constantly seeking, swaying here and there. He takes in everything around him, and asks plenty of questions." Ser Dennis paused. "He hides it well, but I've seen rage in my life, and I saw it in him that day. His uncle, and then his sister… I do not know who he blames for it, but I would hate to be them. Your son's anger is no bonfire to burn bright and die quick, but a low simmer. It may be months or years before he lets it go, if he ever does."
"Lelouch has always been smart, too much for his own good at times," Jaron said. "Do you think he is blind to his rage?" Will he make a mistake that kills him?
"Respectfully, you already know the answer to that, my lord," Ser Dennis said. "He will succeed. You must have faith in him."
"I am a father. It is my prerogative to worry," Jaron said, then fell silent. There were cruelties at court that came with its comforts. He would spare his daughter that pain, now that a match with Aerys was impossible. Mayhaps time with family would help her in ways he could not. "Alarra… my daughter must leave King's Landing as soon as she is able. I entrust her life to you once again, as I did before."
"As soon as the maesters give the word, my lord."
"Let us return for supper." I have let grief take me long enough. My work is half-done.
Candles from the Great Sept of Baelor lined the streets, set in front of houses. The people still mourned for King Aegon nearly a month after his passing. He had been a man for the smallfolk, and the many protections he'd granted them were unheard of in both breadth and depth.
As with any change, many lords protested or ignored his directives, but King's Landing was the heart of Targaryen power. Here, if no where else, the king's word was law, and that law was absolute. Small wonder the people still prayed for his return, and cursed the new regime bitterly through no fault of King Jaehaerys.
The anger had cooled some now. No longer was riot considered the greatest threat to the new regime, though that was less due to anything Royce and Baratheon had done and more the existential threat Blackfyre's Band of Nine posed.
Or should it be Band of Eight now? Jaron thought as he entered the king's feast hall within Maegor's Holdfast.
"Tardiness," Baratheon said, raising a goblet to his lips, "is unbecoming of you, Lord Velaryon."
Jaron bowed slightly to King Jaehaerys and Queen Shaera besides him. "Your Grace, I must beg your pardon. I was seeing my son off."
"It is of no concern," the king said. "Have a seat. The food has just arrived."
Jaron sat across the queen, between the bowl of oxtail soup and salad of spinach, sweetgrass, plums, candied nuts, and violets that she was fond of. A servant poured his preferred Highgarden vintage instead of Arbor gold as most lords liked. He found the Arbor grapes too sweet for his tongue.
"Your son has caused quite the stir, Lord Velaryon," the king said. "You should have brought him to court sooner."
"I will endeavor to do so in the future, Your Grace," Jaron said after swallowing a sliver of roasted venison with apples and onions on a bed of Essosi herbs.
"I heard he even bested young Steffon in a spar while he was here," the king said, raising a brow at his good-brother.
Ormund Baratheon nodded, lips set in a thin line. "That he did, though it was not a proper and honorable fight. Sand was used."
"It is no more honorable to choose a foe with only one good hand," Jaron said.
"He scorned the princess," Baratheon said. "Even Prince Aerys fought for her honor."
"The poor boy was in grief," Queen Shaera said. "It has not been an easy time for any of us."
"Aye," Ormund said solemnly, meeting Jaron's eye. The matter was dropped.
"How have my Lords Paramount responded, Good-brother?" the king asked.
"As well as can be expected, Your Grace," Baratheon said. "Ten thousand men gather at Lannisport, with pledged levies from the stormlands, riverlands, and the Vale of Arryn numbering half that each. Luthor Tyrell is raising a host equal that combined, and has broken open his stores of grain for the campaign. Even Quellon Greyjoy is gathering his Iron Fleet."
King Jaehaerys speared his potted hare with a fork. "Will it be enough?"
"The Golden Company numbers but ten thousand men," Baratheon said. "We will easily command six times that when all have gathered."
"Maelys commands nearly that many if we put all his allies together," the king said, brow furrowing. "We will be landing too."
Even the king does not believe victory is certain.
"Mayhaps Jaron's son might win us a great victory, and see the war moot," Baratheon said with a sly grin. "I expect, at the very least, he ought to be able to secure a beachhead for us if he's half as competent as we've been led to believe."
Another of Baratheon's traps; to begin with the impossible so that the unreasonable might seem expected. Everyone knew Lelouch's odds were unfavorable to achieve even that without crippling losses. To show support would only make it worse if he failed, and to temper expectations would be to betray his own house.
Jaron said nothing.
-ZeroRequiem-
Lelouch had done it!
Jaron's chest swelled with warmth as he read through the letter for a third time. Another's victory had never tasted so sweet to him before. With this, perhaps there was hope to salvage the disaster Summerhall had been for the Velaryon name.
"Victory," he announced finally to the small council, a wide smile blooming.
"What sort?" Baratheon asked.
"Total," Jaron said. An exaggeration, but only a little.
"We will need more details than that, Lord Jaron," Lord Edgar said.
"Of the one hundred and eighty ships arrayed against him, some eighty ships managed to escape."
Gerold whistled.
That wasn't all. "The Golden Company have also suffered the first of many defeats at my son's hand," Jaron said. "A contingent of their men landed ashore, but their ships were driven off. They were surrounded, then slaughtered to a man. Several thousand of our enemies are slain, and among them is Samarro Saan."
"These Ninepenny Kings die like flies," Tymor Lannister said. "Sevenpenny Kings now, I suppose."
"Losses?" Lord Neleus Royce asked.
"A few ships, and some two hundred men. Most unfortunate is that the wisdoms were killed in battle. A Tyroshi ship rammed them before they could escape, and the conflagration no doubt took them," Jaron said.
"Fitting," Gerold said, "that they've redeemed themselves this way."
"Your son has surpassed our wildest expectations, Lord Velaryon," King Jaehaerys said.
Jaron grinned, glancing at Lord Royce. "Like I said, he is a Velaryon. He was born to ride the tide."
"This Maelys must be a thrice-damned fool," Royce said, "to be beaten so badly by an untested child on his first campaign. How far the Blackfyres have fallen, to be reduced into this pitiful thing."
"Mayhaps the war will end before we even reach the Stepstones," Tymor said.
"We ought to spread word of this," Jaron said. "Surely what few friends Blackfyre might call on will see his cause futile after this."
King Jaehaerys nodded. "See it done, Grandmaester Pycelle."
A war hero to whom the Targaryens owed their pretty crown would be a fitting prince consort. Jaron thought, smirking at Baratheon. Certainly more worthy to be good-brother than the son of a rebel. They would strengthen old ties through the truth of brave deeds.
The tide flows.
The ravens were sent, and by sundown the whole city knew what had occurred.
-ZeroRequiem-
"Another delay, I'm afraid," Lord Edgar said. "This time from the Reach. Heavy rains have muddied the roads. Several leading carts and wagons were tipped over, and Lord Tyrell refuses to send his van ahead."
King Jaehaerys tapped his fingers against the table. "We seem to get more and more of those each day. At this rate, Lelouch Velaryon may finish turning Bloodstone into his Harrenhal before the realm sends him any of the men or ships that we've promised! That seems the only progress we're making in this bloody war!"
The small council remained silent, and King Jaehaerys sighed. "How many days has it been now?"
"Nineteen, Your Grace," Gerold said. "If you would permit me, I can set sail with the levies that have already arrived."
"Some twenty-five hundred men if I recall," King Jaehaerys said, looking at Lord Royce for confirmation.
"Twenty-seven hundred men as of last count," Royce said. "Though the problem of supplies is not yet resolved."
"Can they not simply live off the land when they get there?" Lord Edgar asked.
Neleus Royce shook his head. "From the reports we've received, Bloodstone has but some small farming villages and fisheries. It has land to grow more crops, but that would take time to cultivate. Woods must be cleared. The island has long been a pirate haven, it is not used to supporting so many men, and is stretched to capacity as it is."
"It does not help that men fear winter may lengthen on us, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle chimed in. "It has been a warmer winter than usual, but still a winter nonetheless. Besides, it has been getting cooler as of late, though the Citadel has not finished its assessments to say."
"Of course its getting cooler," Baratheon said. "The storms have not let up all week! In case they've forgotten, the harshest and rarest of storms come with winter."
"Is there a reason for these delays?" Jaron asked. "Surely foul weather alone cannot be the only explanation."
The master of whisperers shrugged. "With Bloodstone securely in our hands and Maelys Blackfyre having made no further moves at sea, there are whispers that the Blackfyre has given up on his claim and is content to be King of the Disputed Lands."
"He is building a fleet, no doubt," Jaron said. "Two Free Cities are in his grasp. One has just lost a good portion of their fleet, the other saw their port burned. Both by my son. They are biding their time. Besides, what further moves need they make? Everything from Redwater to Pryr has been taken."
"Gold is drying up as well," Tymor said. "Trade with Essos has come to a screeching halt with Old Mother's ships menacing the seas once more. Few have enough warships to make the corsairs hesitate."
"Perhaps you ought to find other sources for coin then, Lord Tymore," Jaron said. "Or have the mines of Casterly Rock run dry?"
Tymor scowled. "I can petition Lord Tytos for more funds, but cannot guarantee his answer."
"It strikes me odd that Lord Tytos has enough gold to loan the Reynes and Tarbecks, but not the Iron Throne," Lord Edgar said. "Especially after all King Aegon has done for him."
"I cannot speak for him," Lord Tymor said.
Edgar offered them a slight smile, and turned to King Jaehaerys. "Some men also think that this war will be a quick affair after Lelouch Velaryon's easy victory. Reach knights ride like they might to a tourney."
"Maelys Blackfyre is still a very real threat," Gerold said tersely.
"I know that, and you know that, Lord Commander," Edgar said. "The problem is the rest of the realm doesn't. Few men still live that remember Daemon Blackfyre and the First Rebellion save in the songs and stories. They saw the Third and the Fourth though, pitiful fights that those were. What did they bring to bare save some ragtag sellswords carrying tattered banners?"
"They have many, many more sellswords now," Jaron said.
"Sellswords have no discipline and no loyalty," Gerold said. "I do not blame men for thinking the war is just waiting to be won. Had I not known better, I would count myself amongst them."
King Jaehaerys scowled.
"If I might make a suggestion, Your Grace?" Jaron asked. "In the interest of morale, perhaps we ought to call my son back to King's Landing and honor him with a procession. A reminder to the smallfolk that we are still winning this war, though little of late has occurred. And perhaps once our lords and knights see your open hand, it might light a fire in their bellies once more."
And a chance to show off Lelouch to Princess Rhaella and every other highborn lady looking for a husband. What maiden didn't swoon over a hero? People liked those even more than knights on a tourney!
"I agree, Your Grace," Baratheon said, to Jaron's surprise. "It would be good for the realm."
And shame those lords that dragged their feet.
King Jaehaerys stood. "See it done."
-ZeroRequiem-
Though untrained and possessing little discipline or martial value, the City Watch of King's Landing nonetheless served as excellent parade props in their gold cloaks and gleaming black armor.
The past three days had been an exercise in longsuffering as Jaron helped Lord Royce teach these men how to march in formation, and their officers the proper commands for drill. It had all been worth it to see them march behind his son in their perfect squares, sorted by companies of a hundred.
The procession entered through the River Gate as soon as Lelouch disembarked from the Seafyre atop his silver-grey Seasmoke that morning. A cloak of Myrish lace was draped across his shoulders, Targaryen black instead of Velaryon aquamarine. It was difficult to tell watching from afar, but the fabric looked newly woven, though was no less fine for it. Procured from those Myrmen Lelouch had brought to Driftmark's shores no doubt.
"Would you like to see, Princess Rhaella?" Jaron asked, offering her his far-eye.
She accepted daintily, but with muted enthusiasm. Her anger at Lelouch had soothed some with time, but the slate was not cleared. There would be plenty of time to work on that. If he had to lock the boy up in the Red Keep until they were cordial with each other, so be it.
Behind his son followed Lords Tarth and Wendwater, though neither man had sent a son to fight in their stead. Still, Jaron could not begrudge them a share in the honor. They had kept faith with his house and victory could not have been won without their commitment. Flags depicting the silver seahorse, sun and crescents, and the river and three trees flew high, but chief amongst these was the three-headed red dragon on a field of black.
It was Lelouch's triumph, but in service of the Targaryen cause.
Men in the streets were calling it the Bloodying of the Stepstones. Others preferred the Seafyre Battle. To Jaron, it mattered little, so long as they remembered it was won with Velaryon skill at arms. After they finished circling the outskirts, everyone would.
"If I might be so bold, Your Grace, might you consent to speak with my son again? Under more pleasant circumstances this time I assure you," Jaron said. "Lelouch feels terrible for how he acted towards you and wishes to beg forgiveness," he lied easily.
"Lelouch is not so bad once you've pruned his thorns," Aerys added, keeping one ear open apparently. The support was a welcome surprise.
"I… I suppose I could find it in my heart to give him a few minutes," Rhaella said, a little more fire in her eyes betraying her. She did admirably hiding it, but the princess was many years his junior in this and age. "He did fight for my father's right to sit on the Iron Throne."
"Lelouch will be most pleased to hear of this!" Jaron said. Time to put his skill at mummery to good use.
Princess Rhaella's brow scrunched. "Were they not supposed to head here after assembling at the Wisdom's Square?"
Jaron's lips thinned and he took back the far-eye, setting his gaze towards the center of the city where the Guild of the Alchemists stood.
What is he up to now?!
Lelouch seemed to exchange some pleasantries with Wisdom Dode, and for a second, a stone dropped on Jaron's chest as his heart beat loudly in his ears.
Surely he wouldn't be fool enough to kill them all in broad daylight? Hero he might be, but committing brazen slaughter would see him dead.
Then the moment passed. Lelouch tipped his head towards the alchemists, and headed up Visenya's Hill.
"I didn't take him to be an overly pious man," Aerys commented. "Though I suppose if the gods granted me a victory like his, I'd utter the seven prayers too."
Lelouch was praying besides His High Holiness, and seemed to be sharing words of platitude with the crowd.
Why is it, Jaron thought as he saw heads dip in mass prayer, my own blood that ruins my best laid plans?
-ZeroRequiem-
Most people noticed the Iron Throne first when entering the great oak and bronze doors. It was not by accident. Its own misshapen design was meant to be as much eye catching as it was terrifying. Were that not enough by itself, the long carpet from the door led to it, and even fully packed at four thousand courtiers, the carpets were always kept clear.
But seeing the Iron Throne a few thousand times, admittedly a luxury few men had, and it started to lose some of the magic behind it. It was a chair built from swords of men two-and-a-half centuries ago.
But the dragon skulls… those had always terrified a primal part of Jaron that steel could not.
To see the size of them… how large Balerion the Black Dread must've been! Certainly large enough to swallow a man while, or torch any fleet that dared take up arms against the Iron Throne. Sure the kings dressed them up alongside pretty banners, but when Jaron was little larger than a single tooth, it was difficult not to be awed. That there were eighteen more skulls of various sizes adorning the walls, perhaps it was fortuitous no real dragons were left.
"Your Grace, Lord Lelouch Velaryon, most loyal servant of the Iron Throne, Great Victor of the Seafyre Battle and Conqueror of Bloodstone, Heir to Castle Driftmark and House Velaryon," the herald said.
The first of those titles, normally reserved for defeated traitors seeking pardon, had been added at Lelouch's insistence, in spite of Jaron's protests. As he expected, it caused many brows to arch.
Even King Jaeherys took notice. "You have won us a great victory against the Blackfyre. Recount your victory to the court, if you would."
So Lelouch began speaking, and Jaron's dread grew.
The fool boy did not speak of great charges of horse and foot or cunning traps sprung. No grand speeches to bolster his men's fading morale, or a desperate attack that slew the enemy commander, or heroic last stands. Instead, Lelouch spoke of butchery, blood, and death. Of encampments, maneuvers, fortification, and siege craft.
The courtiers were no less captivated by his tale, to Jaron's surprise, but it was unorthodox in the extreme to give such a true to life recounting. In some places, he suspected his son was exaggerating details to make the experience more akin to a close and bitter fought victory.
"You defeated the Golden Company in the field, did you not?" Prince Aerys asked.
"Five hundred men out of ten thousand," Lelouch said. "Abandoned by their allies, without support from horse or bow, without food or wood for camp and only rainwater to keep themselves from death. All of that, with little sleep, facing an entrenched host six times their size with ballistas, and they did not bow or bend. They broke first."
"You sound as if you respect them for that," King Jaeherys said.
"I do, Your Grace. With ten thousand men of such discipline, loyalty, and skill at arms behind me, I would not fear any army no matter the size," Lelouch said. "And they will have heavy horses, goldenheart bows, and elephants the next time, with great trains of food to keep their strength. They are not a foe to treat lightly."
It clicked in Jaron's head that this was yet more mummery. The triumph had been to shame lords who dragged their feet, this was to show them there was glory to be had, that the war would not be over easily or quickly.
All it had cost his son was the apathy of maidens fair and mockery of some highlords. Too high a price in Jaron's opinion.
"If I might present my gift, Your Grace?" Lelouch said.
King Jaeherys nodded.
Two men dragged a cart inside piled with gold. Not coins though. Large armbands that a small dog court pass through, the pommel of a bastard sword, chainmail, a flag, a helm and a full set of plate armor gilded, all of it gleaming.
"A lord could be seized by his debtors for this much vanity," King Jaeherys said. "Did you seize every shiny thing they had?"
"I did, Your Grace, but this is from but one man only. The other four hundred and ninety-nine were similarly well-dressed."
"You have done us a great service, and loyal, honorable service begets reward," the king said.
"In truth, I am undeserving. I vowed to see the work done, and Maelys Blackfyre lives still," Lelouch said. "I could not accept reward for a task uncompleted."
Jaron resisted the urge to groan as the tittering picked up. Just ask for something, anything, you fool!
"Yet, I would be a poor king and lord to let great deeds pass without proper regard," the king said, eyes flashing. "And they are great deeds indeed."
No more false humility about the battle. Lelouch ought to understand that much at least. "As you say, Your Grace. Then if I might be so bold, I would ask of you the right to crenellate."
"Does your family not have a castle on Driftmark already?" Baratheon asked.
"We do, and it is a stout castle that secures the Prince's Strait with Dragonstone," Lelouch said. "Yet the Gullet remains open and unguarded. If you would permit me, I would raise up High Tide, the seat of the Sea Snake, to higher heights, but with stone instead of weirwood. With it, I might secure King's Landing from any invasion by sea for a thousand years. It is my great regret that it may not finish before this war ends, but it will be ready before the next one begins."
Jaron felt faint. I know I said anything, but I had hoped for something that would not impoverish us.
"You will have all this and more, Lelouch Velaryon, Lord Seafyre," the king said. "A castle is most expensive to raise in full, and doubly so during a war. Royal assistance will be extended to you and your kin to see this work done, in both gold and workmen. So says your king."
"As the king decrees," Baratheon said, a mite displeased.
"As the king decrees," the rest repeated.
Thank the Seven the king wanted to be seen as generous, or instead of the Iron Throne, his descendants might have to sit on a wooden stool.
-ZeroRequiem-
"You dragged me out here at this time of day to see a babe blessed?" Jaron asked incredulously.
"He is our kin, Father. Your nephew, Uncle Adamm's son," Lelouch said.
"A bastard."
"Mind your language," the Essosi girl chided. She was a lithe and sun-kissed, not wholly unlike the salt Dornish. Pretty, with smouldering eyes and an exotic touch to her. "We stand among the gods."
"You don't even believe in the Seven, Omorfia," Donnall pointed out, clearly amused by the whole scene.
"No," Omorfia admitted, sidling besides his son that was too close to be proper. With the babe in her arms, one might think they were a couple from afar. "But I respect its sacred space all the same."
Will the gods hate me more for swearing in a sept than outside of it? Jaron thought, but kept his tongue still. He could hear the sound of footfalls against the marble flooring.
"Be welcome," the High Septon said in his plain brown robes, peering at Omorfia's arms. "Is this the child?"
Lelouch nodded. "Yes, Your High Holiness. My cousin, Adamm Waters."
The High Septon nodded, a serene look on his face. "Do forgive me for not wearing the Crystal Crown, my lords. I find it distasteful and rather tacky."
Septons renounced their family name, and the High Septon, being higher, renounced names altogether. It made recording the histories of the Faith difficult to say the least, as the High Septons were referred to by descriptions. This one would be called the High Septon during the reign of King Aegon V who wore no crown.
"I thought the Faith frowned on blessing children born out of wedlock," Jaron said.
"Many septons and septas do, my lord," he said, "but I do not share their opinion. Children ought not to be punished for the sins of their sires."
"Is being withheld blessing a punishment?" Jaron asked.
The High Septon smiled and took young Adamm into his arms. "Is being kept from the loving embrace of our gods a punishment?" He turned to Lelouch. "Is the mother with us?"
"She passed away while giving birth."
"A tragedy," the High Septon said, sounding genuinely distressed to hear it. "This world is a cruel place to children."
Would he feel the same if he knew a whore from Lys named Mysaria was the mother? The Lyseni magisters did love giving their bed slaves names of famous women. Jaron supposed some men got a kick out of it.
The Consecration was a ceremony as simple as the holy man. Some blessed water dabbed on the babe's head, a brief reading from The Seven-Pointed Star about the Mother Above, and a prayer. "Is there any of the Seven you wish to dedicate the child to?" the High Septon asked.
"The Mother Above," Lelouch said, "to keep him safe. May she be merciful."
A common choice, though many lords preferred to offer their sons to the Warrior. Lelouch himself was given to the Crone.
"The child's mother was a bed slave from Lys," Lelouch said to the High Septon, before looking at the man. "They have many slaves in Essos, three to every free man and woman. More than I thought possible for decent people to have."
"One slave is one too many," the High Septon said sadly. "Long has slavery been a sore point for the Most Devout, but there is precious little to be done about it."
"What if there was a way?" Lelouch asked.
-ZeroRequiem-
Jaron spied at Lelouch from the corner of his eye. He had managed to get his son, war hero that he was, seated in a place of honor on the high table with the king's family. If he found himself besides Princess Rhaella, that was just a happy coincidence wasn't it?
"I must apologize for my coarse words the other day, Princess," Lelouch said. "It has been a trying time for me."
"I can imagine," Rhaella said.
"You are aware," Lelouch said, meeting Jaron's eyes briefly, "that my father wishes to wed me to you."
Rhaella frowned. "He does?"
"All lords do," Lelouch said. "Not all lords are as close to the royal family though."
"Why are you telling me this?" Rhaella demanded, spearing her fragrant apple pie with Jaehaerys-like displeasure.
Jaron's lips thinned.
Lelouch shrugged and sipped at his Arbor gold. "I thought you ought to know. Who do you want to marry?"
"We are not friends," Rhaella said, "that I should share matters close to my heart so freely."
"Fair enough," Lelouch said, and paid her no more mind.
Was Lelouch trying to sabotage this match?! Jaron caught his son's eye and narrowed his. Remember what I told you, boy.
Lelouch sighed, and turned to Rhaella again. "Your brother seems fond of your lady-in-waiting. Joanna, wasn't it? My sister mentioned her in her letters. They were friends, I think."
"They were," Rhaella said, turning her head to where the heir apparent sat. He was laughing at something the Lannister girl had said. It should have been Alarra sitting there, making Aerys laugh, charming him with her wits and looks. "Do you think my brother will wed her?"
Lelouch seemed to consider it. "I suppose it's possible. The Lannisters are a great house of the realm, and she is close enough kin to the main branch. The Tyrells and Martells have no girls of the right age that will be available in a year's time."
"What's happening in a year's time?" she asked.
"Prince Aerys will marry, of course," Lelouch said. "We are at war, and the line of succession cannot be left in jeopardy at so crucial a moment as this. If the king is kind, he will let the crown prince choose from acceptable families."
"Acceptable families," Rhaella repeated with a frown. "You treat love so… so…"
"Love?" Lelouch said. "Love has nothing to do with marriage, Your Grace."
"My grandfather married for love," Rhaella said. "My father and mother married for love, as did my uncle."
"And the other chose not to wed for love too, as I recall," Lelouch said. "Still, what happened to your royal aunt?"
"She was wed to Lord Baratheon."
Lelouch nodded. "Do you think that was her choice?"
"She is happy."
"I do not doubt that she is, but that was not the question," Lelouch said. "Marriage has always been, and will always be for duty. That people can wed for love is a happy thing, but these are exceptions."
"Do you think I am not exceptional?" Rhaella said, arching a brow at him.
"If my sister spoke so kindly of you, you must be." Lelouch flashed her a charming smile.
Rhaella snorted and looked down at her golden plate. "I thought I might marry my dear Bonifer one day, before that day."
"A silly notion," Lelouch said. "A landed knight is no fit consort for a princess of the realm."
"Do you not wish to marry for love, Lord Lelouch?" she asked.
"I think love can be learned. I think love a choice."
"I suppose you would say that. You must've never felt as I did before."
He set down his cup and looked her in the eye. "That fleeting quickening of your pulse, that rapid rush of the heart? The fluttering warmth in your stomach, like butterflies on a summer day? That is not love. That is a lie the heart whispers to you, based on looks and little else. Love born of something so fragile as beauty is doomed to die with time."
"And what," Rhaella said, "ought love be based on?"
"Sacrifice," Lelouch answered. "To love, to truly love is to bear burden for another, to think of their good before your own. As a parent struggles for their children, so do husband and wife struggle for each other's sakes. To love is not to feel, but to act."