Rhaegar
"I am so sick of Robert and his impudence," the king's voice echoed against the high rafters of the throne room of the Red Keep. "Damn him and his Stormlords."
Seated on the high steps beneath the Iron Throne, Rhaegar could feel a growing tightness in his neck. The last raven that flew to the Red Keep also brought ill news as it has been for the past couple of moons. The letter from Andrew Stark was still fresh in Rhaegar's memory. Before he could deal with Stark and his northman another raven came in today, this time bearing news of the Stormlands and Robert.
Like he had expected, Robert finally raised his hammer against him and his house. As he fell upon Griffin's Roost with an army of traitors to finally thwart the last block in his path and rouse against him with his treacherous friends. Thousands of his men were butchered and Ronald Connington has yielded the castle to Robert Baratheon, giving his cousin a chance to march forth north to join with his precious Ned's son.
First Stark, now Robert, how many traitors should I have to deal with before I could fulfill my destiny. Somehow he knew that it is not going to stop with just the two of them. For all he knew, Jon Arryn could very well be bringing the knights of the Vale down the High road and the Old Lion is probably plotting along with them from the shadows.
His family and advisors stood at the foot of his throne, looking all sullen and afraid at the dragon's wroth. Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan were with him as well, their hard, old faces emotionless.
"Jon!" The king called his Hand. Lord Jon knelt at the base of the throne.
"I thought you had the Stormlands under your control," the king said. "If that's the case, how did I come to hear that Robert raised the Stormlords against my family?"
"Your Grace, I know naught of the plots Robert and his allies devised against you. Had I known, I would have brought their heads to you myself. Even now it hasn't gotten long, grant me leave to march against Robert and Stark and all those traitors, my king, and you'll have their heads mounted on a spike in no time."
"I need you here in King's Landing, not in some muddy pit," Rhaegar said and took his crown off his head. Of late the ruby encrusted circlet was more of an uncomfortable weight atop his head than a crown fit for a king.
"Richard," Rhaegar called, "take the host in King's Landing and march north for the Trident. Myles will join with you in Maidenpool. Hold the river and smash any army that try to pass it to get to Riverrun."
"Father," said a voice from below. Aegon climbed the steps to the throne and stopped at a few steps below him. "You think little of me during these times, father. But I'm to inherit these lands. Its time I showed you that I'm worthy enough of being your heir. Let me fight this battle for you."
Rhaegar chuckled despite the horror coiling around his throat. He was only sixteen, not even a man grown and was already speaking of wars as if it was some tourney he could ride in and win the love of the people. Rhaegar had already lost three children, two for the greater good and one because he was too much like his brother was now.
"What would you do son?" asked Rhaegar.
"Raise our dragon banner," answered his son, "and march forth against the north as you once done."
"Aegon!" Lyanna shrieked from behind. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking with the right mind mother." Aegon turned back and looked pointedly at her face. "He dared cross our family and threatened father. What happened to Jaehaerys is an injustice done to him and our family and it is my duty to protect my brother and serve my family and guard the honour of our house against anyone who tries to hinder it."
"Your wedding is on the horizon," she said. "You will do no such thing as to riding forth for battle." She looked at him with unyielding grey eyes, challenging him. "Surely your father must have thought of something to deal with this mess he has created."
Rhaegar ignored Lyanna's scoff and looked to his son. He stood up from his place on the steps and walked down to where his son was standing. The king put his hands on Aegon's shoulder. "Jon, send the ravens to all the corners of the realm. Gather our men here at King's Landing. My son will raise the dragon banner and lead the royal army." He climbed further down the steps. "Let any man who ignore my call be proclaimed a traitor to the realm. We'll start the war on the morrow against the traitors Jon Arryn, Robert Baratheon and Andrew Stark."
"Richard will take his men with Myles and move for Harrenhal," Rhaegar said. "Tomorrow we are going for war. This audience is at an end."
"Your Grace," Lyanna called when he walked past her, "a word with you?"
Rhaegar nodded. His queen came to his side as the others left. Dawn was still several hours away when Rhaegar slipped out the king's door behind the Iron Throne. Ser Barristan went before him with a torch and Ser Gerold strolled along behind him. Lyanna walked beside him, hands tucked as if she was thinking about something strongly. "If it please Your Grace," she said, "young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Your son . . . our son is not an exception. This plan of his to lead your troops into battle is fraught with peril. He thinks riding a dragon to battle against knights on horseback is easy enough as swatting flies. Both of us know that the truth is far from that. Jaehaerys learned it in the hard way. So I beg you, do not let Aegon share his fate as well."
"Why?" Rhaegar asked. "Do you not trust in the valour of our son?"
"I have no doubt that our son will be the first man to ride into battle for you," Lyanna said. "Valour means nothing when the cost for it is your life. Know that this nemesis you have created for yourself is no callow tourney champion but a seasoned killer. How many men did you lose in Braavos?"
He had no answer for that question. There had been several men lost to the sword of his nephew that night. He wondered if he could bear the lose of his son like that, the first and foremost of his three heads of the dragon. Then again Aegon's destiny is not to put down some mere rebels. He was destined to be the prince that was promised, to fight the Great Other. Bezzaro had told him that much. And with the dragon beside him no man can stand against him.
"Aegon is my heir, the crown prince," the king told her. "If he is to rule this kingdom after me, he has to defend it from the traitors who would gladly see us dead and take it from us. The men will not respect him if he is afraid to defend his lands. He will lead my troops into battle whether you like it or not."
A laugh burst from Lyanna's lips, and echoed down the hall.
Rhaegar stopped in his path and looked at her, confused. "Why would you laugh?"
"Why," his wife said, "because I find it funny about the way you talk about the respect of men. Is that the way you won the respect of your men when my brother chased you out of his kingdom? Or did you earn it when my brother's son sent you running for your life?"
Rhaegar laughed at her, making his wife confused now. "No," he admitted. "But I won something more when I killed your brother to your pleasure. Don't lie to yourself that all of this is happening because of my actions. You have your fair share in the things we did that led us here."
He left her on the serpentine steps in the black of the night. She must have gone mad if she thinks I'm to blame for what happened to Jaehaerys. She was the one who urged me to bestow Winterfell upon her son despite my plans to rebuilt Summerhall again for him. All Lyanna ever seemed to do of late was plague him with cautions and objections. She had even objected to the understanding he had reached with the great masters of Essos.
When the king finally reached his royal chambers, the candles which were burning when he left for the throne room had gone out. Rhaegar walked to the stand beside his bed and wrapped his middle finger, forefinger and thumb around the fat tallow candle. He watched at the wick of the candle intently as Bezzaro would look into his night fires. Heartbeats passed as it was always with the trick and then the king felt heat coming off him, steaming the cold night air around him. The candle wick took fire just like that, yellow flames burning brighter than any candle made by man. The blood of the dragon, Rhaegar smiled. He left the candle burning and went back to his sleep.
When he woke up the next morning, the candle was still burning, having not once consumed the tallow to feed the fire.
The king had wanted to speak to Bezzaro about the things happening, to get his counsel about everything that day. But the red priest had not yet returned from his voyage to the shadow lands of Asshai. I'm losing true friends and advisors, Rhaegar thought. He ought to return back soon enough.
There was a feast arranged in the Red Keep that evening. A farewell feast. He should get ready for the feast, to send his army forth to war.
The royal chambers in Maegor's Holdfast was larger than any other rooms of the Red Keep save for the Throne room. It was highly furnished with every comfort: feather mattress and sleeping furs, a wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers, to keep off the night's chill, slung leather high chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpot, bowls of peaches, plums, and pears, a flagon of wine with a set of matched silver cups, cedar chests packed full of his kingly clothing, books, maps, game boards, his high harp, a longsword and a goldenwood shield, painted black with the red three headed dragon upon it and a vertible armory of fine weapons.
Beside the door, the king's armor stood sentry; a suit of jet black plate, its fittings chased with polished black steel. The helm was the same black as the armour as well and plumes of fine red silks streamed from the top resembling angry flames while he rode his warhorse against the wind and his foes. In the breastplate the three headed dragon of House Targaryen was encrusted with rubies upon his chest, the dark red stones catching the sunlight in them and glinting like bleeding stars. He had always thought that he might have to wear the fine suit again, but not so soon. The king turned away sharply, angry with Ned Stark, Ashara Dayne, their bloody son Andrew Stark, angry with Robert, angry with Jon Arryn and even with his own wife. In time they will all know what happens if you taunt the dragon. Rhaegar washed the night's sleep and his tiredness from his body in the bath and changed into a rich cotton doublet with a mail coat over it. The shirt of mail was more fitting for the farewell feast as he will sent his son and army forth to battle with his blessings.
When the time came for him to go to the feast, Rhaegar buckled his silver studded swordbelt and sheathed his longsword Blackfyre in the silver banded scabbard. Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Lewyn Martell accompanied him to the throne room of Aegon the Dragon.
Although evenfall was still an hour away, the throne room was already a blaze of light, with torches burning in every sconce. All the knights in King's Landing stood along the tables, dressed in plate and mail ready for battle. There were thousands of them, knights from the Crownlands and the Reach and Dorne alike. Pages in the royal livery escorted the lords and their ladies down the broad central aisle to their respective benches. The gallery above was packed with musicians; drummers and pipers and fiddlers, strings and horns and skins.
There were several thousand men gathered in the Red Keep that there was no enough room for everyone in the feast. Rhaegar walked past the neat and long columns of men and stood at the foot of the throne. From his raised position before the men he could see that the column of knights stretching to the far end of the hall like some great armoured snake.
Aegon stood at the head of the column of knights flanked by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Daemon Sand. His son was dressed in a fine suit of armour made of black steel which mirrored his own. The dark curls on Aegon's head was pulled back and was tied into a knot at the back of his head.
When the steward announced his presence to the people in the hall all of them knelt at once. Rhaegar bid them to stand and called his son before him. The king slid the mailed glove over his son's hands. The lobstered gauntlet went over it. When that was done, his son knelt before him again. Rhaegar unsheathed Blackfyre and brought it down gently over one of Aegon's armour clad shoulder. He dabbed the edge of the valyrian steel sword on his other shoulder as well. When it was done the king gave his sword back to Ser Gerold beside him and helped his son back to his feet. Rhaegar hugged Aegon and kissed his cheeks. His son gave a grim nod and stepped aside.
Richard walked to stand in front of him and took his son's place. Rhaegar repeated the same actions for him as well. When he was done, he raised Richard up and bid him to move. Then it was time for his Small council and the kingsguard to receive his blessings. When all seven of the white knights were dubbed and armed by him for battle, Rhaegar shoved Blackfyre back into its sheath.
"Let the cups be filled!" Rhaegar proclaimed, when the gods had been given their due. His cupbearer poured a whole flagon of dark Arbor red into his silver chalice. The king lifted it before him. "Tonight we drink for victory! For Victory!"
"Victory!" the hall shouted back at him. "Victory! Victory! King's Landing!" A thousand cups rang together, and the farewell feast was well and truly begun. Rhaegar Targaryen drank with the rest, emptying his cup on that first toast and sat at his central place on the high dais between the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Connington and the Warden of the South Lord Mace Tyrell. Mace Tyrell was mostly interested in the food and the jests made by Aurane Waters, while Jon continued to inquire about the war to the eunuch Varys.
Lyanna was seated at the far end of the high table. She did not gown herself fitting for a royal feast, but chose a plain grey gown instead. The garb brought out the plainness of her beauty. For the first time in years, Rhaegar found himself thinking of Elia. Beautiful, graceful and kind to a fault. He wondered if she would ever vex him like Lyanna does nowadays. Somehow he think not. They both cared for each other enough to not vex or shame anyone in public.
The cooks started to bring in the food for the feast. Of food there was plenty. While singers sang and tumblers tumbled, they began with pears poached in wine, and went on to tiny savory fish rolled in salt and cooked crisp, and capons stuffed with onions and mushrooms. There were great loaves of brown bread, mounds of turnips and sweetcorn and pease, immense hams and roast geese and trenchers dripping full of venison stewed with beer and barley. For the sweet, the servants brought down trays of pastries from his castle kitchens, cream swans and spun-sugar unicorns, lemon cakes cut in a dozen shapes, spiced honey biscuits and blackberry tarts, apple crisps and wheels of buttery cheese.
The king was not in a festive mood to enjoy the rich foods, but it never stopped his knights from enjoying the heavy feast. Rhaegar ate sparingly, while he watched his son who would lead his troops to battle on the morrow. Aegon sat with his young friends on his either side and was deeply engaged in some talks with the men he would lead, men older enough to be his father, seasoned men who has seen several battles. Though when his son said something they all laughed. The men respects him naturally, he thought, and it is a good thing.
From time to time, Aegon would slip from his table to his betrothed, to share some shy talks and kisses. His son would feed Arianne some choice morsel off the point of his dagger, or lean over to plant the lightest of kisses on her cheek. Aegon played the perfect prince tonight.
Some of the knights were less moderate. They drank too much and boasted too loudly. Two young Crownlander knights disputed heatedly about who would be first to come into grips with the Dragonslayer. Lord Merryweather dandled a serving girl on his lap, nuzzling at her neck while one hand went exploring down her bodice. Aegon swore to all the men in the hall to scour the Seven Kingdoms of all the traitors and restore peace. While Richard told his wish of fighting Lord Robert Baratheon in single combat. Another young knight vowed to slay Stark's direwolf and gift the pelt to Princess Arianne as a gift to the future queen.
In the entirety of the hall, only his wife did not join the merriment. "They are all so young," she said when he took his seat beside her.
It was true. Their son could not have reached his second name day when he had to march against Ned Stark for the first time. Few of the others were little bit older. They had been babes during the Sack of King's Landing, and no more than boys when Eddard Stark raised his banners in rebellion. They are still unblooded, Rhaegar thought as he watched Lord Jaime Rykker goad Ser Quinton Chelsted into juggling a brace of daggers. It is all a game to them still, a tourney writ large, and all they see is the chance for glory and honor and spoils. They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal.
"War will make them old," Rhaegar said, "as it always does."
"I pity them," said Lyanna.
"Why?" Rhaegar asked his wife. "Look at them. They're young and strong, full of life and laughter. And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. Why pity?"
"Because it will not last," Lyanna answered, sadly. "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming."
Author Notes: So I have to leave this review here as a reply to a guest comment I'd received a few chapters back regarding Ashara being alive in King's Landing. I have nothing to say about the criticism of the person who left the comment since everyone has their own opinions but what doesn't sit well with me is the wrong example given by the person to cement his claim. The wrong eg is that: the person blatantly said that my plot of keeping Ashara alive makes no sense since I'd already mentioned that both Ned and Ashara's bodies were seen by people. However this is not the truth as you can clearly see that I have never ever mentioned something like that in my story. If you want you can read and see if I'd ever written a line backing the reviewer claim. In my defence I can say that I'd only mentioned in my story that the bodies of Ned and Ashara and Arthur were never seen by anyone. Check out Andrew's talk with Maester Walys in the crypts. Walys says that they never got the bodies back. So I have only one thing to say about it, you have your right to express your views but at least just read my story before you criticize it.
Thank you. I hope the formatting hasn't messed up this time. And please leave a review.