2

Rhaenys

"What madness has possessed your father this time?" Her mother held the dragon egg to the light streaming in through the window. It looked beautiful, glittering ivory and gold in the sunlight like a jewel.

If only it were more than a beautiful jewel, Rhaenys mused as her mother turned the egg in her hands, marvelling at the way it caught the light. A pretty dream.

One she had dreamed as a little girl, but she knew too much of history to think it anything more. The last dragon died under the reign of Aegon the Third, unfairly known as the Dragonbane. The last dragon's eggs hatched into stunted, deformed, short lived monstrosities. That had been near a hundred and fifty years ago. Dragon eggs hence became nothing more than pretty stones passed down to Targaryen children in the futile hope that one day dragons might wake from stone. That tradition ended with the Tragedy at Summerhall, when the realm lost its king, Aegon the Fifth, and the Targaryen's lost the last of their dragon eggs in a vain attempt to recapture their former glory.

Would her father be recorded in history as another Aegon the Unlikely, another Targaryen consumed with bringing dragons back to life? He knew the histories as well as she did, but there had been an almost maniacal gleam in his eyes when he presented his children with their dragon eggs. He seemed so certain the destinies of her and her brothers lay in those hunks of pretty stone.

Her mother gently laid the egg into the small wooden chest in which it had made the trip from Dragonstone to King's Landing. Sitting cross legged on her bed with her large black cat Balerion curled in her lap, Rhaenys watched her mother run a finger along the scales of the dragon egg.

"The dragon has three heads," she muttered. The same phrase her father had uttered when he presented his children with their eggs. "He told me that long ago, after I gave birth to your brother. I didn't understand it at the time, no more than I understood half the things that came out of his mouth. By the time I understood, it was too late..."

Sensing the turn in her mother's mood, Rhaenys spoke with a casualness she did not feel. "Don't sound so morose, mother. They're only pretty baubles, the gifts of a doting father upon his spoiled children."

Her mother shut the lid on the egg's chest and slid the latch into place. She stared at the chest in silence before she turned to Rhaenys. Queen Elia Martell was a beautiful woman still; men who wished to flatter her remarked she and Rhaenys looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. The lines at the corners of her dark eyes and the lines of silver in her dark hair showed her age, but in Rhaenys' mind they served only to make her look more dignified.

"And how much do you think he spent on these pretty baubles?"

"Perhaps it's better if we don't know." Three dragon eggs were enough for a common man to live like a king, Rhaenys knew, and enough to turn a king into a beggar. Her father had proven to be a frugal king throughout his reign but even with all the gold he had saved she couldn't imagine the crown's coffers surviving the purchase of three dragon eggs in good shape.

Her mother sat on the edge of her bed with a sigh. "I'll get the answer from him eventually." She reached and scratched Balerion between his ears. The attention hungry cat rose from Rhaenys' lap and padded to her mother's side to receive more petting. "What did your brothers think?"

"You know Aegon. He thought the whole thing was stupid. Jae had to stop him from throwing his egg into the bay on the trip home."

Her mother laughed. "And Jae?"

Rhaenys hesitated. There had been a look in Jae's eyes as he gazed at the dragon eggs, not the gleam of madness she feared lurked in her father's eyes but a look of longing. It only made sense the one of her father's children who bore no Targaryen features would long most for proof of his heritage. No one could call him the Bastard Prince when he carried the strongest possible proof he deserved the Targaryen name.

"Jae is in love, I think. He spent more time with his egg than his betrothed."

The announcement of Jae's betrothal and the date of Rhaenys and Aegon's nuptials had been the night before at a feast which had awaited them when they returned from Dragonstone. Her mother had taken it about as well as expected.

"More of your father's follies," she muttered. In her silent anger she pushed Balerion off the bed. The old black cat stalked away with his tail twitching. "I have tried and tried to make him see sense. You should be married to Renly Baratheon. We need a way to tie the Stormlands to the crown. There are still too many of them who raise their cups to the memory of Robert Baratheon."

Rhaenys had heard this argument before, her mother often came to her to vent her frustrations after she had an argument with Father. "And Margaery should be Aegon's bride, not Jae's," she added. "The Tyrell's have long been our staunch ally, but they will not take being spurned lightly."

It was an open secret amongst the court that Mace Tyrell wished to make his daughter a queen. The method by which he sought to accomplish his goal depended on who you asked. Common sense dictated he had angled to betroth Margaery to Aegon, though some whispered he had tried to convince her father to set aside her mother and take his daughter to bride. Whatever plan he had pursued, her father had denied him. To make matters worse, he had offered him his second son - a legitimized bastard, last in the line of succession - as a consolation for his efforts.

Mother sighed. "The worst part is your father's not blind to the loyalties of the Stormlords, he's just done nothing to ameliorate the problem. Neither is he blind to the ambitions of Mace Tyrell. In fact, he feared Lord Tyrell would seek to marry Margaery to Renly after denying him a match with Aegon."

Rhaenys began to understand. "So, a second son is offered to prevent a potentially dangerous alliance, but what reason would Lord Tyrell have to accept such an offer given Jae's questionable birth?"

"Your father gave Lord Tyrell permission to build a new castle in the Reach. It's to be Jae and his bride's home once it's built. 'A new seat of Targaryen power in the South,' your father called it." Her mother's voice dripped with derision.

"And who is to pay for the construction of this new castle?" Rhaenys suspected she already knew.

"On that matter your father refused to answer, but I can't imagine Lord Tyrell would have agreed to the deal if all the funding for the castle's construction came from his own coffers."

Rhaenys began to list items, counting them off on her fingers. "Three dragon eggs, a new castle, a royal wedding to which he's invited the majority of the realm and a tourney in celebration of said wedding. To pay for all that…" she paused. "Has Father discovered a hidden cache of gold and neglected to tell anyone?"

That earned her a humorless chuckle from her mother. "If only." She rose and stood at Rhaenys' window. "To make matters worse, your father neglected to include Doran in the negotiations."

"Uncle Doran can't be happy about that."

"Of course he's not. And, as always, it falls to me to mediate between the two. I'm due to lunch with them within the hour."

"Would you like me to join you?"

Her mother's smile said she appreciated the offer. "Thank you, but no. I've another task in mind for you." Her sigh said she didn't enjoy asking favors of her daughter. "Your father expects me to join him when he holds court today, but I suspect I'll not have the energy after having to contend with him and your uncle. Would you join him in my stead?"

Rhaenys nodded. "I'll be queen one day, despite your protestations. I suppose I should grow accustomed to acting as one."

Her mother stepped away from the window and bent to place a kiss atop Rhaenys' brow. With a small smile, she said, "You've been acting as a queen since the day you were born."

With that said, she bid her daughter farewell and made to leave so she could prepare for lunch with her husband and brother. As she opened the door to Rhaenys' room, she found Jae in the corridor outside with his hand poised to knock. Shock briefly registered on his face before he dropped his hand to his side.

"Your Grace," he said, all formal courtesy. "I hoped to speak with Rhaenys."

She regarded Jae coolly, no doubt thinking the worst. "Your brother waits without, Rhaenys," she called over her shoulder before bidding her husband's son a curt farewell and stepping out into the corridor. Jae stepped into Rhaenys' room with a look of relief on his face.

"I suppose she trusts me now," he said.

"She trusts me, at the very least."

Which came as a surprise to Rhaenys. She and Jae hadn't been alone in the same room together since Ser Barristan had come across them kissing in the Godswood and dragged them to her mother for punishment. The queen had threatened the silent sisters for Rhaenys and the black brothers for Jae if they were ever again caught in a compromising situation, a threat which Jae had taken more seriously than Rhaenys. It wasn't her mother's threat which kept her out of her brother's arms, but a promise she had made to herself. Her mother had enough to worry about without worrying about her daughter dishonoring herself by sneaking around with her half-brother.

Despite herself, her mind turned to the last time they had truly been together: the feel of his arms about her, the feel of his lips on hers, the quiet way he said 'I love you.' Alone together for the first time in months, her promise to herself seemed a silly thing. What hope did a promise stand against love?

Perhaps I am not worthy of Mother's trust after all, she thought, feeling ashamed of herself.

Jae's mind seemed to be filled with carnal thoughts, based on the way he stared at her. Then, perhaps ashamed she had caught him staring, he busied himself looking everywhere in her room but at her. His eyes lighted upon a gown tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. He strode over and picked it up, holding it at arm's length, perhaps hoping it would provide adequate distraction from his indecent thoughts.

"This isn't your gown," he announced.

A grin came across her face. She couldn't help teasing him, though she knew she shouldn't. "Do you profess an intimate knowledge of all of my gowns?"

He dropped the gown and turned to her with a small smile. "It's not your color."

He wasn't wrong, she tended to attire herself in the Dornish fashion, with colors of bright orange, yellow, red and white. The gown he espied was of a pale lilac. "It's Dany's," she explained. "She slept in my room last night."

All jollity fled from Jae's face. "Because of Viserys?"

Rhaenys nodded. "He and his wife have taken the room next to hers and she doesn't feel comfortable sleeping so close to him."

"I suppose she'll have to get used to having him back in the castle," Jae muttered. Rhaenys knew Dany wasn't the only one unhappy to have Viserys back in the castle.

"I suppose we all will."

At breakfast that morning, Arianne had announced she and her husband would not be returning to Dorne, electing instead to stay in King's Landing until Rhaenys' wedding; a surprise few had taken in good humor. The last few years with Viserys in Dorne had been pleasant: Dany had come out of her shell and Rhaenys and her brothers hadn't had to deal with his constant harassment. He had been almost agreeable on the trip to Dragonstone, but Rhaenys couldn't imagine that pattern of behavior continuing over the next three months.

"I don't imagine you came to my room to discuss Daenerys and Viserys." She hoped the change of subject would improve her brother's mood, however briefly. She knew what he wished to discuss and could see no way either of them were in good humor at that conversation's end.

He stepped across the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He reached out and grabbed her hand. She thought to pull away but couldn't bring herself to do it.

"We've scarcely had a moment to talk since grandfather's funeral. I've gone over the words I wished to say to you over and over again in my head, but the more I think about them the more foolish they sound." He squeezed her hand. "I want you to know nothing has changed for me. I don't care about your wedding or mine. I love you. I'm yours and you're mine."

His words came out in a rushed tumble, but there could be no doubt to the sincerity behind them. She reached up and placed her hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. What a sweet, beautiful fool you are, my dragonknight. She wanted to kiss him, but feared she wouldn't be able to stop. So, instead, she spoke.

"What sort of life do you imagine we could have together?"

"I don't care, so long as we are together."

"That alone will be difficult enough to achieve, with me being on Dragonstone with Aegon and you being in the Reach with Margaery."

"We'll find a way." He was so earnest it broke her heart. As always, if fell to her to make him see sense.

"Shall we run away together, then? Bribe a septon and be wedded and bedded before anyone can stop us?" He reached up to grab her hand, his brow furrowed. "Shall we dishonor our dear brother so, and our whole family besides?"

"I don't care about honor. Not yours or mine, nor anyone else's. Not in this regard."

She steeled herself for this next part, because she knew it would hurt them both. "Neither did Father, when he ran away with your mother."

He leaned back as if struck. She felt quite stricken herself. He rose and turned away from her, finding a fixed point on her wall to stare at, hands clenched at his sides. "Do you hope to drive me away by being cruel?"

"I only hope to make you see the truth." She stood and made him turn to face her. She cupped his face in her hands and looked up into his eyes, dark and grey as storm clouds. "I love you, Jaehaerys, the same as you love me, but what good will come of our love? All we accomplish in attempting to be together is hurting the ones we love."

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close. "Aegon will understand. Father will find him a new bride. Your mother will endure as she always has." He grinned. "Meanwhile, we'll be away. In one of the Free Cities, perhaps?"

"The Free Cities?" she questioned, though she knew she shouldn't indulge him.

"I hear Braavos is beautiful. We can sell our dragon eggs and live off the gold for the rest of our lives."

"It's a pretty picture, brother, but let me show you the truth." She pulled away from him, as far as she could get with his hands still about her waist. "I will marry Aegon and you will marry Margaery. One day, Aegon will be king; I will sit beside him as queen and you will serve ably as his Hand. We will still love each other then as deeply as we do now, but as we reflect on the peaceful lives we've built for ourselves, we will know we made the right decision in not being together."

He leaned in to kiss her, she turned her cheek to avoid him. "We've both painted fanciful pictures of the future," he said, hurt, "but only one of us has convinced themselves their version of the future is the truth."

He left her then, striding out of her room without another word.

In his silent wake, she struggled to keep her tears from falling. She was due to join her father at court later and it wouldn't be proper to show up with eyes red and puffy.

She made it to the throne room without shedding a single tear, dressed in a gown as orange as the setting sun. The tiara she wore glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the hall's windows; it was gold and ruby studded, a gift for her sixteenth nameday which she rarely had occasion to wear. Her father already sat atop the pile of twisted metal which comprised the Iron Throne as she stepped into the hall, looking every inch a king: regal in his posture, his golden circlet shining with magnificence. Great black dragon skulls decorated the walls of the hall, the biggest placed above the Iron Throne, glaring down at any who dared approach it. Gold cloaks lined the hall and the white cloaks stood in formation around the throne's dais. Nobels filled the gallery, having nothing better to do than listen to the king treat with his petitioners.

A high-backed wooden chair had been placed next to the Iron Throne's dais. She took the chair without word, assuming her father had been expecting her in her mother's stead. Her father looked down at her and at her nod he signaled his guards to open the hall's doors and let the petitioners in.

A seemingly endless parade of petitioners streamed into the great hall, kneeling at the foundation of the Iron Throne and airing their grievances to the king who sat upon it. It was important to her father that every voice in the kingdom be heard, so every person who seeked an audience with the king, no matter how petty their problem, was allowed. They complained about the price of food, the presence - or lack - of the City Watch. They complained about the lack of fish in the Blackwater Rush or the lack of game in the kingswood. They complained as if her father was some god who could fix all of their woes. Perhaps that is what they thought of him. She sat through it all, never once voicing her own opinion, never once being asked for it.

A merchant, incensed her father refused to consider lowering the fees on ships docking at King's Landing, was lead off by the gold cloaks, flinging curses all the while. Once he had been lead from the great hall, Father told a joke which sent those assembled to tittering and the man was forgotten. The herald raised his voice to announce the next petitioner.

"Melisandre of Asshai, Priestess of the Lord of Light!"

The woman stepped into the great hall, quieting the din of those gathered. Dressed in robes of red silk, she approached the Iron Throne with such grace she appeared to be gliding. If she were less than six feet tall it was only by an inch and her slender frame did not preclude her from having full breasts and shapely hips. Her hair was the color of burnished copper, her skin as pale as milk, her eyes as dark as obsidian. She drew the eye of every man in the hall as she stood before the Iron Throne and favored the king with a deep bow.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice rich and deep. She had the slightest trace of an eastern accent, but otherwise spoke the Common tongue without issue.

If there was one man in the hall not bewitched by the priestess's beauty it was the king, who looked upon her with skepticism. "My father kept a priest of R'hllor in his court."

"Thoros of Myr," the priestess said. "He was a good priest once, but he fell away from the Lord's light. He drank himself to death not long after you banished him from court, if you're curious."

"I am not," Father said evenly. "If you've come to convert me, I'm afraid you'll have no better luck than Thoros had with my father. Your god of fire interests me not."

"I come to speak not of conversion but of your destiny." The priestess turned and addressed those gathered in the throne room. "We have supped on summer a long time, but soon comes cold and darkness and the night that never ends. In our hour of greatest need, a hero shall step forth and draw forth a burning sword to banish the darkness. That sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who wields it shall be Azor Ahai reborn." She turned back to the king and knelt before him. "All hail King Rhaegar, First of his Name, born amidst salt and smoke to make the world anew, the prince that was promised."

Silence met her proclamation. Rhaenys turned to her father to see him with a most unusual smile upon his face.

"I've heard your words before, priestess," he said. "They were delivered to my grandfather by a woods witch from the Riverlands. It seems to me you've forgotten a part, however. The prince that was promised will be born amongst salt and smoke and a bleeding red star shall herald his birth. There was salt and smoke aplenty at my birth, but no red star."

The red star came at Aegon's birth, Rhaenys knew, having heard the tale from her father's lips. But then where was the salt and smoke?

"The nature of prophecy is flexible," the red woman said, rising to stand. "Regardless, I have asked the Lord for a vision of His champion and I have seen you in the flames: a man atop a pile of twisted metal choked with roses and vipers. I have seen other things as well: water tainted with blood, the seven-pointed star burning, a great black dragon casting its shadow over this land. Summer is coming to an end, Your Grace, along with the peace you've built."

Father raised a hand and two gold cloaks came to stand at Melisandre's side. "Thank you for the warning, I will consider it with all due concern."

Seeing her time was at an end, the red woman bowed. "You cannot ignore your destiny, Your Grace. I will leave for now, but there will come a time when you wish you had me at your side. When that time comes, I will be waiting for you."

She turned and left, escorted by the gold cloaks.

"I think that will be all for the day," Father said. The gallery cleared out, no doubt eager to spread the red woman's words about the castle. The gold cloaks marched out of the throne room, herding the petitioners who hadn't gotten their chance out of the castle. In the end, only Rhaenys, her father and the kingsguard remained in the throne room.

Rhaenys looked to her father and saw him leaning forward with his hand steepled, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. She saw the look in his eyes and thought back to her mother's words:

What madness has possessed you this time, Father?