RHAEGAR
"Look, he is laughing!"
Rhaegar's voice sounded proud, a sincere tone rarely heard in this court. He was sitting in a comfortable armchair in his mother's chambers, holding Viserys, who was just eight months old. While making a silly face, hiding his face behind the curtain of his silver hair before reappearing with wide eyes and a broad smile.
Viserys, in response, let out a pure, bubbling shriek of laughter. It was the purest sound of life, and for Rhaegar, it was the sweetest music.
His mother, Queen Rhaella, was sitting beside her bed, watching him. His father was not here. Rhaella smiled, a sincere yet weary smile that adorned her lips these days. Viserys was a healthy baby, a small miracle after so many tragedies had befallen the royal nursery. His eyes were bright violet, his cheeks were plump and smooth to the touch, and he was a cheerful child like any other babe, not yet aware of the burden of the name he carried or the court he had been born into.
"Of course he is laughing," Rhaella shook her head, that amused smile still on her lips. "You are doing something very silly, Rhaegar. Unbefitting of a prince."
The soft morning light flooded the room through the high windows, falling on her face and silver hair, making her look delicate, almost like porcelain.
"A sacrifice must be made to entertain a babe, Mother," Rhaegar smiled back, turning his attention for a moment from Viserys to look at Rhaella. A sacrifice. He would gladly look foolish a thousand times over if it could keep this laughter going, if it could keep the smile on his mother's face.
It was then that he truly noticed her. Again.
The smile was there, but it did not fully reach her eyes. She looked a little thin these days. It was not something a stranger would notice; to them, she was still the Queen, graceful and beautiful. But as her son, Rhaegar saw it very clearly.
It was in her cheeks, which were a little more drawn than they should be. And it was in her wrists. Her slender wrists looked too fragile.
A familiar cold lump settled in Rhaegar's stomach. He did not need to ask the cause. He knew.
'Father... what have you done?' He thought, the bitterness feeling like bile in his throat.
His mother was a good person. She was the definition of patience and grace. She always faced everything with patience. Rhaella never complained or even showed anger in public. She bore it all with the dignity of a queen. She was always very close, and accompanied them, Rhaegar, and now Viserys, whenever they faced a problem.
"Be careful," Rhaella joked, her voice pulling Rhaegar back from his dark thoughts. "Soon he will demand more. Babes are very clever at making us bend to their will."
Rhaegar laughed, a sound forced to be light. "Then what should I do but obey him? He is my brother."
"You will be king one day, yes," his mother replied, her tone still light, but there was another layer beneath it, something Rhaegar recognized as weariness. "But a king cannot always grant every request of the people, not even the smallest."
If only Mother knew.
'If I were king now,' Rhaegar looked at his mother, at that so well-hidden fragility, 'I would not let you suffer. Not for a second.'
He shifted his gaze back to Viserys. "But Viserys here is the Prince, Mother. He is not common folk."
This time, his mother's smile faded slightly, replaced by a meaningful expression. Her gaze met Rhaegar's, and in that silence, a painful understanding passed between them.
"Princes," Rhaella said softly, "also do not always get what they want."
Rhaegar's heart felt heavy.
He knew. Of course he knew. He was the Dragon Prince, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and he was powerless.
He could not get what he wanted. He desperately wanted to make this kingdom more prosperous than it was. After his enlightening encounter with Jaime Lannister, he had begun to think of new ideas. Ideas about schools, about new ways to make the smallfolk more prosperous, believing that true strength came from a happy populace, not a feared one.
He had made plans, careful and sensible plans. And he had even dared to tell his father one of those plans.
But his father always refused. He did not even listen. He just laughed, that dry laugh, and said it was 'nonsensical'. He called Rhaegar a naive dreamer. Rhaegar was certain his father had not even heard half of what he had said.
Princes do not always get what they want. No.
Rhaegar swallowed his frustration, forcing a smile for his mother. The room suddenly felt too stuffy.
"Are you not going out for a walk, Mother?" Rhaegar changed the subject. "The weather is so fine this morning. The sky is clear. I think it would make your face glow."
Rhaella chuckled softly at the slightly awkward compliment. "Oh. So my face is not glowing now?" Rhaella teased.
"That is not what I meant," Rhaegar chuckled along, feeling a little relieved. "It is just... it would be good to bask in the morning sun. Would it not? The air is fresh."
Rhaella's smile softened, but she shook her head. "True, but lately, I prefer it here." She smiled faintly, looking around her spacious yet simple bedchamber. "It is peaceful. And calming."
Rhaegar looked at her. He understood. Peaceful and calming... because Father was not here. Outside, under the bright sun, were the castle gardens, the halls, and the throne room. Places where the King was. This room was the only place where Queen Rhaella could remove her mask and breathe.
Rhaegar nodded, his love for the woman mixing with a helpless anger.
"Then I will not press it."
The door flew open with a sudden slam, hitting the wooden wall, making Rhaegar startle so much he jumped in his chair. In his arms, Viserys's eyes were now wide with shock, his lower lip trembling. The peaceful air in the room evaporated instantly, replaced by a piercing chill.
Their father immediately entered without saying anything, striding into the room like a storm made human. He did not knock. He did not announce his arrival. He just appeared.
His face was filled with a burning rage that he did not hide, or perhaps could no longer hide. It was a mask of pure fury. His skin was flushed, his teeth bared in an unpleasant snarl, and his hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white. His brows were truly furrowed, his violet eyes blazed with a mad, unfocused energy.
He did not see Rhaegar. He did not see the Queen. He did not see the babe in his son's arms. He just paced on the Myrish carpet, from the window to the door, his chest heaving with heavy, ragged breaths.
"What is it, Father?" Rhaegar asked, his voice sounding more hesitant than he wanted. He instinctively pulled Viserys closer to his chest.
His father did not answer. He just kept walking, his boots slamming against the wooden floor beneath the carpet.
"Tywin..." his father finally spoke, but he was not speaking to anyone in the room. He was speaking to the ghosts in his head. His voice was low, hoarse with fury. "He... he dared... he suggested I remain quiet."
Rhaegar felt his mother tense beside him. "Quiet... why, Aerys?" His mother looked at her husband with worry, her gentle eyes now filled with a familiar fear.
Rhaegar began to pat Viserys's back gently, a calming rhythm. The child, sensing the tension in the room, began to fuss, letting out a soft whimper, as if about to cry.
"He seems to belittle me so!" Aerys spun around, his eyes finally finding them, but his gaze was wild. "He thinks that I perhaps cannot handle a small matter like this. He thinks I am incompetent in my own rooms!"
Aerys was still talking to himself, raving.
Rhaegar and his mother looked at each other. A glance, just a fraction of a second, but filled with painful understanding. Say nothing. They did not try to dig any further. It was useless when Aerys was like this. Asking would only turn his anger upon them. They had to wait for the storm to find its own direction.
And the storm found it.
"Darklyn!" Aerys spat the name as if it were poison. "Darklyn of Duskendale! He does not want to pay his taxes! How dare he!"
He stopped pacing and pointed to the window, as if he could see Duskendale from here. "And not just that! He also asks for the same privileges as Dorne for Duskendale! Something ridiculous! They are mad! There is something wrong with their thinking. Who do they think they are?"
He laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound. "So," he continued, his tone now shifting to sharp sarcasm, "he invites me. He invites me to go there. To speak of it."
Rhaegar frowned. This... this was dangerous. Far more dangerous than just a usual fit of anger. "That makes no sense, Father," he said softly, trying to sound reasonable. "A King should not answer such a summons. It is beneath your dignity."
"I will go!" Aerys roared, refuting Rhaegar directly. "I will go, and I will show Tywin Lannister how a king handles a trivial matter like this! I will look Darklyn in the eye and remind him who sits the Iron Throne!"
He began to pace again, now with a new purpose. "I will show that Lion that my vassals are all men who hold loyalty to their king, not to his Hand! And with me going myself, I guarantee that this matter will be finished quickly. They will kneel!"
"You do not need to do that, Aerys," Rhaella suggested, her voice soft, trying to calm him. She finally stood, her hand outstretched as if to touch her husband's arm. "Lord Tywin is right. This is an insult. Simply summon Lord Darklyn here if he truly wishes to speak. Let him come to you."
It was a fatal mistake.
"QUIET!"
The shout was so loud, thundering in the quiet room, bouncing off the stone walls. It was so sudden and full of malice that it made Rhaegar flinch.
Viserys, who had only been whimpering, now choked on a sob of shock, his small face turning red with fear.
Aerys turned on his wife, his eyes narrowing to purple slits full of rage. "You!" he hissed, pointing at Rhaella with a trembling finger. "Do you also belittle me like Tywin? You think I cannot handle things like this? Why do you always have the same thoughts as him? Hah, Rhaella? Are you fond of that man?! Do you prefer to listen to him rather than your husband, rather than your King?!"
The accusation hung in the air, vile and venomous.
"Aerys, this is ridiculous," his mother defended herself, her voice wavering but she did not back down. "What I suggest is the thought of any sane person."
"SO YOU MEAN I AM MAD?!" Aerys screamed again, his voice breaking with rage.
And that was the breaking point. Viserys could not hold it in any longer. The fear was too great. The babe finally cried. Not a small cry, but a loud, shrieking wail, full of pure terror, filling the tense silence after the King's scream.
All eyes, Rhaegar's frightened eyes, Rhaella's wounded eyes, and Aerys's furious eyes, turned to the crying babe.
Aerys's anger, which had been aimed at Tywin and Rhaella, now found a new reason.
"See?!" he snapped, now at Rhaella. "This is your fault! You made him cry with your mad talk! Always opposing me!" He covered his ears as if the crying physically pained him. "Quiet him before the realm collapses from his noise! Quiet him!"
And with that, King Aerys II Targaryen turned. He strode out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him. The sound of the slam echoed, leaving a deafening silence.
Rhaegar and Rhaella were left alone in the once-peaceful room. The only remaining sound was the desperate, unending cry of Viserys.
...
Viserys's crying finally subsided, his shrieks changing to pitiful little sobs, muffled against his mother's shoulder. Queen Rhaella swayed with a desperate, rhythmic motion, patting the babe's back, her eyes closed as if she were trying to block out not just the sound, but the reality of what had just happened. The silence Aerys left behind felt louder than his screams.
Rhaegar stood stiffly. The air in the room felt thick. He felt suffocated.
"I...I..." his own voice sounded hoarse, foreign to his own ears. "I am going out, Mother." He had to get out. He had to breathe. I need fresh air, he thought, an almost desperate thought. I must get away from this room before these walls collapse on me.
Rhaella did not open her eyes, but she nodded slowly. "Yes, Rhaegar. Go." Her voice sounded incredibly tired, as thin as a silk thread. "I will put Viserys to sleep. He... he must be tired."
Tired. Yes. We are all tired.
Nodding without further questions, Rhaegar turned. He spoke no words of comfort. What words were there? Everything had been said. He walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him, a courtesy that felt absurd after the violent slam his father had made.
The corridor outside felt cold. He walked deep in thought, barely seeing where he was going. This was the same as before. A dreadful pattern. Rhaegar had seen this time and time again, his father's explosive anger without provocation and the wild accusations. He was used to it.
And yet, his heart still felt heavy. Each time, it felt a little heavier, another piece of him chipped away.
He walked, ignoring the soldiers standing at their posts. He saw them glance at him from the corners of their eyes, seeing their disheveled Prince emerge from the Queen's chambers after the King had left in a rage. They must have heard the screaming. The entire Red Keep must have heard it. Shame mixed with his anger.
He did not know where he was going. The gardens? His chambers? Perhaps to the training yard, to hit something with a sword until his hands bled. He just needed to keep moving.
And then, there, at the intersection of the corridor that led to the royal quarters and the Tower of the Hand, he saw him.
Tywin Lannister.
The man was walking alone, without guards, his stride steady and purposeful. He wore a rich yet severe black and gold doublet. He seemed to be walking back toward the Tower of the Hand, his lair, the place from which he truly ruled the kingdom.
Rhaegar stopped. Part of him wanted to turn, to avoid this man, to avoid any conversation. But another part, a desperate part, held him in place.
"Lord Hand." Rhaegar's voice was formal, strained. He gave a slight bow, a stiff movement.
Tywin Lannister stopped. He turned to face the Prince, the calm on his face a perfect mirror to the chaos Rhaegar had just witnessed. He did not seem surprised to see Rhaegar here. He nodded, a brief acknowledgment of Rhaegar's station.
Then, those pale green eyes assessed him. Tywin looked at Rhaegar's face unabashedly, his gaze sharp and analytical, as if observing every angle and fissure in the Prince's face. Looking for cracks.
"A difficult day, my Prince?"
Tywin's voice was low and flat. It was still morning, the sun had not even reached its zenith, and Tywin spoke thus. As usual, it felt as if the person before Rhaegar knew everything. He knew what had happened. He knew why Rhaegar's day was difficult. Of course he knew. He was the one who started it by suggesting the King remain quiet.
Rhaegar did not answer the question. It did not need an answer. Instead, another question, a much heavier one, escaped his lips before he could stop it.
"My father cannot be stopped, can he?"
It sounded almost like a statement, an admission of defeat.
Lord Tywin did not answer immediately. He looked into the distance, down the corridor, as if considering his words. Then, he began to walk again, slowly, and Rhaegar instinctively found himself walking beside him, moving together toward the Tower of the Hand.
"Know this, Prince," Tywin said, his voice still low, intended only for Rhaegar's ears. "That I have already tried to advise him. I offered the most logical counsel. However, it seems to never work. As before."
"Was he like this, before?" Rhaegar asked, his voice soft. He knew the answer. Of course he knew his father was not like this before, this had only emerged two years ago. But he wanted to hear it directly from his father's childhood friend. From the man who had ruled beside his father for so many years.
Tywin seemed to think for a moment, his hard face showing no emotion. "No," he said finally. "Before, he was ambitious. He was bold. He... listened. He used to listen more to the opinions of others, especially mine. Now... that mind is like... more closed."
"He has many thoughts," Rhaegar said, trying, for one last time, to offer some justification on his father's behalf.
"We all have many thoughts," Tywin nodded, dismissing the justification with cold logic. "But the King seems to have fallen too deep into his own thoughts, such that it makes him... a little tired."
Tired. That word again. Rhaegar felt a bitter laugh rise. "He relieves his tiredness with rather unusual things, it seems." Like shouting at Mother until she cried. Like terrorizing his own children.
Tywin ignored the bitterness in Rhaegar's tone.
"I think," Tywin then looked directly into Rhaegar's eyes, that pale green gaze locking him in, "that he does indeed need..." The man paused, letting the words hang between them.
"...A brief rest."
Tywin stared at him, unblinking. "Is that not so?"
Rhaegar slowed his pace slightly. His breath caught. Suddenly, he could not breathe. The air in the corridor felt as thin as on the highest mountain peak. His chest pounded a little harder.
He knew what had just been said. He knew what those words meant. A brief rest. This was not an invitation for a summer holiday to Dragonstone. This was not a suggestion to get more sleep.
This was a border. A line drawn on the stone floor.
He looked into the eyes of his father's Hand, the second most powerful man in the kingdom, and he saw a cold understanding there. This was dangerous. This was treason. These were words that could cost them both their heads.
Tywin Lannister was offering him a choice. An alliance.
Rhaegar thought of his mother, sitting alone in a dark room, holding a frightened babe. He thought of his father, gone to destroy himself and perhaps the kingdom with him.
He made a decision.
"Yes." Rhaegar's voice was steady, steadier than he expected. He met Tywin's gaze, Prince meeting Hand. "He does indeed need to rest for a while."
...
Tywin already knows Rhaegar well enough to know that he also 'hates' his father, so he dares to speak like that and is very sure Rhaegar will agree. Besides, it is not like they are planning to kill the king... right?
You can read chapters 33-50 at Patreon.com/Daario_W