"Under the dragon's eye."
As I sat in the Godswood, the year 105 AC, my fingers plucked at the strings of my lute, the melody of Warrior-Queen Nymeria's song filling the air.
The blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree danced in the wind and drifted down to the ground like drops of blood staining the earth.
"Under the dragon's eye."
As I gazed upon the blood-red leaves falling from the branches of the weirwood tree, my thoughts drifted to Warrior-Queen Nymeria and her people's struggle against the tyranny of ancient Valyria — the oppressive flap of scaled wings filling the skies.
"Under the dragon's eye~"
As I sat playing my lute, I heard the gentle sound of footsteps approaching. It was my mother, Queen Aemma, who had sought me out in the peaceful surroundings of the Godwood.
"Sounds beautiful," she commented.
I smiled, feeling a sense of pride at her words. "You flatter me, mother."
I noticed the roundness of her pregnant belly, straining against the gold satin of her dress, and the thin layer of sweat on her forehead. The short walk to find me had clearly taken its toll on her.
"You should be resting."
She chuckled, "You sound like your sister."
I blushed, "Don't say that!"
We exchanged a smile, and my mother offered her hand, "Come, let's walk.
We strolled through the garden, arm in arm. My mother leaned on me from time to time, her breathing heavy and laboured from the pregnancy.
I had grown significantly in recent months, almost as tall as she was and strong enough to support both (or three) of us.
I was intimately familiar with these gardens, knowing which areas were safe to speak in and when one could risk being seen.
While I had no reason to believe our conversation would be overheard, I still adhered to my habit of exercising caution as a matter of principle.
"What brings you here?" I asked. "You only have to ask, and I'll come."
My mother rubbed her stomach. "Your brother has been kicking all day. I thought some of your music might calm him."
I smirked. "How can you be sure it's a boy?"
"Your father is quite sure of it."
"Ain't that the truth."
My mother paused, catching her breath for a moment.
"Speaking of your father..."
I rolled my eyes. "It's still months until our eleventh name day. Why does Father insist on knowing what we want for a present so early?"
My mother took the opportunity to pat my head, perhaps for the last time while she was taller than I. "You know how he is. He loves you both very much."
"Why can't he show his love behind closed doors? A simple trinket and a family supper would suffice."
My mother took my arm and tugged me along, continuing our walk. "We both know that's not an option."
It was true. Since my father took the Iron Throne, the Red Keep has had a youthful energy.
Courtiers smiled in the halls. Minor nobles bustled around the court. Mummers, singers, and entertainers from all over the world filled the keep with their performances.
Thus, every event became a competition to outdo the previous one. Every name day was an occasion to indulge in and promote a fairytale-like world to the public.
It seemed that no matter how many tournaments, balls, or feasts were organized, people constantly desired more extravagance.
Even the most unforgettable celebrations are forgotten the next day as everyone searches for the next big thing.
At first glance, the grand social events hosted by the royal family might appear to be nothing more than a wasteful display of wealth.
However, I had learned from the wise King Jaehaerys that such distractions were actually important for the well-being of the people. My father had simply taken this model to a whole new level.
It was not just about providing a momentary escape from their struggles but also reinforcing the social hierarchy that kept the nobility in power. The colorful pageantry and elaborate celebrations were necessary to maintain the illusion.
Mother kissed me on the forehead at the end of our loop and said, "Go to him."
So that's what I did.
These days, father spent most of his time in the small council chamber, doting over matters of the state.
Brushing through the double doors, I interrupted their meeting. All of their heads turned to me.
The entire council was in attendance. We had my Father, King Viserys.
The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower.
The Grandmaester, Runciter. His shadow, Archmaester Mellos, was noticeably absent from this meeting.
Master of coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury.
Master of laws, my uncle Prince Daemon.
(Last year, he served briefly as master of coin, but due to Ser Otto's concerns about the royal treasury being embellished, Daemon got relegated to master of laws).
Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne.
And last but not least, the Master of ships, Lord Corlys Velaryon.
Father greeted me with a smile, "Rhaenar, there you are!" I gave everyone a nod of acknowledgement as I took the empty seat of the Master of Whispers, the position yet to be replaced.
"Here I am. What are you discussing?" I asked, trying to sound interested.
Lord Corlys answered me, treating me like an adult, "We were just discussing the growing activities of the Triarchy."
I stroked my chin, easing into my chair, "The Kingdom of the Three Daughters."
My sister quickly moved to fill my empty cup with wine, ever the diligent cupbearer. We shared a wink.
I took a sip, "What news?"
Father wore a proud smirk as Ser Otto took this as his cue to explain, "The Triarchy grows more emboldened. Our sailors report a steady increase of their influence over the narrow sea."
"The narrow sea is Lord Corlys' domain. What does our Master of Ships think?" I asked.
Lord Corlys furrowed his brow, "Thank you, my Prince."
He stood up, and I secretly got excited. Lord Corlys was a great man. Everything he did was a learning experience to me. I loved it when he got up from his seat to speak in that legendary, pragmatic way.
Lord Corlys was no fool. He had always been aware of my reverence for him, even since before I could walk.
Consequently, whenever I was in his presence, he spoke in a way that was designed to benefit me, providing details that might give me better context to understand the situation, even if I already knew them.
"As we know, the Triarchy is an alliance of three city-state kingdoms: Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr. This alliance was formed to fight off the armies of Volantis after they threatened to annex the disputed lands in southwest Essos," Lord Corlys began, providing background information.
I raised my chin and played devil's advocate. "It warms my heart to see the remnants of Old Valyria band together," I said, trying to inject a bit of humour into the serious discussion.
My uncle Daemon smirked at my comment.
Lord Corlys continued,
"Don't be too warmed, my Prince. With each passing day, the Triarchy recovers from its war with Volantis, and their confidence grows. I think it's only a matter of time before the Triarchy sets its sights on dominating the Narrow Sea."
As I stifled a yawn, I waved a dismissive hand and said, "They can set their sights all they want, but unless they've invented a ship that can withstand Dragon fire, it's a futile effort."
Ser Otto looked at my father, his eyes wide, biting his tongue. Suppressing a smile, I asked, "You disagree, Otto?"
He hesitated before replying, "I believe it's in the Crown's best interest not to provoke a foreign power."
Uncle Daemon, Rhaenyra, and I exchanged a knowing look before I responded, "Ah, forgive me. Sometimes I forget that power is relative. I can see why the Triarchy might appear formidable to the humble House Hightower."
Rhaenyra covered her mouth, trying to contain her giggle, while Daemon flashed a devilish grin.
Father quickly intervened, always eager to prevent the conversation from escalating into two-against-one bullying. It was fine when either Daemon or I individually went at Otto, but not together.
"Enough, Rhaenar. Let's discuss more important matters."
"Like our name day?" I interjected.
"Exactly," Father replied, motioning for Rhaenyra to pour her own cup and join us at the table. "Tell me, what would you like as your gift this year?"
Rhaenyra listed the typical princess requests without hesitation - a pony, dresses, jewelry, and the like. Father smiled and patiently listened as Grandmaester Runciter jotted down everything.
When it was my turn, I feigned contemplation before saying, "I'll only reveal my request in front of family."
Uncle Daemon, Lord Corlys, and Rhaenyra raised their eyebrows but remained seated, much to Ser Otto's chagrin. Father dismissed everyone else from the council chambers, leaving only family in the room.
After a brief preamble, I finally revealed my request to Father.
"Although I value Ser Ryam's teachings, I fear they limit my fighting style. I want to expand my mind and focus on other possibilities."
Father's mind immediately started seeking solutions.
"Are his teachings no longer satisfactory?"
"No," I chuckled. "On the contrary, it's started to pay massive dividends."
Lord Corlys chimed in, "It's true. My son has yet to defeat the Prince in sparring."
Acknowledging the compliment, I continued.
"That is no easy feat, my Lord, I assure you. However, I've been studying various fighting styles from historical material. These are all taught to fighting pit slaves in Slaver's Bay. If possible, I would like my father to invite one of these instructors."
Father appeared intrigued, "Is that all you want?"
"No," I replied, walking towards the balcony. "I have something more important in mind."
Father leaned with anticipation, "Such as?"
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.
"Tell me, what do you know about the Ghiscari Empire?"