"Aunt Rhea—!"
I bowled into her with a hug and she struggled to keep us both standing. The coldness of her rune armor against my cheek.
But once she gained her balance, Aunt Rhea returned my grip, "Prince Rhaenar, how you've grown."
I rubbed my stomach, "They feed me well," I said, standing on my tippy toes, "We'd be closer in height if you weren't wearing boots!"
"Hey, you're wearing boots too!"
"Hahaha!"
Accompanying Aunt Rhea was her cousin, Ser Gerold Royce, his dark beard now showing wisps of grey.
I placed a hand on my heart and bowed, "How joyous it is to have the great House Royce help me celebrate my name day. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
Aunt Rhea's beauty was striking — as if the salt of the earth had been transformed into gold.
Her dark locks never went below her shoulders - a testament to her tomboy aura - and her cheeks were naturally flushed with a rosy hue, which perfectly complemented her porcelain skin.
This delicate flush made her skin all the more alluring as she protruded her chin out ever so slightly, almost inviting any man brave enough to kiss her on the neck.
"Come," she said, gesturing for me to take her arm and escort her through the grand hall. "Look at you, all smitten. You're still so young for matters of the heart."
Perhaps I stared for too long? It was strange. As an eleven-year-old, I had yet to feel the constant pang of lust invading my mind.
"Tell that to the realm," I countered, "Fear not, Aunt Rhea. As an artist, I'm simply an admirer of the human form."
"If only your uncle were so inclined."
As we walked towards the royal table, we both cast a quick glance towards Uncle Daemon.
He seemed to be adeptly using his peripheral vision to keep an eye on us. Growing up in the Red Keep, one learned to observe in secrecy, and I knew exactly what he was up to.
"My Uncle has good intentions," I said sincerely, "although he may lack finesse in matters of romance. If you give him a chance, he could prove a fiercely loyal husband."
"I have given him numerous opportunities," she said, sounding somewhat dejected. "It's me who needs to be given the chance."
"Give it time. I have faith."
"What makes you so sure?" she asked.
"Because if I were my uncle, I'd chance you a thousand times over."
She suppressed her wide-eyed surprise and quietly squeezed my wrist as we climbed the stairs and took our place on the stand.
"Lady Rhea," my father welcomed her wholeheartedly.
As my family members greeted her one by one, the tension in the air grew thicker with each passing moment.
The one person who should have spoken up remained quiet, adding to the awkwardness until finally, Aunt Rhea and Uncle Daemon were face to face.
Aunt Rhea's once warm and kind face turned cold and indifferent.
"Husband."
Uncle Daemon maintained his usual swagger, leaning nonchalantly in his chair.
"Wife."
However, I caught a flicker of something in his eye as he gazed upon Aunt Rhea. It was hard to tell if he was impressed by her fiery spirit, or angry at her 'insolence'.
Despite being married, Uncle Daemon has been avoiding any interaction with Aunt Rhea, causing concern for my father. Not even old king Jaehaerys could quell the matter.
So, when father saw them briefly chatting, he was delighted and motioned for a seat to be pulled up next to Daemon for Aunt Rhea to join us.
He wanted to believe the spark of love could ignite just as it did with my mother. This desire was so powerful that it would change how father viewed their relationship. He was always optimistic about Targaryens coming together.
Perceiving is believing~
However, despite the king's effort to bring them closer, the tension between Uncle Daemon and Aunt Rhea was palpable. They sat next to each other, stiff and distant, like a scene out of an awkward coming-of-age story.
Whenever I wanted a break from the evening's malarkey, all I had to do was glance back at the royal table and have a good chuckle at their discomfort.
"And where might be your liege?" my father asked Aunt Rhea once a servant poured her some wine.
"Lady Arryn wanted to come, but her regent council suggested otherwise."
The answer somewhat deflated my father, "… A shame. She and the twins are around the same age."
"Mayhap we should visit her?" I said, "The Vale isn't too far on Dragon back. Rhaenyra and I could be there in half a day."
"I think my Lady would like that," said Aunt Rhea, "Ever since my father's death, the regency has been... turbulent."
(A/N: Not confirmed if Yobert Royce is Rhea's father, but whatever)
My father listened with mild concern. Before my parents got married, my mother was known as Aemma Arryn. The Vale had a soft spot in my father's heart.
"The Crown won't hesitate to involve itself should the need arise," he said assuredly.
As the feast drew to a close and the last of the dessert plates were cleared away, the mood of the guests began to shift.
The rich food and plentiful wine had worked their magic, loosening tongues and enlivening spirits.
Laughter and lively chatter filled the air as guests rose from their seats, some wandering off to stretch their legs, while others gathered in clusters to continue their conversations.
As the night wore on, the focus shifted to the center of the Great Hall where a bustling dance floor had formed.
The sound of music filled the room, with a band of 24 men playing various instruments - drums pounding out a lively beat, lutes strumming sweet melodies, and horns blowing bold and brassy notes.
The joyful sounds of the music carried through the hall, inviting all to join in the revelry and celebrate the night. At this point in the evening, the festivities reached a turning point where guests seemed to forget themselves.
It was a time when I could let loose and enjoy without the weight of their attention on me (as much). They now focused on the music, the dancing, and the joy of the celebration.
I went to a table where the Maesters watched from the corner.
"Theodore," I greeted, "Archmaester Mellos, Vaegon."
"You've tempered since last we spoke," Archmaester Vaegon said with his trademarked curt delivery, "Has becoming a Knight rendered you level-headed?"
I rolled my eyes. To him, I'd always be that brat from our first meeting. "For someone in our family known as the Dragonless, you sure like to spit flames."
"On second thought, you haven't changed one bit."
"Speaking of thoughts," I said, taking extra care to not tip off Archmaester Mellos about our secret doings, "How goes your 'research'?"
Archmaester Vaegon didn't change his expression. He simply replied, cool as a cucumber, "Swell."
"That's what I like to hear. Anyhow," I said to Theodore, "Where's Brien?"
"He slipped out for the privy around the time those lords from the Reach arrived," Theodore told me, "Something he must have ate."
I scoffed, "Please, that man always finds a convenient excuse to bail these events. Find him. If we have to suffer, then so must he."
Theodore caught on to my plan, "You just want him to hover around you so that the Lords won't approach, fearing that their ears will be talked off about the mysteries," he said knowingly.
"I will neither confirm nor deny such heinous accusations."
I circulated around the Great Hall, taking my turn at the customary social rituals of greeting and small talk.
In such gatherings, merely showing one's presence and engaging in passing pleasantries were often sufficient to fulfil one's social obligations, allowing the natural flow of socializing to take its course.
At some point I felt a hand grip my shoulder.
"Prince Rhaenar," said Lyonel Strong.
"My Lord?"
"I wanted to apologize if I offended you earlier. It was not my intention."
I puffed my chest out. I didn't want this man feeling sorry for me.
"Nonsense, you did nothing of the sort. The passing of my brother still weighs heavy, is all. Your kindness and sincerity have been duly noted."
Lord Strong could sense my genuineness, "Thank the gods, I'm glad to hear it."
He motioned towards his entourage and introduced his son, Harwwn. As he patted his son's shoulder, the sound echoed in the Great Hall, a testament to the young man's bulging muscles. "You've met my son, Harwwn?" he asked as if testing my memory.
I nodded in agreement. Harwin was the eldest son of Lyonel, around the age of 16 at this time, and already gaining a fierce reputation.
"The Breakbones. I hear you're making a name for yourself in the City Watch. The city is safer with you patrolling the streets."
"You honor me, My Prince."
After waving a hand dismissively, I summoned a servant holding a tray of chalices filled with wine to come over. I distributed the drinks to the group, and remarked
"All I've been hearing tonight is how I've 'honored' him and 'honored' her. At some point, the word will lose its meaning."
Lord Strong chuckled in amusement, "I couldn't agree more."
Lord Strong raised his cup in a toast, and I followed suit, clinking our chalices together with a satisfying clang.
That's when I noticed a fourth member of our small circle.
"And who might this be?" I asked.
Lord Lyonel introduced me to his second son, Larys, who appeared meek and small compared to the impressive Harwin Breakbones. I couldn't help but wonder about Larys' potential as a fighter.
However, upon closer inspection, I noticed one of his feet twisted inwards.
A clubfoot. Curiosity got the better me.
"Well met, Larys. What happened to your foot?"
Lord Lyonel and Harwin seemed taken aback by my bluntness, but Larys smiled in response.
"The Gods saw to it I was born this way."
"That's a shame," I said, without an ounce of feeling sorry in my voice, "It must be hard considering your brother."
"I stopped pitying myself many moons ago, My Prince."
He seemed to have genuinely meant his words. I had to respect it.
"Excellent! I'm sure you will grow just as strong in other areas. I once knew a man in prison who was deaf. He learned how to read lips, and suddenly there were no more secrets on the yard!"
Instead of finding inspiration in my story, Larys oddly honed in on the details, "Prison?"
Realizing my mistake, I cleared my throat awkwardly, "Did I say that? I meant to say 'mission'. I once knew a Knight on a mission who was deaf. Hahaha!"
Thankfully, as if saved by the bell, the music swelled, voices rose in excitement, and the centre of the great hall turned into a stage.
"It seems the hour is getting late. Please excuse me. There are many maidens here waiting for me.
If I don't dance with at least one of them, father will never let me hear the end of it."