It had been a long time.
The Night's Watch walked out of the council hall with an encouraging smile on his face. It was clear that the expected funding had been applied for.
Lyonel and Roderick then walked out, both with sour expressions. They glanced at each other and snorted simultaneously.
...
In the hall, sunlight streamed through the stained glass window, warming his arms.
"The North, the long summer..."
Rhaegar's eyes were deep as he stood in front of the window, gazing into the distance. He promised to provide the Night's Watch with enough supplies to sustain 3,000 men through a harsh winter. The prisoners in the dungeons were theirs to take, and they would receive additional iron armor and tools. However, the rest would have to be managed cheaply by the Night's Watch. Reinforcements were out of the question. The royal family was not foolish, and Cregan would have to find a way to help himself.
"Chirp, chirp..."
A magpie flapped into a tree, perched on a branch, and tilted its head while chirping. The sound brought Rhaegar back to the present. Reflecting on the combined strength of the royal family, he thought, 'I still don't have enough control.'
Since ascending the throne, the Targaryen Empire had expanded its territory: the Seven Kingdoms, the Stepstones, the Triarchy, Volantis. Slaver's Bay was semi-liberated, awaiting colonization by the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, conquering a land did not mean ruling it smoothly. The autonomy of the nobles in the Seven Kingdoms was too high. Each of the seven great warden houses managed their regions independently, with their own agendas.
Rhaegar frowned slightly, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the window frame. 'Dorne, the Westerlands, the Iron Islands...' he pondered. The royal authority in these three regions was extremely weak. After the war in Dorne, the people there both hated and feared the Iron Throne, with their economy and livelihood in sharp decline. For now, they posed no threat and could be governed gradually.
The Westerlands and the Iron Islands were different. House Lannister was full of megalomaniacs, experts in paying lip service. Despite repeated calls for war, Lord Jason Lannister always found excuses, sending his advisers to do the dirty work. The Ironborn were even worse—a group of unproductive pirates. House Greyjoy of Pyke had a family motto: "We Do Not Sow."
'If I want to rule for a long time, the Seven Kingdoms must erase the roar of lions and the krakens,' Rhaegar thought, a hint of severity flashing in his eyes and a sense of crisis rising in his heart. There was discord within his family, and wolves and vultures lurked in the Seven Kingdoms and Across the Narrow Sea. If a natural disaster were to strike, how would the Targaryens respond?
Rhaegar carefully calculated his available forces. The only troops he could muster were the 5,000 Unsullied he had captured in Astapor. The former 3,000 Fearless were divided between King's Landing and Lys, unable to form a formidable fighting force. The Gold Cloaks and Dragonkeepers were too few to be of much use in a skirmish. 'People are too restless to be united,' he mused.
Setting aside military matters, Rhaegar considered the number of dragon riders in his family who could fight. Besides himself, Daemon and Aemon could be recruited, and Aunt Rhaenys would not refuse.
Laena and Helaena were pregnant, rendering their combat effectiveness negligible. Sunfyre was badly injured, and Aegon was completely ruined. Rhaenyra and Daeron could barely be counted, bringing the total to six dragon riders. Including his father, and counting the children Baela and Maekar, there was one adult dragon and six young dragons, insufficient for war.
'The House may seem powerful, but it is still not enough to form a crushing force,' Rhaegar sighed with regret. 'The children are still too young, and the future of the House lies with them.' The House would only truly grow when the next generation matured.
With this thought in mind, Rhaegar clenched his fist and said with determination, "Aegon's wedding is on the agenda, and Aemond's speed must be increased. I can't do it alone." Though great ability brought great responsibility, he was about to sire a new generation, while his bastard brothers had yet to prove themselves. He felt not only a duty to his father but also to the dragon in his crotch.
...
Following Rhaegar's gaze, he gradually moved away from the Red Keep.
The Sevenstar Cathedral stood as a magnificent new building in King's Landing, attracting the faithful daily to convert to the new religion. The cathedral, located in the back, was a tall, domed structure positioned between Silk Street and the square. Built entirely of black Dragonstone, it featured a sphinx and a dragon sculpture flanking the main entrance.
In the pavilion in front of the building, Maester Munkun, book in hand, stared sternly at the children before him, his pale face rigid. Baelon hung his head in frustration, while Aemon looked up, pouting in protest. The sisters Baela and Rhaena stood on either side of a listless Lyanna.
"Oh dear," Maester Munkun sighed after a long pause. "None of you have completed the homework assigned by the school."
"Old bastard, I finished mine!" Aemon crossed his arms, clearly upset.
Maester Munkun flipped through Aemon's book and then said, "Your handwriting is good, but you haven't done any of the handicrafts I assigned."
"I did," Baelon interjected, raising his hand.
Maester Munkun's face darkened as he pulled out a scroll. "Prince, your swordsmanship is commendable, but your handwriting doesn't reflect your skill." His voice rose suddenly, startling the children. Lyanna's eyes filled with tears; it was her first day of class, and she had nothing to do with the issue.
"I'm going to find my sister..." Lyanna's nose turned red, ready to give up, but Baela quickly covered her mouth.
Baela and Rhaena held down the youngest child, the little radish, with serious expressions, preventing her from crying. Lyanna's head tilted back, and sad tears streamed down her face.
"Okay, I don't want to waste your time," Maester Munkun said, still cultured, as he assigned more homework. "Prince Baelon, I will assign you a study partner to complete the history and mathematics homework."
Then, looking at the clearly unconvinced Aemon, he said seriously, "In seven days, you will plant a flower in a pot and bring it to me."
"Why?" Aemon asked. He had done the best work, perfectly according to the books.
"Yes, why?" Maester Munkun retorted. "You have enough wisdom, but you don't use it well. Instead, you waste your talent."
Many people wish to learn, devote themselves to academic research, and regret their lack of aptitude. Among the princes and princesses, Aemon had a photographic memory and the potential to become a Maester. However, the King would not allow his children to become the second Dragonless. Maester Munkun could only train Aemon's laziness and arrogance through piano, gardening, and stonework to temper his patience.
Aemon was speechless, searching for a loophole to refute. Unfortunately, a good brain can only remember things, not create them out of thin air.
Baelon patted his brother on the shoulder and asked, "Maester, are you going to arrange a study partner for me?"
"Who told you?" he wondered. 'Of course, the King and Queen.'
Maester Munkun, prepared, clapped his hands. "You can rest assured that you will be satisfied."
With the applause, a boy emerged from the flowers outside the pavilion. He had curly brown hair, darting brown eyes, and walked with his chest puffed out and back bent. It took him three minutes to walk from the flowerbed to the pavilion.
Maester Munkun pulled the boy over and introduced him with great fanfare, "Lyonel Tyrell, the current Lord of Highgarden, is temporarily enrolled at the school."
Little Lyonel looked around, finding only princes and princesses. He didn't dare to speak. Usually, the people he met were lower in status and would greet him. Suddenly, in a new environment, he struggled to adapt.
Maester Munkun, conscientious and responsible, took Baelon, who was eyeing Lyonel, and said with a smile that hid a knife, "The Prince will be studying with this Lord, and Your Grace himself will take time to check your homework."
The two boys were speechless.
"It's getting late, so I'll take my leave," Maester Munkun said, clutching his books under his arm. With a stern face, he departed.
The two boys looked at each other, the atmosphere indescribably awkward. "Hmph, what a terrible Maester," Aemon huffed, turning away. As he passed the flowerbed, he paused, plucked a daisy, and continued walking.
"Let's go and have a look," Baela said, dragging Rhaena along with her.
"What about me?" Lyanna asked, her eyes full of grievance.
"You come with me," Baelon replied, taking his sister by the hand. He turned to Lord Highgarden and said, "I'm going back to the Red Keep to read my history books. Do you want to come?"
Little Lyonel scratched his head, hesitating. "Yes, Prince?" he asked uncertainly.
"Oh, let's go," Baelon sighed, bearing a burden too heavy for his age. The three of them walked out of the school gate together.
Bang! As soon as they stepped outside, little Lyonel stumbled and nearly fell. The person who had bumped into him didn't even look back, tightening his collar and quickening his pace.
Baelon was dumbfounded. "Stop!" he called out. Upon closer inspection, the person was wearing a brown linen coat that looked dirty, though not particularly worn. He wasn't very tall, had narrow shoulders, and his hair was completely covered by a woolen felt hat. Hearing Baelon's call, he tried to run away.
"Stop, brat!" Arryk appeared from the side, grabbed the brown collar, and pulled off the patched felt hat. Dark brown curls spilled out, revealing a freckled face with a crooked nose. Arryk glanced at the purse she had grabbed from the other's sleeve and handed it to Lyonel. "She's a repeat offender, Prince," he said, pressing the prisoner in front of Baelon.
Baelon tilted his head to get a better look at the prisoner's face, his eyes widening in surprise. Nettles shrank her shoulders and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, I'm working to pay for my studies."
It was night in the royal chambers of the Red Keep. Rhaegar had just seen off the delegation from the North when he noticed two figures bustling about. His wife, frowning, was packing alongside her companion.
Confused, Rhaegar looked to Rhaenyra, who was oiling and caring for "The Realm's Delight" at the edge of the bed. "Are you going out?" he asked suspiciously.
"Sort of," Rhaenyra replied, nodding slightly. She gestured toward the table. "Laena wrote to me. She's not feeling well and asked me to take care of her."
"Laena should ask her husband to do it," Rhaegar said, taking the letter out with some doubt. "Aegon is getting married soon. We should go together."
Aegon, the prince of the Stepstones, held a higher status than Aemond and Daeron. As the wedding organizer, Rhaenyra's presence was crucial.
"That's a shame," Rhaenyra whispered, feigning sadness. "According to the news, Daemon has gone to Slaver's Bay to lord over the people. I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to the wedding."
"Daemon is back in Slaver's Bay?" Rhaegar's eyes flashed, catching the point.
"I'll take Baelon and the others with me. If Jeyne is agreeable, I can also take care of Daenerys and Anna," Rhaenyra continued. "After all, it's time for the two sides to cultivate their relationship."
Rhaegar frowned. "But Aegon's wedding is coming up!"
"And Laena needs someone to look after her," Rhaenyra insisted, looking up at him, refusing to back down.
Rhaegar rolled his eyes, skeptical. Rhaenyra turned her head away in silence. She couldn't stand being in the same room as Jeyne, so she might as well return to Lys.
Of course, Laena had indeed written, mentioning that her pregnancy symptoms before the due date were not right.
(Word count: 2,010)