Rhaegar
Red Keep
"The clashes between the Fire Watch and the City Watch are only increasing. This cannot go on, Your Grace," Connington said, his voice filled with frustration.
He sighed deeply. Jon Connington had been against the creation of the Fire Watch from the beginning, and for months, he had been complaining about it. Recently, he had latched onto the outbreak of violence between the City Watch and the Fire Watch as an example that his son was not fit to lead the new order.
He sat in his chair in his chambers, the room filled with a soothing aroma of incense, meant to calm his troubled mind. The dim light from the candles cast long shadows on the walls, their flickering flames making the intricate tapestries depicting Targaryen history seem to come alive.
"Your Grace," his Hand prodded, pulling him out of his reverie.
He frowned. "What has Maekar done wrong, Jon?"
"Prince Maekar is not capable of leading the Fire Watch. He is too young, too inexperienced. He is causing unrest in the city. I request that you strip him of his leadership and appoint someone more suitable," Connington said firmly.
"Maekar has done a great deal of good for the city. His work in Flea Bottom, for example," he said calmly.
"He is evicting people from Flea Bottom and creating new villages in the Kingswood. And he has been consorting with merchants, which is not fitting for a prince. He shames the royal family in doing so," Connington persisted.
"I am aware of everything Maekar is doing. I have given him permission," he replied, his voice steady.
"You have?" Connington asked, shocked.
"My son has provided me with regular reports," he added.
"I have not received any reports," Connington muttered in a low voice.
"Jon," he called, getting his Hand's attention. "He is doing what I have wanted since I took the throne. What you and others told me was not possible," he said, his gaze piercing.
"It would have been difficult. There were other, more pressing matters," Connington began to say.
"Yet here he is, my son, doing what you deemed difficult," he interrupted.
Connington remained silent, his frustration barely concealed.
"There is another pressing issue as well. If proven true, then you will have failed me immensely," he stated, his voice cold and firm.
"Failed? What failure, Your Grace?" Connington said, stumped by the accusation.
"Yes, failed," he repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Last week, Maekar revealed to me that Harrold Hayford, the commander of the City Watch, has been involved in several corrupt activities for years."
"He lies! Lord Hayford is loyal. He defended the Crownlands bravely against the rebels. He is a hero to the realm and House Targaryen," Connington defended passionately.
"That remains to be seen, Jon," he said calmly. "Let Maekar conduct his investigation."
Connington's face tightened with reluctance. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Good," he said, watching him closely.
"I will take my leave, Your Grace," Connington said before bowing and exiting the chamber.
He then turned to Arthur, who had been standing silently in the chamber. "What do you think, Arthur?"
Arthur stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "Prince Maekar has done well in the city. Your decision to let him investigate the commander is correct."
He nodded, appreciating Arthur's candor. "Thank you, Arthur."
"How is Aegon?" he asked.
"He still has difficulty using his left arm," Arthur said, his voice low.
His gaze softened. "Can he regain control like before, Arthur?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Arthur hesitated. "I am not a maester, Your Grace, but he has made progress."
He nodded, a heavy silence hanging in the air. "Leave, Arthur. I need to be alone," he ordered softly.
Arthur bowed deeply and exited the chamber, leaving Rhaegar alone with his thoughts.
He stood, using his cane for support. It still pained him to stand even after all these years. His thoughts drifted to Lyanna. It was his dreams of her, the memories of their time together, that finally convinced him to bring Maekar back home, away from Brandon Stark. The boy had thrived in the capital, proving himself in ways he had hoped but never dared to expect.
"Maekar is thriving in the capital," he said to the empty room, his voice tinged with both pride and sadness. He paused, looking wistful. "I wish you would have been here, Lyanna. Our son…"
"Lya…" a voice whispered, mocking in tone.
His heart raced as he looked around, startled. "Who's there?"
"Me," the voice replied, the sound seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"Who is there?" he demanded more firmly, his grip tightening on the cane.
"Don't play innocent with me," the voice continued, dripping with malice. "Lya… he says….. you know what you did."
His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Where are you?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room frantically.
"Follow the cold shiver running down your back," the voice taunted, then burst into cruel laughter.
He turned, his gaze falling upon the large ornate mirror in the room. His reflection stared back at him, but as he watched, it began to change. To his shock, he saw the image of his frail self transform.
The hunched figure in the mirror straightened, the cane disappearing. The graying hair darkened to a rich silver, the lines of age smoothing out until the face was that of a young man in his prime. His body grew strong and muscular again, his eyes bright with the vitality of youth. It was Rhaegar as he once had been: tall, handsome, and regal, without the weight of years or the damage Robert had inflicted upon him.
The younger reflection smirked, a cruel glint in its eye. "You know what you did," it whispered, the voice now unmistakably his own, yet twisted with venom.
He stumbled back.
"You lie to yourself, Rhaegar. You always have," the younger reflection said, smirking.
"What lies?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"You have always lied to yourself about her," the reflection replied.
He took a step back again, his heart pounding. "No... We were in love... She came willingly... our song…" he said, trying to convince himself more than the reflection.
His mind was playing tricks on him; he tried to make it stop, but it remained.
The reflection smiled, almost cruelly. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? You took her, Rhaegar. You abducted her, and she despised you for it," it said with a wide grin.
"That's not true! She understood, she knew it was our destiny," he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Destiny?" the reflection mocked. "You speak of destiny to justify your actions, to wash away the blood on your hands. You brought ruin to the realm. Thousands died because of your folly."
He walked towards the mirror as fast as he could, the sound of his cane echoing on the floor. He reached out to the mirror, his hands trembling. "I did what I thought was right. The prophecy—" he said softly.
The reflection interrupted, laughing bitterly. "The prophecy? A convenient excuse. You hid behind it to mask your desires. You wanted her, and you took her. Nothing more."
His face twisted with anguish. "I loved her. I loved Lyanna," he said, trying to convince himself.
"You loved the idea of her. You loved the power, the control. You took her forcefully, ripped her from her life, and brought her nothing but misery. Admit it, Rhaegar. You are no hero. You are a villain."
His knees began to buckle. "No... no... she hated Robert. I gave her an escape. She would have been my wife…" he whispered.
"The truth is a bitter draught, but it is the only way to cleanse your soul. Embrace what you did, who you are. Only then can you find any semblance of peace," the reflection said, malice lacing its voice.
"No, no, no…" he muttered, holding his head in denial.
The reflection's smile grew more sinister. "Remember the screams, Rhaegar. Remember how she cried out, begged for mercy. You silenced her, forced yourself upon her, and in that moment, you embraced your true self. You reveled in it."
"Stop. Please, stop," he whispered, his voice breaking.
The reflection laughed. "You cannot escape it. You cannot hide from what you are. Accept it, embrace it, and you will find the strength you seek. Embrace who you are."
"Embrace who you truly are... your father's son."
Rhaegar screamed and, with a surge of anger and despair, brought his cane down on the mirror. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, shards flying everywhere. Each fragment seemed to reflect his younger, crueler self, mocking him from every angle. The sound of the breaking glass echoed through the chamber, amplifying his torment.
Arthur ran into the room, alarmed by the noise. "Your Grace, my king, what happened?" Arthur asked, his voice filled with concern.
Rhaegar was on his knees, amidst the shattered glass. "I... I... slipped," he answered, his voice weak and trembling.
Arthur quickly moved to help him up, carefully avoiding the shards of glass. He lifted him to his feet and guided him to his bed, gently easing him down. "Your Grace, let me call for a maester. You need to be looked at," Arthur suggested, worry evident in his eyes.
"Leave, Arthur. I need some time to myself," he ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Arthur protested, "But Your Grace, you are—"
"Leave," Rhaegar ordered firmly, his eyes closing as he lay down on his bed.
Arthur bowed and left the room, casting one last concerned glance at the shattered mirror before closing the door behind him.
Now alone, Rhaegar was haunted by Lyanna's voice and her tear-stricken, fearful face flashing in his mind.
"Why are you doing this? Please, stop. Stop," Lyanna's voice echoed in his head.
He quickly pushed the memory away, but the room grew colder, the shadows longer, and the voice continued to taunt him, urging him to accept his darkest desires and embrace his true nature.
"No no no," he muttered as he lay in his bed, trying to push the memories away.
.
.
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Rhaenys
Duskendale
She had been traveling for almost two months now.
Since returning to the capital, she had involved herself in several charitable projects in King's Landing, earning the love and admiration of the smallfolk. Now she intended to spread that goodwill outside the city, and for this reason, she decided to conduct a progress across the Crownlands and the southern Riverlands.
She established motherhouses for the safety and protection of women and children. Many had been abandoned after the rebellion, and she aimed to rebuild them. She had also learned of a food shortage in the southern Riverlands and thus had arranged for food relief to be sent, coordinating with merchants and farmers to ensure supplies reached those in need swiftly. She personally oversaw the loading of grain, vegetables, and dried meats onto wagons, each emblazoned with the Targaryen sigil.
But her mission was not purely altruistic. She intended to build alliances and gauge the sentiments of the lords in these regions, especially concerning her brothers Aegon and Maekar.
She had brought a very reluctant Arianne along. It was strange; her cousin was always up for an adventure. Even stranger was how often Arianne brought up Maekar during their travels.
Arianne, her cousin who had once urged her to seduce and marry Maekar to secure her position, now suggested looking to the Stormlands or the Reach, even mentioning Durran Baratheon, son of Stannis Baratheon.
There were many questions lingering in her mind about Arianne's behavior.
They visited many houses in the Riverlands, attended feasts, participated in hunts and tourneys. Her charm and genuine interest in their welfare endeared her to many. Arianne, meanwhile, was courted many times by many suitors but she turned them all down coldly, it was very unlike as she liked to tease and string her suitors along and play with them for her amusement.
The carriage traveled through the road, the landscape a blur of green fields. The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestones and the gentle sway of the carriage provided a soothing backdrop as they neared Duskendale.
Inside the carriage, Arianne and her sat opposite each other. She was reviewing a map, her finger tracing the route they had taken. Arianne, meanwhile, stared out the window, her expression distant.
"We will reach Duskendale soon," she said, breaking the silence.
Arianne nodded, her gaze still fixed on the passing scenery. "Yes we are ," she said, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm.
As they approached Duskendale, the city came into view, its walls rising above the surrounding landscape. The streets were bustling with activity, the townsfolk eager to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. The carriage rolled to a stop at the gates to the castle, where a crowd had gathered, whispering excitedly among themselves.
Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his gold and white armor, dismounted and approached the carriage. He opened the door and extended his hand to her . "Princess ," he said with a courteous bow.
She took his hand and stepped out of the carriage, followed by Arianne. The people knelt as she emerged, their eyes wide with what she saw was fear and awe. The sigil of House Rykker—two black warhammers crossed on a white saltire on blue—was displayed prominently on banners and shields throughout the city.
She was greeted by Lord Renfred Rykker, his wife Melissa, and their two daughters as she descended from the carriage. They all knelt before her, a gesture of respect and submission.
"Welcome, Princess Rhaenys. It is an honor to have you here," Lord Renfred Rykker said, his voice filled with reverence.
"Please, rise," she said, her tone warm and inviting. "Well, Lord Rykker, its strange to be here as the last time a Targaryen was here, it did not end well," she added with a lighthearted smile, hoping to break the formality.
Rykker's face turned ashen, and the others around him looked equally terrified. Realizing her jest had not landed as intended, she quickly reassured him. "It is just a jest, Lord Rykker," she said, smiling more broadly. "I am truly honored by your warm welcome."
Relief washed over their faces, and Lord Rykker managed a nervous chuckle. "Of course, Princess. We are delighted to have you."
They were then led inside to their chambers. The rooms were elegantly furnished, with rich tapestries adorning the walls and fresh flowers arranged in vases, their fragrance filling the air. She spent some time there, resting and preparing for the feast that awaited them.
In the afternoon, they were escorted to the great hall where the feast had been prepared in their honor. The hall was a grand space, filled with long wooden tables laden with food. The aroma of roasted meats, spiced wines, and fresh bread permeated the air. Torches and chandeliers lit the room, casting a warm, inviting glow.
Arianne and her were seated on the dais in a prominent position, overlooking the gathered guests. Lord and Lady Rykker sat beside them, their daughters nearby. The hall buzzed with conversation and laughter as the feast commenced. Minstrels played lively tunes, and the guests indulged in the sumptuous meal.
She observed the festivities, her heart warmed by the display of unity and celebration. Arianne, seated next to her, seemed more reserved but still managed to smile and engage with those around her.
As the feast was drawing to a close, Lady Melissa Rykker leaned towards her with a hopeful look in her eyes. "Princess, it would be an honor if one of my daughters could serve as your handmaiden," she asked, her voice filled with sincerity.
She glanced at the two young girls, both of whom looked eager and excited at the prospect. She smiled graciously. "I would be pleased to have her," she replied, her words bringing joy to Lord and Lady Rykker.
After the feast, she found herself in her chambers with Arianne. The room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles, the heavy drapes drawn to keep out the evening chill. The scent of the feast still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of flowers from a vase on the table.
"Ari," she called softly, turning to face her cousin, "we need to talk."
Arianne looked up, her expression curious. "What is it?"
"Maekar," she said, her voice serious.
Arianne raised an eyebrow. "What about Maekar?" she asked innocently.
She took a deep breath, her eyes searching Arianne's face. "Why are you so obsessed with my brother? Is there anything between you two?" She left the question hanging, her tone both inquisitive and cautious.
Arianne sighed deeply, her shoulders drooping slightly. "I don't lie to you, Rhae. I am attracted to him," she confessed.
She let out a small, skeptical laugh. "Oh, that's it then? Like Daemon, Rolly, or Gerold?" she said Gerold with a hint of disgust.
"No," Arianne replied firmly, to Rhaenys's surprise. "It's different. Nothing like those three." She paused, her eyes earnest. "I want to marry him," she confessed.
She was taken aback. "Uncle Doran will never—" she began to protest, but stopped herself, realizing she was not sure why she was so against it. 'Why was she so against it?' she wondered silently.
"I do not care," Arianne said defiantly. "Father has not considered a marriage proposal for me since Viserys."
"Now, the lords of Dorne look to my brother, wooing him with brides," Arianne continued, her voice tinged with frustration.
"You are still the heir, Ari," she reminded her gently.
"I am four and twenty, Rhae," Arianne said, her voice heavy. "And Maekar... he is different," she added softly.
She felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over her. "I don't know what to say," she admitted, unsure of how to respond.
"I need to be alone," Arianne said, her voice strained as she turned and left the chambers assigned to her.
She walked to the window, looking out at the darkening sky and the vast sea beyond. Marrying Maekar would make things easier for her, she realized. She wouldn't deny her attraction to him. Unlike Aegon, whom she saw as a brother, her feelings for Maekar were different. Arianne's confession complicated things.
She stared out to the sea, feeling the exhaustion of plotting to usurp her brother.
"All this plotting sure is tiresome," she muttered to herself, her gaze lost in the horizon.