281 AC
Rhaegar I
Rhaegar Targaryen was perched atop his steed, riding back to the royal tents after breaking fast with the Tully's. Jonothor Darry rode on his left astride a brown destrier, and Oswell Whent occupied the crown prince's right, closer to his ear, in favour of sharing words that should not carry.
Their path was a berth wider from the bustle of the smallfolk, and a modest contingent saw to the maintained distance. The group would have been larger, but he had been solitary in this visit; his father had left in the pre-dawn morning, and Elia had been foul of mood ever since the joust's end.
A slight disruption in his plans, yet a small price to pay for the tender in his heart. A soft simper came to his lips, and a truer warmth to his indigo eyes. He had once deemed himself beyond impulsive acts, but after his meeting with the She-Wolf of the North, he found himself understanding his granduncle's decisions a bit more keenly.
Such was love's sway, it seemed.
Yet much rested on his shoulders, he could not allow himself excessive selfishness lest the realm came to flames under his father's obsession and maddened sight.
The realm cried for rescue, and he had already done so much to forsake it now.
He pulled at the horse's reins, a gentle tug to ensure the mount did not sway to far. His father's early departure still irked him much, he had hoped his madness would have confined him to the tents, were his actions would see limitation. But down King's Landing with the deluded betrayal still fresh on his mind, gods knew what kind of damage Aerys would do.
And Rhaegar could not make an early departure after him without slights being made and certainty being gained. More so when he had sacrificed far too much time and coinage for this venture to end in failure.
He ran a hand through his head, a tad frustrated. His hair jewelled like thin silver in the morning light, a capture to those who had not grown to its sight.
'I dearly hope the small council delays his more crazed ideas somewhat.' The prince wished unvoiced.
He had helped curb some of his father's maddened decrees when fate allowed him presence in King's Landing, taking full advantage of the king's isolation and paranoia. Yet even with Aerys' lost wits he did not lack for lickspittles, fools blinded by the lust for power and fully willing to prey on his pater's touched mind.
The prince's lips came into a downward pull as Wisdom Rossart's wily face came to mind.
He took an inhale, chasing the worry out of his person. Today's morning was fine — with the dawn light harsher on the skin than most — it'd be foul of him to spoil it with his gloom.
The Riverlands being such close neighbours with the North they were prone to soft heat, unlike the scorch prevalent in the kingdoms true south of the realm. Had the Rivermen not been such quarrelsome people, this would have been the central heart of the continent, as was its placement on the map.
Rich in soil and folks of such fine birth, what happened to it was a squander. Mayhaps he would bring unity to it once he sat on the throne, and follow in Riverrun's path of prosper.
That gave a quirk to his lips. What the Tully's were doing was a wonder that needed to be turned into a common tide. Even in his short-stayed meet with them, the prince could see how their ways strayed from those of most houses.
A sound came to his right, pulling him out of his thoughts.
The Knight of Bats drew nearer, his armour clanging loudly with his reckless riding. He saw the man had not rested much, streaks of fatigue so loud throughout his face when his helmet did not act as a shroud. The prince had advised them to dress lightly, there was no need for heavy armour this day.
His words were given little heed.
Now the pair suffered for it, yet they would soon die from tiredness than voice admittance.
Having been riding for a few minutes, they were now far from prying eyes, and it seemed the Kingsguard could contain his curiosity no more.
"My prince," the knight started, his voice scarce with emotion, "how fair went your meeting with the Tully's?"
Rhaegar hummed with an absent regard, but he did not let the white cloak's question remain unanswered for long, "the meeting went well, though I suspect Lord Tully wasn't quite pleased with my father's lack of show."
Not that the Paramount made obvious that fact, but the prince picked up on that displeasure. He had intended to place substantial focus on the Tully's during this tourney, yet his father's unexpected arrival and disdain for certain houses gave halt to such plans.
If only the Tully did not involve themselves in the Bracken-Blackwood feud. Though it might have been Lord Tully's pander to Lord Lannister after the king had interfered with his gifting.
…a whole good that brought with Jaime Lannister's acceptance into the White Cloaks.
Oswell pulled back, his countenance gaining a frown as grace returned to his astride posture. He pulled a wine skin from his hip, the liquid inside no doubt warm, before giving it a swallow.
The prince winced from the sight, full from fine foods and cold drinks so abundant in the tables of the Tully's. The knight seemed to not have perceived his reaction.
"Yet, this mustn't dishearten you, my prince. I dare say you can even use it to your advantage," the Whent said. Rhaegar agreed; his father's diminishing fame would only gain him support when his plans came into enactment.
The knight continued, "with that being said, I must ask about your gauge of Marthew. I believe he was present this time around."
Rhaegar gave a nod, thoughts fretting back to the famed Trout of Riverrun. Since his show he'd had little interactions with the young Tully, and those little he did have were far too distant.
"He's a curious one, that Tully heir." He admitted, the familiarity in the heir's eyes still a source of unease to his heart. It was not the colour but the look in which he'd regarded the prince with.
Cool and aware…
Oswell turned to him, a questioning expression on his face, "How so, my prince?"
"His mannerisms and speech. He does act and speak like a person of lands far. You say he never left the Riverlands since his birth?"
He dared not express his discomfort so openly, yet there were other things about the young Tully he sought answers on.
Things like his cadence when he spoke common and the use of words so queer in sound. There was also the stitch of his cloth and the motif of his attire.
"Aye." The knight agreed, his eyes catching a fog in them, "Marthew has ever been an odd boy, even in his early years. Ever so recluse and ponderous. Minisa used to speak high of him in her visits when she still drew breath. A boy of a mind like no other, she would say."
There were many emotions in the knight's words, most rife being fondness followed by amusement and grief yet to pass.
The prince caught on the amusement and explored it, "You never took her words as truth, I would guess."
"Mothers speaking brave of their sons isn't a sight uncommon." Oswell chuckled lightly, and there was truth in his words. Many a mother spoke high of their kids to him whenever he was on processions or strolls through the markets.
Rhaegar did not share in the laughter; ponderous still. Rare instances were these true yet this seemed one of them.
"I'm inclined to believe in your deceased cousin, Ser Whent. I hear Marthew Tully is a champion of the smallfolk, and the glory isn't born solely from his bloody deeds." He looked at the knight, remembering something else, "that sword, the one he always wears, it is styled in the fashion of the Braavosi dancers. Does he move like them as well? I've never seen him brandish."
The tourney came and went without the Tully's involvement. And even in the yards he was scarce seen. Yet the rumours around him were rich. Rhaegar heard much of them, and with the reports that had been in constant flow from Riverrun, he felt doubt would be foolhardy.
"He's no water dancer, that's for true, but he is a talent with the blade." Given that the admission was from a kingsguard, the prince wondered how excrescent that talent was.
"Like his uncle? The one dubbed the Blackfish?" He asked, remembering back to the time spent. In the morning feast, the man had been quiet, his words only coming to voice whenever the topic strayed to martial matters.
"In a way," Oswell's gaze was to the side, watching the few wagons and caravans pass through the gates of Harrenhal in leave. "Though, the boy fights strangely, and has more martial talent than his uncle and father combined."
Was that a favour of kin, or maybe the ignorance of one not exposed to true talent, yet the river knight was in frequent spars with the Bold Knight and the Sword of Morning thus the latter couldn't be true.
Mayhaps he should be fortunate at the absence or else his plans couldn't have come to full fruition.
Oswell turned to him, amusement on his lips, "he has a philosophy about swords; they should only be unsheathed in times of justice and violence, not for entertainment."
This time, Rhaegar chuckled, albeit softly. He'd never heard such a blatant jape, yet he felt accusations of craven might follow soon after the Tully gave voice to those words.
As if to echo his thoughts, Jonothor scoffed beside him, "those sound like words of one unmanned by blood and bruises."
"An assumption one could only conjure in the absence of context, Ser Darry." The prince's voice was cool, if a bit disapproving. "You've grown in these lands and have seen its change through the years. Tell me truth, is what the merchants and traders say about the Riverlands true? About the lack of bandits and reavers on the roads?"
This time, the Field Knight's face twisted into a scowl, "those are changes isolated, my prince. The boons those copper counters speak of can only be found in the Tully lands and their primary bannermen."
Rhaegar almost let loose a sigh at the knight's words, but he remembered the Darry's did lose their place in the agricultural market to the Tully's in recent years, mayhaps Jon's disfavour of them was birthed from that.
"Yet that doesn't discount the rumours. I hear the Tully award free escorts to large caravans seeking further trade in lands beyond Riverrun while the Tully heir leads a cleansing force to places plagued by lawlessness."
In truth, the force was permanent and ever-growing; the small council had a meeting about it years back. Many thought House Tully desired to bring an end to the infighting popular in the Riverlands, particularly between the Blackwoods and Brackens. Some even suspected treason in brew, as was the wont with the Riverhouses.
Yet the Tully had ever been loyal to the House of Dragons, and it seemed the Trouts had just needed a way to ensure the safety of their populace and interests.
Besides, the houses in the Riverlands had not seen diminishment with the rise of House Tully; quite the contrary, in fact.
Jonothor said no more, opting for a silent ride as Oswell agreed with Rhaegar, "those aren't rumors, my prince, but a certainty that has been in play for a while now."
"Yet what of the other tales? Is it true that Riverrun's sudden wealth is a work of his?"
"Mayhaps." The Whent shrugged, "there's much unknown on that topic. Unless the master of whispers has imparted unto you steadfast secrets, of course."
"A fair bit," he admitted, there had been much contact between the Tully's and the Magisters of the Sister Cities, most of which were related to the trading company the paramount house seemed to have started. "But ones unrelated to this matter, I'm afraid."
The prince was greatly impressed by the Tullys, especially by their replicas of the treasures of Yi Ti and the aggressive restrictions and precautions he had put on ships anchoring at their quays.
A fear of the grey plague so prominent in recent years.
"And what of Lord Hoster, does he seem amiable to your aspirations."
"I see no great difficulty in swaying them to my course once the time comes." Regardless of their prosper, there were things only a king could grant. "The Tully had seen little in the way of favor for their duty and loyalty. The once great houses look unto them with contempt and belittlement. All it would take is a few promises to sway them to my course."
A promise of marriage to one of the heir's would-be sons and a city charter would suffice.
Their destination in reach, Rhaegar saw a carriage with the heraldry of the Martell motionless near the Royal tents. His mood soured somewhat, unwilling to suffer Oberyn's presence so early in the morning.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed wrapper before passing it to Jonothor. "Ser Darry, have this reach Lady Lyanna untraced and unopened." He said in a whisper.
Though disapproving, the kingsguard took the missive without further prompting.