The morning came too soon, a pale light seeping through the high windows of his chambers. Rhaegar lay still, tangled in his sheets, the ghost of the previous night still clinging to him like a shroud.
The scent of old parchment and candle wax seemed to have followed him from his grandfather's solar, and the weight of their conversation weighed on his mind, chasing away the last vestiges of true rest.
The Song of Ice and Fire. He had laid his most dangerous card on the table, and now he had to live with the consequences.
A soft knock came at the door, followed by the entrance of a servant. "My prince," the woman said, her voice a gentle intrusion. "It is time to wake. You are to dine with your family together this morning."
Rhaegar did not move, save for a slight turn of his head. "In a moment," he murmured, in a tone of mock impudence that he knew was childish, but felt entitled to after the night he had endured.
His mind was a whirlwind of the discussion regarding dragons and prophecies, of trade consortiums and politics he had in the night. Sleep had been a brief, shallow respite, not the blissful oblivion he had craved.
The servant, a young woman with a perpetually helpless expression, lingered by the door. "Your pardon, my prince, but breakfast is to be served in a few minutes. They are already gathering."
That single phrase cut through his fatigue. Rhaegar's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his face and giving the servant an annoyed sigh that was only half-feigned.
Though he did not relish leaving the comfort of his bed, he had little choice, there were matters that needed tending to at the morning's family gathering. So, after a hasty wash, he threw on a fresh tunic and hurried from his chambers.
He was, of course, the last to arrive. The modest dining hall was filled with the quiet murmur of conversation and the clinking of cutlery. Everyone was present, seated around the long oak table, even young Daemon, who was kicking his feet idly beneath his chair.
His grandparents presided from the head of the table, appearing serene and unbothered by his tardiness. Jaehaerys was eating his food with a placid expression, giving no indication of their late-night correspondence.
His father, however, was another matter. Without even looking up from his plate, Baelon's dry voice cut across the table. "Have you decided to make a habit of it, my dear son? Sneaking through walls at night and arriving late to everything else. Is that to be your forte?"
Rhaegar sighed internally and chose not to reply, the barb landing with its intended sting. He slid into the only empty seat, a space between his aunt Jocelyn and his brother Daemon. Jocelyn offered him a warm, sympathetic smile.
"Trouble sleeping, nephew?" she asked kindly.
"You could say that," Rhaegar admitted, and she gave his back a comforting pat. Across the table, Baelon scoffed into his breakfast at the display of sympathy.
It seemed only his grandmother truly held any concern for his well-being. "He looks pale, Baelon," Queen Alysanne remarked gently, before turning her attention to him. "Rhaegar, dear, they have the smoked boar you enjoy."
She gestured to a servant. "Bring a plate for him."
Rhaegar sat up a little straighter, a flicker of genuine anticipation cutting through his mood. The thought of the rich, salty meat was a small comfort.
But as the servant rounded the table, the plate held aloft, a small silver-haired blur shot up from the adjacent seat. Before the servant could react, Daemon was on his feet, perched on his chair. He twisted around and yanked the plate from her hands with a surprising strength. The girl let out a small yelp of surprise.
With his jaw slack in sheer disbelief, Rhaegar watched as his youngest brother shovelled the entire portion of smoked boar into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel's. Barely able to contain the heap of food, Daemon shot Rhaegar a glinting, triumphant side-eye.
It seemed it was revenge, petty and childish, but revenge nonetheless.
Daemon was still furious. Two weeks ago, when news of the Dragonpit escapade had spread, he had found Rhaegar sitting on a windowsill, despairingly mulling over his punishment. Rhaegar, seeing his younger brother approach with a blank look, had braced himself for comfort, for a rare moment of solidarity, for effectively being the only one who received any punishment. He had even managed a weak smile.
Instead, he was met with a flurry of infantile punches, Daemon's small fists flailing against his side as tears of rage streamed down his face. "You never take me!" he had shrieked, as he spewed a tirade of childish grievances about being left out.
It was then, as he stared deadpan at the opposite wall, still receiving the flurry of ineffective blows, that Rhaegar had remembered exactly who he was dealing with.
This was Daemon.
Now, two weeks later and thoroughly accustomed to his brother's antics, Rhaegar simply closed his eyes for a moment and went back to eating his bread.
No one seemed particularly bothered by his brother's actions as they all had long been accustomed to his shenanigans.
Queen Alysanne sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience. "Bring another plate for Rhaegar," she instructed the servant, "and take the other way around the table this time."
Finally receiving his food, Rhaegar ate in silence, concluding that the day had begun most poorly. For some time, he was completely engrossed in the food as he realized he was completely starved. A matter that slipped his attention in his tiredness.
After finishing a satisfactory meal, his gaze drifted down the table to Viserys, who was deeply engrossed in demonstrating something to their young aunt, Gael.
With a look of intense concentration, Viserys was building a two-pronged pyramid with a pair of forks, explaining with great authority how the great pyramids of Meereen were constructed. Gael, in her sweet naivety, watched in absolute awe, nodding at his every word.
Rhaegar felt a sudden urge to bang his head against the table at their collective idiocy, but he had a purpose. And for that, he needed the buffoon's attention.
He tapped his fingers on the table, a discreet rhythm meant only for Viserys. It failed. Viserys was too busy adjusting the precarious angle of his fork-pyramid. Annoyed, Rhaegar tapped again, harder this time. The sharp sound finally broke through. Viserys looked up, his face a mask of confusion.
Rhaegar flicked his eyes pointedly towards Baelon, then tilted his head. Viserys's confusion only deepened. Rhaegar could feel his patience fraying. He balled his fist on the table, leaned forward slightly, and shot his brother a look that could curdle milk.
The message finally landed as Viserys remembered the conversation he had with his brother three days past, his face shifted with an expression of dawning comprehension.
Abandoning his architectural marvel, he sat up straight, cleared his throat, and readjusted the collar of his tunic. "Father?"
Baelon looked up from his conversation with his brother Aemon. "Yes?"
"I was wondering," Viserys began, his voice a little too loud, "if I might take Dreamfyre for a flight later? With Rhaegar?"
Baelon scrunched his face. "What?"
Viserys cleared his throat again. "Could Rhaegar and I go flying on Dreamfyre later?"
"No." Baelon turned back to Aemon.
Viserys shot Rhaegar a helpless, 'I tried' look. Rhaegar was not having it. He flicked his head again, a sharp, commanding gesture: Try again. Better.
Sighing, Viserys turned back to his father. "But I've been flying her every day this past week! I've handled her perfectly, even out past Blackwater Bay. I can do it."
"I am occupied with my duties today," Baelon replied, not looking at him. "I do not have the time to monitor you on Vhagar."
"I could go alone, then," Viserys pressed.
"No," Baelon said, his tone harder. "You are not flying anywhere alone. And you are certainly not flying alone with Rhaegar."
"But we would be safe!" Viserys insisted, his voice growing desperate. "We wouldn't go far, or for long. I only wanted to take my brother for a dragon ride."
"Rhaegar has been on many dragon rides with me before," Baelon said dismissively. "It is not a particularly special experience for him. No."
"But Father, we—"
"No." Baelon's voice left no room for any further arguments from him.
Viserys slumped in his seat, utterly defeated. Even Rhaegar was momentarily at a loss. A heavy silence fell over the table.
To everyone's surprise, it was the King who broke it. Jaehaerys, who had been silent for the entire meal, took a slow sip of wine. He set the goblet down and looked at his son.
"Let the boys go, Baelon."
Baelon turned to his father, his face a picture of astonishment. "Father?"
Jaehaerys replied, "Let them go for their ride."
"But, father, the boy only claimed the dragon a few weeks ago. You would have them go flying alone?" Baelon asked incredulously.
"I have seen the boy from the keep," Jaehaerys replied calmly, his gaze steady. "He rides well enough. A short excursion will work to build his confidence. And having his brother with him is better than him going alone."
Baelon was now truly bewildered. "Are you certain of this?"
Jaehaerys simply nodded. "Let him go." He then gestured with his chin towards Rhaegar. "And let him take his brother."
The boys did not celebrate yet. Baelon's suspicion, which had been simmering, now came to a full boil. He turned his gaze from the King and fixed it on his eldest son. A deadpan, penetrating stare that more accused than demanded the truth. Rhaegar met it without flinching, schooling his features into a mask of perfect, guileless innocence.
For a long moment, the two were locked in a silent battle of wills, a spectacle the rest of the family, temporarily abandoning their food, watched with quiet amusement. Finally, Baelon let out a long, weary sigh. He rubbed his eyes with one hand.
"Fine," he conceded, his voice heavy with resignation. "You can go."
Beaming smiles broke out on the faces of both Rhaegar and Viserys.
"But," Baelon added, pointing a stern finger at them, "you will be back in the pit within an hour. Understood?"
They both nodded vigorously.
Just as the matter seemed settled, a small, excited voice piped up. "I want to come too!" Daemon exclaimed, his face bright with hope.
"No," Baelon said, the word sounding exhausted from overuse.
This time, Jaehaerys offered no rescue. Daemon's face immediately began to crumple, his eyes misting over. Rhaegar saw the prelude to a legendary tantrum and acted quickly. He caught Rhaenys's eye from across the table and gave her a subtle look, flicking his eyes again, this time towards Daemon.
She sighed as she scratched her forehead. "I can take you flying around the Dragonpit with me tomorrow, Daemon," she offered.
Baelon said nothing, looking as though he could not be bothered to argue another moment. Hearing the offer, and more importantly, hearing no protest from his father, Daemon's stormy expression cleared instantly. He beamed at Rhaenys, a city-wide crisis of shrieking averted.
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, a small, imperceptible smile touching his lips.
The day was looking up after all.