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Chapter Text

It was never my choice to be born a prince. In my dreams, a different fate was drawn — perhaps that of a musician or a poet wandering through the realms.

But to become a king? That seems almost pathetic.

— RHAEGAR DOES NOT clearly remember the moments of sanity his father once had. Yet he remembers there was a time when the king was not as unstable as he is now. Not a good father; Aerys had never truly been a good father. His absence was noticeable to everyone, but once upon a time, there had been the rare positive words that left his lips, compliments that are no longer heard.

The prince was not blind. He knew what the marks on his mother’s neck meant, and where they came from. Over the years, since the kidnapping of his father, Rhaegar had grown used to the feeling of helplessness, bordering on uselessness. He watched Aerys’s actions without being able to stop them. Without being able to protect his own mother from the insane behavior that surrounded the king.

“You are not going to eat, my love?” Rhaella’s voice was low, insecure, but soft and caring. She watched her son closely, and that alone made the young prince realize he had not touched his food since the meal started.

He did not answer. Instead, he smiled faintly in response, nodding gently, and finally eating something, or trying to, as he drank a sip of the juice before him. The queen kept watching until he took a small bite, and the relief in her shoulders was easy to see.

“Useless boy, there is no reason to worry about him, foolish woman. Let him starve.”

Aerys’s harsh voice arrived late, right when Rhaegar had finally gathered some comfort to eat. His words were abrupt, as if he had only now processed the previous moment.

Rhaella flinched, the silence stretching.

There was a time she tried to defend Rhaegar, when the king’s madness first began, and the proud words meant to comfort their son were replaced by degradation and cruelty. Yet when the marks began to appear on her pale skin, silence became her habit.

Whenever the king’s delusions began, everyone knew silence was the safest choice.

The prince exhaled quietly and returned to his food, the meal feeling heavier than it should. Aerys continued murmuring offensive words, almost inaudible ramblings. Madness was present in every trace of him: in his eyes, in his dirty hair, in the clear signs that he had not bathed in days. Rhaegar suspected that if he were any closer, he would be forced to smell the foul odor that followed him.

As the ramblings continued, part of the prince silently prayed, begging the gods more often than he ever should have.

Please, take him away from here.

   𑜞᭄ೃ

Rhaegar did not consider himself a night person. Honestly, there were moments he wished to become one of those mystical beings who did not need sleep to function. Arthur, his friend and Kingsguard knight, liked to say he was always fighting time, trying to fit twelve moons into a single day.

He feared wasting time on useless things, and failing to finish what he desired. Death might come peacefully, but it is always unpredictable, and time is cruel.

That was why, long after night had fallen, he sat in silence, surrounded by dust and darkness in the library, the book in his hands illuminated only by the candles around him. Prophecies, legends, magic. Anything that could give meaning to the dreams that had haunted him since childhood, dreams that grew more vivid each night he slept barely two hours. There had to be something behind them, a purpose, something that could make him feel useful.

Rhaegar sighed. He turned the pages, but the words refused to make sense. His eyes moved anxiously, glancing over the shelves. Then suddenly, a loud sound startled him. A book fell. The prince quickly turned, searching for the source, and stood up, walking toward it.

“What…” he whispered, finding the fallen book open on the floor. He knelt and picked it up.

“When the sun began to rise, the knight cupped his princess’s face in his hands, wiping away the traces of blood on her sun-kissed skin. Her Dornish features scattered across her face. There was fear in her eyes, not because of the monsters disguised as men who had attacked them, but because of the judgment she expected to see in the face of the one who had stolen her heart.

Instead, she found nothing but pure devotion.”

Rhaegar closed the book, searching for the title. It was a Dornish romance, something he did not expect to find in the royal library, considering his father’s contempt for anyone he saw as a threat to the dynasty. Especially Dornish people.

The memory returned to him. His betrothed.

Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne. He had not yet met her. The few letters exchanged between them were nothing more than cold formality.

Rumors about her were cruel. Nobles whispered she was too fragile in health, too weak in body. Rhaegar did not care about that. Physical beauty had never been his focus, although, if he could choose a bride, it would not have been her.

He did not know her. He did not know her interests, nor the sound of her laughter. Whether she was gentle and understanding, or demanding. Everything about her was a mystery. The prince often wished he was not a prince at all, but rather some nameless bard who could fall in love with a lady, win her heart with poems and songs, and prove he was the right man for her.

And he had done that once. His thoughts wandered to wild black hair, pale skin and grey eyes. At the Harrenhal tourney the year before, it was not love that drove him to place the crown of flowers upon the Lady of House Stark’s head. Truthfully, he did not expect to win. He had been a weak child, but once he became interested in swords, he trained like a madman.

It was admiration that guided his choice. He had seen Lyanna Stark defend a young maid from cruel noble boys. Even though she was smaller and much weaker, she did not hesitate.

Their letters began by accident. It started as formal pleasantries, polite acknowledgments, then slowly became more intimate. Questions about their days, more sincere compliments, shared dreams. Lyanna dreamed of a world where women could choose to be warriors, where they could lift swords and defend their own causes in battle. For the prince, there was nothing more admirable.

Rhaegar, on the other hand, dreamed of a life where he had a choice. Where being a prince gave him something more than reputation and authority. He wanted to be able to protect his mother, walk among the people, speak to them as if they were all acquaintances.

Suddenly, the library doors burst open. The violence of the sound made Rhaegar stand at once, his moment of peace shattered. He turned toward the entrance and saw his loyal friend, Arthur Dayne.

The man was out of breath, as if he had run through the entire Red Keep. Behind him, servants gathered in confused murmurs. Rhaegar’s brows furrowed immediately.

“Arthur, what is happening, is everything–”

“The king.” Arthur interrupted, still trying to catch his breath. “The king is dead, my prince.”

Silence stretched for seconds that felt like minutes as Rhaegar tried to process the words. Confusion and shock slowly flooded his beautiful violet eyes.

“What?”

Chapter Text

"A marriage for love was never what i expected, but i fear that expectations may reach me before i can control them."

— IT HAD BEEN SIX months since the letter arrived, formalizing the engagement everyone had been waiting for. The young princess had never been innocent. She knew the letters that constantly made their way to the king were anything but innocent, schemes that involved her but never invited her to sit at the table while conversations about her marriage fell silent.

Elia knew her duty. She also knew her mother would never force her to do something she did not wish. Still, she had grown up always the most fragile, the weakest. She did not want to run from her obligations either, to appear a coward toward a duty that had chained her since childhood. With luck, her marriage would be one of love. She listened to the praise about the prince, his beauty and the melancholia that complemented his charm. Ladies would line up to be the one called his bride, to become the queen of the silver prince.

Yet the rumors about his beauty were not the only things that surrounded him, and whispers about a fair northern lady were heard.

Elia did not want to be the second option in her own marriage.

“What is troubling you? You’re quieter than usual,” her friend’s sweet voice said. The princess met Ashara’s violet eyes, full of concern.

In the comfort of her solar, the Dayne lady’s presence was almost always felt. The two had not separated since they first met in childhood. Even with the few years between them, nothing had stopped the devotion and loyalty they had developed for one another.

“My engagement,” Elia answered without hesitation or any attempt at softening the truth. With Ashara there had never been a need for lies.

Though younger, Ashara had always possessed a maturity that did not take away her childish side, especially when Oberyn was around and their constant barbs began, sweet provocations. Between them, truth always prevailed, exchanging advice between two inexperienced girls seeking to soothe one another.

“The wedding will still be a while away, my sweet friend. There will be plenty of time for you to say goodbye to Dorne,” her companion’s words were precise. One of Elia’s greatest fears indeed was the idea of leaving Dorne.

She had always known her mother planned a marriage for her far from the scorching sun and sand that clung to her skin. The constant trips they took together were not foolish; they were a veiled preparation for the inevitable. Still, her fragile health had always been the main obstacle. Elia remembered with clarity the rancor on Casselia’s face when Tywin Lannister rejected the marriage arranged with Joanna, indignant at his refusal to honor the late wife’s last wishes. Amid her mother’s disappointment, a part of Elia breathed in relief. Jaime might already be sixteen and, in truth, charming, but she could never imagine herself married to him.

Her hopes then turned to the Hightowers, only for her brother to make it his personal mission to destroy any possibility of such an alliance. In the end, Elia again felt relieved when they refused the proposal with the young heir of Winterfell. The mere idea of living so far away, in a place of constant cold and gray skies, caused her true dread.

And the idea now of living on Dragonstone did little to please her, a cold, gray place with little to offer, and even less pleasant stories having occurred there. With luck, Prince Rhaegar would wear the title but would not move there. Yet King’s Landing did not give her good feelings either.

Everyone knew the rumors about the king’s madness. Since his terrible kidnapping, he had become more paranoid and prone to attack and burn others.

She did not want to live near a person like him.

The Princess of Dorne tried to soothe her more than once when she noticed her daughter’s anguish. “Prince Rhaegar is nothing like his father, Rhaella promised me that. He will not harm you,” she once whispered while stroking Elia’s hair, and again reminded her of one of her daughter’s most beloved uncles. “Lewyn will be there at your service; he will always protect you. Do you remember what he promised?”

Elia closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and felt Ashara’s soft fingers brushing her hair; a small smile appeared on her face.

“Yes, we still have time…”

  ⚘         𓍼ོ

The incessant knocking at her door woke her that morning. The young princess opened her eyes and sat up in bed, still half-asleep. “I’m coming…”

She turned her gaze toward the large windows of her chamber; the sun was still rising. This was not unusual, Elia had always risen early, unlike her younger brother; she never needed to be awakened. Whatever had called her so early now must be serious.

“My lady?” Evaline’s muffled voice came from outside the great door, and the princess answered at once.

“I’m coming, Eva. Wait just a moment.” Her voice came out loud enough to make the knocking pause, yet even without hearing more, Elia sensed the agitation in her maid. The whole situation worried her more. What could possibly be grave enough to summon her at dawn?

After slipping into a robe and arranging her hair to look presentable, Elia opened the door.

“What is all the fuss? What happened?” she asked, concern evident in her tone.

“The princess summons you. Something has happened in King’s Landing.”

Eva’s words trembled; she wrung her hands in anxiety. Before a single additional word could be said, Elia’s feet moved quickly toward her mother. Her heart beat faster; she feared only bad news. Had the prince been injured? Was the wedding canceled?

Or worse,

Had the prince died?

When she entered, she was met by Casselia’s closed expression. Her mother looked irritated, a mixture of worry, fatigue and discomfort—the sort that comes when plans do not go as intended. Elia had seen that expression on Casselia’s face before, more than once, when Oberyn announced his first child, and when the maesters brought news of her father’s illness and eventual passing into the arms of the Stranger.

“Mother,” Elia said, moving toward the older woman. The princess-regent’s eyes softened as she looked at her only daughter. The two clasped hands, facing one another.

Casselia remained silent for several seconds, staring at her daughter as if trying to capture every detail of her face. “News has arrived from King’s Landing. I fear the relief that spread among the people foretells both good and ill.”

Her words were chosen carefully, as if selecting the best fit for each sentence.

“Relief? What could cause such relief, Mother?”

“The death of a madman, my sweet girl. The king succumbed to madness and dared to drink wildfire, trying to become a ‘dragon.’” Casselia withdrew her arms from Elia’s and brought a hand gently to her daughter’s face.

Horror spread across the princess’s features. Everyone knew the king was mad. But did he truly reach the point of ending his life in such an insane act? Even a madman might see reason through that, yet Elia supposed things were never so simple. Only the gods could know what went on in such a person’s mind.

If the king was dead, that meant—

“The prince became king.” Elia said, looking at the princess-regent. Her mother nodded gently.

“And you will be his queen, my love. Sooner than planned, they asked to bring the wedding forward. Aerys’s death was sudden; they need a sense of security, even if it is a sham. A wedding provides that sham perfectly.”

Sham. Would that be what her marriage would be something without love, merely a pleasant appearance to maintain the kingdom’s comfort and ease? She would not even have time to get to know him, to feel less anxious about entering that new world. Instead she would be made his wife in haste, at a moment when the prince’s life must be complete chaos.

“When will I go?” Elia whispered; her voice trembled, and her mother quickly moved a hand to caress her face in an attempt to calm her.

“Next week. But do not worry, you will not be alone. I will arrange for the Dayne girl to accompany you, and your brothers will come as well. I would have wished to go with you at least for the first week, but I must stay here.”

“You will not come with me?”

The anxious tone made her sound like a young child, and she did not feel much different. She had always been at her mother’s side; the thought of being far from her terrified her, even though she knew it would happen one day.

“No, my sweet sun, unfortunately not. But the gods will watch over you. I will entrust you to them every day; they will keep you safe.”

Elia nodded, unsure yet not refusing, and a smile bloomed on Casselia’s face. Behind her pretty eyes, the princess noticed lines of hesitation—a fear her mother did not wish to reveal.

And for a moment, she felt terrified.

  ⚘         𓍼ོ

“Mother did not seem too pleased, but when the princess convinced her by saying it would be advantageous to have the daughter near the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she gave in more easily,” Ashara murmured, as she helped the princess sort a few extra jewels. Elia knew that the Dayne brothers’ mother was not a meek woman and, despite having married a Dornishman, still harbored many prejudices toward their culture.

To be honest, Elia did not like her. She preferred to keep her distance and did so whenever possible.

“At least you’ll see your brother again,” Elia said, sitting at the edge of the bed and letting out a tired sigh. She had spent the day preparing for the journey, and exhaustion weighed on her shoulders. She was stressed, frustrated, and her wedding dress was still not finished. She prayed to the Seven it would be ready soon, before more worries consumed her.

Ashara, of course, had noticed. She always did. As a good friend, she did everything to ease the princess’s tension, but something hung in the air since the news of the king’s suicide. There was hesitancy in Doran’s gaze, constant complaints on Oberyn’s lips, and small tremors in Ashara’s fingers.

Elia, however, did not allow herself to dwell on it when she saw her friend’s eager smile. “Gods, yes! I will finally see Arthur. It has been so long… I wonder how he is, how much his appearance has changed, what he has perfected in his skills,” Ashara said, nostalgia bright in her voice.

Elia let out a small laugh at her friend’s enthusiasm, without judgement. If she had been away from her siblings so long, she would likely be the same, excited and anxious for every reunion.

Deep down, she knew it would soon be that way. Even if Doran and Oberyn escorted her to King’s Landing now, they would not stay by her side forever. The wedding would happen, and then she would cease to be the precious princess of her brothers and become the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a woman whose duty would be to bear the king’s children. Sooner or later, she would become a mother.

“Elia, you’re worrying again. I can see it in your furrowed brow,” Ashara interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder in a delicate, affectionate gesture.

“My sweet friend, I remember you said you would ask your brother by letter about the prince. Did he answer?”

A soft smile spread over Ashara’s lips as she nodded. “Yes, and his words were not negative, if that is what worries you. Arthur said the prince is, generally, a quiet man, as the rumors say. He is studious, very intelligent, knows Targaryen history by heart, and other cultures as well. According to him, when the prince dedicates himself to something, he becomes the best at it. He is also a knight, respectful and well-mannered in every detail.”

“He seems like he will be… a good husband,” Elia murmured, eyes wandering around the room, lost in thoughts she could not yet name.

“I believe so. He does not seem anything like his father.”

Elia only nodded and continued arranging the items she would take to King’s Landing with slow movements. Soon she would leave for a destination that would make her queen, to marry a prince she had heard so much about but of whom she actually knew nothing.

  ⚘         𓍼ོ

“Father would never have allowed this if he were still here.”

“Maybe, but Father never had much strength against Mother’s words; you know very well who ruled between them.”

“She is practically selling you, Elia. How can you be so calm about this?” Oberyn finally spoke out his thoughts aggressively, wrapped in outrage since he learned Elia would have to go to King’s Landing earlier than planned.

From the moment the courtship began, Oberyn had protested. Hearing the rumors about the mad king, he did not want his sister to live under such conditions, to marry a Targaryen of all houses. He had no ambitions like their mother; Elia was perfectly fine being only a princess. Of course he knew there would be no queen better than her, but—

“I know you do not want me to go far, little brother. But do not treat Mother as if she were a monster, deals are deals, you are old enough to know that.” Elia’s voice was firm, and for the first time Oberyn saw her resemblance to their mother.

It was almost frightening.

It reminded him that he should never underestimate Elia. Given how often she had fallen ill, he had always been extremely protective; she was his only sister, his best friend, the only person in the world who knew all his secrets. The Stranger had followed her since the moment she was born; it was inevitable to feel fear and see beyond her fragility.

Yet she had taught him everything about poisoning, she had concocted more than one potion, poisons and antidotes. Her frame might be fragile, but Elia was fluent in several tongues and an enviable alchemist, though she kept those skills secret.

“If he does anything, do not forget to take your book with you,” Oberyn murmured, and a smile crossed Elia’s face.

“There are a thousand ways to kill a king and make it look like an accident.”

Chapter Text

"A kingsguard should never break his oath. He should not look back or cling to the past, and i repeat that to myself often, reminding myself that my loyalty will always belong to my king. Although there are moments when the truth of these words is questioned by my own mind."

— THE VIOLET EYES OF the guard watched the uncertain movements of the prince, or rather, the king. Now he would be his king, even though Rhaegar had barely reached the nineteenth day of his name. Yet younger kings had ruled during the dynasty. Aegon III had been only a child when he took the throne after the death of his parents and the fall of the dragons. Not that Arthur was a scholar of history, since most of what he knew came from the moments he accompanied Rhaegar during his studies.

Now he stood in the corner of the Small Council Chamber, quiet as always. Watching. Rhaegar’s coronation had not yet taken place, and the anxiety consumed him in a way that was almost visible, even if he tried to mask it. It was in the way his fingers tapped incessantly against the table, an uneven rhythm that revealed his nerves.

“A king taking his own life with wildfire... this will turn the dynasty into a joke. The people will see it as proof that madness is in Targaryen blood,” Lucerys Velaryon stated. His tone was not exactly judgmental, but there was an uncomfortable calm in his voice, a nuance of indignation that brushed the edge of contempt.

“But the people already knew madness was eating at the king. Aerys had not been well for a long time, and I fear his death brings more relief than despair,” Lord Qarlton replied, direct and fearless.

Arthur noticed the slight tremble in Rhaegar’s shoulders. Everyone there understood the truth. A king whose death brought hope instead of mourning. No one liked him, and now, without the need to hide it, that became even clearer. What weighed the most was the burden falling on the young Targaryen, the expectations of the entire realm now turning to him. The people and the council expected improvement to come with the reign of the silver prince.

An unfair pressure.

“Theories and paranoia about the king’s reasons matter the least now. We must ensure the kingdom’s safety,” Gerold said, breaking the silence with his firm voice. He was one of the few men in that room who truly seemed to care about the people.

“And what should we do?” Rhaegar asked. His voice was firm, but the words carried doubt, a clear attempt to show authority. Even so, it was obvious that none of the men there held real respect for him.

None of them seemed to expect the new king to speak, maybe because they were used to the constant silence that followed him everywhere. No one had answers, not even Tywin Lannister, who kept his calculating stare fixed, yet without his usual coldness. Not even he had expected the sudden death of Aerys, even though the old king’s madness had stained every corridor of the fortress.

“We must give the people a sign of hope.” For the first time, the Dowager Queen spoke. Arthur’s eyes turned to her instantly.

Rhaella looked worn, as always. Her hand rested instinctively on her belly, the discreet swell of a recent pregnancy. Yet there was something different in her eyes, a spark of relief. Everyone close to her knew what Aerys had done to her. Arthur remembered the day young Jaime Lannister voiced his indignation over the queen’s suffering. The knight of the starred sword had never been a man of faith, but in that moment he wondered if Aerys’s death had been the work of the Gods themselves, a late act of mercy.

“And what does Your Majesty believe could give the people hope?” Pycelle asked. His voice was sickening, dragged, soaked in that conspiring tone Arthur always hated, even more than Varys’s.

“A marriage. An heir. Rhaegar must have a bride, she must come, and a new reign must begin.”

The queen’s words made Tywin Lannister’s face twist, a movement almost imperceptible, but clear enough for attentive eyes. The slight crease in the Lion’s brow revealed his displeasure. After all, everyone knew he wanted to see his daughter crowned queen.

Rhaegar’s face remained impassive, but Arthur caught the small flicker of discomfort around his eyes.

“We must consider this carefully, my queen. The choice of the prince’s, I mean, the king’s bride was made when Aerys was no longer in a proper state of mind. Perhaps a more advantageous alliance…”

Tywin did not finish. The master of whispers cut him off, and the satisfied smile on Varys’s lips made it obvious he was provoking the Lion’s wounded pride. “Letters have already been sent to Dorne, my queen. And my little birds tell me preparations for the princess to travel to King’s Landing are already underway.”

“They say the princess of Dorne is frail. Will she be able to fulfill her duties?” Chelston questioned, his tone soaked in disdain. Arthur’s jaw clenched. His disgust was obvious, not only because of the prejudice, but because he knew exactly what lay behind that comment.

His origins. Arthur, born in the southern sands and as Dornish as the princess herself, felt his blood boil at the way those men reduced a woman to little more than breeding stock.

“Our duties will be fulfilled. The princess’s fragility has never indicated a lack of fertility.”

Rhaegar’s voice sounded cold as northern winds, firm enough to silence the room and draw several discreet reactions. What caught Arthur’s attention the most was Varys’s smile, a look that suggested he knew far more than he should.

“Then the marriage will happen, and all other matters will fall into place, including the debts made,” Qarlton concluded, his eyes shifting to Lannister, who simply nodded with his usual chilliness.

The council moved on to other topics, one after another, but rarely did the prince, now king, voice an opinion. They took advantage of that silence, that restraint of his, because to men like them, a king without initiative was perfect. Docile, manageable, an elegant puppet whose crown hid the strings.

When everyone finally left the room, Rhaella was the last to go. She paused for a moment, looking at her son with those melancholic eyes that carried more exhaustion than joy. Her lips opened and closed several times, as if rebuilding the words inside her mind, choosing each syllable with a weight she did not seem able to release. Arthur knew that since Aerys’s death, mother and son had not shared a real conversation. There was a severed line between them, a void no one would fill. Even so, she left without speaking, offering only a silent nod to Arthur, as if thanking him for being at her son’s side.

“They want to make Your Grace a puppet.” The words echoed through the empty room. Now that it was just the two of them, Arthur felt he did not need to guard every phrase. He respected Rhaegar, honored him, but they had known each other too long for him to hide the truth.

“I know.”

“They do not believe in you. They do not believe in your potential. Your word means nothing here.”

“I know.”

“This cannot continue,” Arthur insisted, his voice lower, almost a warning.

“It will not continue.”

Rhaegar finally lifted his eyes to him, and the indigo in them seemed to hold a thousand thoughts at once, all impossible to decipher. Arthur had never been able to read Rhaegar, and he doubted anyone ever would. “Let them believe they are in control. I need to find my footing, I need to know the limits, I need to observe. And I will need your help every step of the way.”

“My loyalty is yours, my king.”

A soft smile formed on Rhaegar’s face, the first sign of serenity Arthur had seen in days, still accompanied by the constant melancholy that seemed to live in him.

“Tell me about her.”

Arthur did not ask who she was. He did not need to. The presence of the Dornish princess had walked through the castle halls ever since Aerys arranged the betrothal. She would be the king’s future wife, future queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a woman who could influence everything… or perhaps nothing at all.

“Her health was never a true obstacle,” Arthur began, as if delivering something of great importance, almost like he was giving the king strategic information. “I saw her often, always with my younger sister. Among her relatives, she is the sweetest, and Prince Oberyn once said she was a rose without thorns. Even so, she never hesitated to defend Ashara when anyone belittled her. I know she is intelligent. I don’t know everything she studied, but some of my sister’s letters spoke of it.”

Rhaegar listened in silence, his fingers tapping the table, his face unreadable, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall. Arthur could not tell if any of that pleased him or helped him form any opinion at all, because the prince betrayed nothing. He only nodded slowly, absorbing everything, reflecting with that unsettling quiet that always surrounded him.

When the silence stretched, Arthur felt he had space to ask the question that haunted his mind since Aerys’s death.

“Rhaegar… how are you? About all of this.”

The prince turned to him, and for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossed his gaze. It was clear he had not expected the question, and Arthur knew exactly why. No one there cared about what he felt.

“Would it be sinful to say that… I am relieved?” His voice was quiet, as if even the walls had ears.

And in that castle, the walls truly did.

Yet the insecurity trapped in Rhaegar’s words reminded Arthur of the king’s age, of how young he still was to carry an entire kingdom on his back.

“No, it would not.”

.𖥔˚  

“We must prepare everything for the princess’s arrival and keep daily patrols. People need to notice that we are vigilant, that we care about them, that we are watching. This avoids even the smallest chance of rebellion,” Gerold Hightower declared with the steady calm of someone who had already faced chaos countless times. Aerys had died only now, but his previous madness had conditioned the council to constantly put out fires to preserve the illusion of stability.

Through the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Lewyn Martell. The man looked almost happy amid so many problems, eager to see his niece again. Arthur did not remember every detail of the Martells’ family life, but it was a well-known fact in Dorne. Elia was the favorite of the entire family.

Including his own sister, who loved Elia more than she loved her own brother.

“Your sister will come as well, Dayne.”

Arthur instantly lifted his gaze to Gerold, stunned. He had not known this. He knew the princess would bring chosen ladies with her, but their mother had always been strict and distrustful of Dornish customs, so he had never expected Ashara to be sent.

“Ashara is coming?”

“Yes. Princess Casselia arranged for her to be part of the entourage. The princes of Dorne will come as well. Queen Rhaella suggested a welcoming feast, but once we decide the format, I will inform all of you.”

Gerold changed the subject quickly, clearly to stop Arthur from asking too much, and soon a murmur spread through the room.

A feast would not host only one family, and Arthur noticed the anxiety in the young Lannister. Jaime was still adjusting to what it meant to serve under the shadow of the Targaryens. He had imagined a different life when he joined the Kingsguard. It was impossible not to wonder why Tywin had approved it.

Yet everyone knew. Tywin was absolutely certain that his daughter would be the dragon’s bride.

The day continued chaotic, full of tasks, preparations, decisions. Arthur accompanied the king almost the entire time. Rhaegar, guided by the council, tried to situate himself, understand Aerys’s unfinished projects, the plans never started, and the new proposals appearing like flies.

By the end of the day, when they finally had a moment to breathe, Rhaegar stopped in front of his mother’s chambers. The queen had taken long to call for him, and when the king asked Arthur to accompany him, the guard hesitated. He did not know if it was his place to be there, in such a delicate and intimate moment. After all, despite everything, they were mother and son.

And Queen Rhaella had not only lost a husband. She had lost a brother.

The doors opened, and Rhaegar’s steps were slow, almost hesitant. Arthur wondered if they had ever been closer before Aerys’s paranoia rotted everything it touched. Since Arthur had taken the white cloak, there was a painful distance between them, and the Dornishman suspected it was also because of the melancholy that seemed to follow mother and son like a hereditary shadow.

“My lady mother… how are you?”

Rhaegar’s voice came out polite, restrained, and Arthur leaned against the wall out of respect for the moment.

Rhaella sat with elegance, her hand brushing the swell of her belly, another pregnancy in the midst of chaos. Since Rhaegar’s birth, she had conceived countless times, always silent, always resilient, always marked by pain.

Arthur prayed to the Gods that this time the child would live. It was a silent plea that had become almost a habit, something he did every time he saw the queen resting her hands on her own stomach, as if she could protect the child with touch alone. There was hope there, but also fear, constant and suffocating.

“My love.” Rhaella’s voice cut through the silence, firm yet laced with a gentleness she reserved only for her son. She turned her gaze to Arthur and offered a soft smile, tender, the kind of kindness she rarely showed to anyone outside her family. He returned it quickly before resuming his impassive posture, as expected from a Kingsguard, even if inside him still lived the boy from the sands of Dorne.

Rhaegar approached his mother with quiet steps, holding her hand with a delicacy that made Arthur hold his breath. There was so much said in that gesture, in that exchange of looks, that anyone paying attention would feel the weight of the silent conversation forming there. Something only theirs, something no one would dare interrupt. Yet inevitably, the silence ended.

“How… how are you feeling?” The hesitation in the king’s voice was clear, and for a moment he looked more like a frightened boy than the man meant to lead an entire kingdom.

The queen inhaled deeply before responding. “I…” She paused, weighing each word as if the wrong choice could break her even more. “I am well, as well as one can be. It is undeniable that I am shaken by recent events, but your father’s madness consumed him more each day. Something like this was bound to happen.”

Arthur pretended not to notice her trembling lips, or the way her fingers fidgeted, or how her gaze wandered away from her son. He turned his face discreetly toward the far end of the chamber, trying to preserve her dignity while also guarding his own composure. He had seen many things since arriving at the Red Keep, but nothing prepared him for the whispers about the past of the two Targaryens. They said that more than a decade ago, the two had been as close as true siblings, running through corridors, sharing secrets, laughing together in ways that now seemed impossible. It was a kind of innocence he understood well. He remembered Starfall, the siblings gathered, the endless games, the starry nights that felt eternal.

“But we must not hold on to grief, my dear. With the tide, your bride will come, and a new reign will be born. I am certain you will be a good king.” Rhaella’s voice gained a maternal softness that filled the room, and even with the emotional distance between them, it was impossible to miss the love in her words. Pure love, surviving madness, fear, and suffering.

Her words loosened part of the weight on Rhaegar’s features, as if someone had finally lifted part of the burden pressing on him since his father’s death. It was subtle, but Arthur noticed. He always noticed.

“I will do my best to be the king the realm deserves, and the son you need.” The sincerity in his voice sliced through the air like a fine blade.

The queen did not expect that answer, and for a moment her eyes glimmered with surprise. Then a serene smile appeared on her lips, light, almost fragile, yet full of discreet pride that warmed the room. For a few seconds, Arthur felt the same peace. A brief truce, delicate, almost illusory, but real enough to let his lungs expand more easily. Maybe, after so many days of fear and suspicion haunting the Red Keep, peace could return to its halls. Maybe smiles could appear more often.

And maybe, just maybe, it had been worth leaving everything behind to become a Kingsguard.

Yet doubt still stalked him in the silent hours of the night. Sometimes he wondered if he had truly made the right choice. Especially when the memory of a lazy smile returned to him uninvited, accompanied by soft kisses and promises never spoken, but still alive in the dreams he tried so hard to chase away.