King's Landing
Two days prior to the King's summons
With each passing day, Rhaegar grew more in love with Maegor's tunnels. They proved simply to be a supreme method of commute for him. He could get in and out of the keep whenever he pleased and access most areas of the city with complete discretion.
And that is precisely what he was doing right now. He moved through the dark tunnels with practiced ease, a hooded cloak obscuring his silver hair. Behind him, the rhythmic footsteps of Ser Ryon were the only sound.
They made their way through, passing stone tunnels and ones which were just mud and rocks held together by timber. After nearly an hour, they emerged from an old, disused cellar and quickly slipped out through the back door into the Street of Silk.
It did not take them too long to find the establishment they were looking for. It was a plain and unassuming building, compared to the other brothels in the Street. Made to cater to clients who preferred discretion. One of the few, Rhaegar, had bought in this part of the city a few years back.
They stepped inside. The front room was dimly lit, occupied only by a severe-looking woman behind a heavy oak desk. She looked up as they entered, but did not speak.
Ryon stepped forward. He took a breath and almost grit his teeth in embarrassment over the foolishness he was going to utter. Again.
"Password," the knight said, his voice flat.
Rhaegar suppressed a smirk beneath his hood. It was a small, petty amusement, using the literal word as the code, but Rhaegar had found a lot of entertainment in the Knight's reaction to it.
The woman didn't blink. She simply stood up, smoothing her dress.
"Follow me."
She led them down a narrow hallway, past rooms where muffled laughter and soft moans drifted through the doors. They stopped at a heavy door at the very end of the corridor, tucked away in a corner.
She knocked three times and turned to them.
"She is inside," the woman said, and then quickly vanished back toward the front desk.
"Wait here," Rhaegar said as he turned to his knight. "Let no one disturb us."
Ryon nodded, his hand resting instinctively on the pommel of his sword.
Rhaegar pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him.
The scent hit him instantly. A dozen candles, incense and oils made the place smell like a temple, not a brothel.
The chamber was modest, furnished with a few chairs and a table. Rhaegar walked in, scanning the room from corner to corner, before taking a seat in a chair.
He didn't have to wait long.
A curtain in the back of the room parted, and Melisandre stepped through.
She was not wearing the jewels or silks she donned for her 'Lady Lyssaria' persona in the city. Tonight, she wore simple robes of deep crimson, the ruby at her throat pulsing with a faint light.
"My prince," she greeted.
"Lady Lyssaria," Rhaegar replied, using her alias.
"There is no need for masks here," she said, taking the seat opposite him. "We are alone."
Rhaegar nodded, pushing his hood back. "As you wish."
The pleasantries died there. Rhaegar had not risked a trip here at this hour, through Maegor's tunnels for wine and cakes.
"Why have you come?" Melisandre asked, her red eyes searching his face. "You rarely risk the journey from the Keep. A matter of importance?"
"The Triarchy," Rhaegar said simply.
Melisandre nodded slowly. "Then you received my message. The Three Daughters share a bed."
"And they are trying to invite Dorne into it," Rhaegar finished. "I know."
"They are persuasive," Melisandre murmured. "The Archon of Tyrosh has sent chests of gold to Sunspear. They promise the Princess Mara that if she closes her ports to your ships, the Triarchy will make Dorne the gateway to the East."
Rhaegar drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. It was exactly as he had predicted.
"Tell me something I don't know."
Melisandre leaned forward, the candlelight forming a silhouette against the red of her hair.
"I have a voice in their new council," she revealed softly. "A Magister of Lys. Varos. He is a man of immense wealth, but his soul is... fragile. He fears the darkness that comes with age and seeks salvation with the Light."
Rhaegar stopped drumming. This was new. A direct line into the enemy command.
"A valuable asset," Rhaegar noted.
"He is pliable," Melisandre continued. "He asks for guidance in the flames every night. He trusts me more than he trusts his own kin."
She paused, studying Rhaegar's impassive face, mistaking his silence for worry.
"We could use him to try and sow discord?" she offered, her tone eager to please. "Have him whisper poison about the Dornish. Tell the Council that the Martells intend to betray them once the treaty is signed. Have him claim the Dornish have a plot to seize the Stepstones for themselves."
"Or perhaps something more direct," Melisandre mused, encouraged by his attention. "I can instruct him to insult the Martell envoy publicly. A slight against their honour. The Dornish are proud. They would walk away from the table in a heartbeat. There is a chance that we could break this union before it solidifies, my prince. Ensure the Triarchy stands alone."
She sat back, looking at him expectantly. She had handed him a possible solution. She had offered to dismantle the alliance that threatened to strangle his Consortium and this entire continent.
Rhaegar looked at her, his violet eyes unblinking in the dim light. He let the silence stretch for a few moments before he replied.
"No."
Melisandre blinked, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. "No?"
"I do not want the alliance broken," Rhaegar said, his voice cold and devoid of gratitude. "I want it sealed."
The Red Priestess frowned, genuine confusion marring her features. "My prince... if Dorne joins them, the blockade will be complete. They will control the shipping lanes from the Stepstones to the Sea of Dorne. The war will be—"
"A Guarantee," Rhaegar finished for her. "I know."
Melisandre tried to retort. "But my prince, if we—"
"I want you to use your Magister," Rhaegar interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "But not to sow discord. I want him to be the loudest voice for the alliance. Tell him the Lord of Light wills it. Make him believe that Dorne is essential to their salvation."
"Find a way to make him one of the most influential men in their ranks. And then I want him to escalate the animosity toward the Crown. When the time comes, have him push for higher tolls. Have him demand the seizure of Westerosi ships. Have him preach that House Targaryen are tyrants and that we are a bane on their existence."
Melisandre stared at him. She was accustomed to the games of kings and lords, the complex political plays. But this... this was something new. He was asking her to sharpen the blade that was held to his own throat.
"You... you wish to provoke this war," she whispered, incredulity written on her face. "Not stop it?"
"I wish for clarity," Rhaegar lied, though it was a lie wrapped in a truth. "If they are to be our enemies, let them be enemies. Half-measures serve no one."
He stood up, signalling the end of their meeting.
"Instruct your Magister. Ensure the alliance with Dorne happens. Make sure the Triarchy feels invincible. I want them arrogant, Melisandre. I want them to think they can take whatever they want."
Melisandre stood as well. She looked at the boy before her. She had come to this continent, had come here, to discern him, and he only seemed to be becoming more of a mystery by the day. A void in her flames. And yet, strangely, her god did not warn her against him anymore. Lately, if anything, the fire seemed... amused.
"It will be done," she said, bowing her head. "I will fan the flames."
"Good," Rhaegar said, pulling his hood back up.
He turned and walked to the door, opening it to find Ryon standing guard exactly where he had left him.
"Let's go," Rhaegar said.
As they walked away, leaving the Red Woman alone in her scented room, Rhaegar felt a grim sense of satisfaction.
The pieces were moving. The enemy was strengthening, just as he wanted them to.