Chapter 23: The Wandering Swordsman of Braavos
The night was deep and fragrant, and the grand feast threatened to intoxicate every noble lady in King's Landing.
Beyond the solemn welcoming ceremony held at the city gates, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen had ordered a lavish banquet within the Red Keep to honor the victorious lords and knights returning from the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Such moments were rare, and the king understood their value well—coin spent on wine and praise often returned tenfold in loyalty.
Gold flowed freely. The royal treasury bled into goblets, platters, silk, and song.
Those present were drawn from the highest circles of the realm: courtiers of King's Landing, knights who had distinguished themselves in battle, great lords, and officials whose service could not be ignored. Jaehaerys II did not forget the common soldiers either—outside the city walls, in the camps beyond the gates, wagons of silver and food had been distributed. Men who had marched across seas and bled beneath foreign suns could not be thanked with words alone.
Tonight, gratitude had a price—and the Crown paid it willingly.
The great hall glittered.
Courtiers had exchanged their everyday garments for robes heavy with embroidery and jewels. Every man and woman sought to outshine the next. The High Septon, crowned with a seven-colored crystal diadem, was resplendent to the point of excess—his robes no less extravagant than those of a Braavosi courtesan. How many purses of the faithful had been emptied to fashion that crown was a question best left unasked.
Several wealthy merchants had donated grain, gold, and ships merely for the privilege of attendance.
Rhaegar watched them all with quiet detachment.
It is a market, he thought. Only the currency is favor.
Of all present, the High Septon irritated him the most—but corruption had its uses. A pliant Faith was far safer than a righteous one.
At the high table sat the true pillars of the realm.
King Jaehaerys II presided in splendor, dragons and flames embroidered upon his robes, the heavy gold crown of House Targaryen resting upon his brow. Beside him sat Queen Shaera, serene and composed.
Near them were seated:
Prince Aerys Targaryen
Princess Rhaella Targaryen
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen
The High Septon
Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Hand of the King
Lady Cassana Baratheon
Lord Hoster Tully
Ser Brynden Tully
Princess Elia Martell of Dorne
Lord Tywin Lannister
Ser Kevan Lannister
Lady Joanna Lannister
Lord Roger Reyne of Castamere
Also present, seated in places of highest honor, were the heroes of the war:
Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard
Ser Barristan Selmy
Lord Roger Reyne felt as though he were drifting in a dream. Had Ser Jason Lannister not fallen in battle, had Castamere not bled for the Crown, he would never have sat among such company. His family's wealth—much of it earned through delicate, dangerous proximity to Casterly Rock—had finally bought recognition.
The ladies of the hall were radiant.
Queen Shaera wore silver silk. Princess Elia Martell shimmered in gold. Lady Joanna Lannister was clad in sea-green. Lady Cassana Baratheon wore deep crimson.
They were the roses of the evening.
Rhaegar himself wore black brocade chased with rubies, red dragons embroidered across his chest. His silver-gold hair and violet eyes drew whispers wherever he turned. Seated between king and queen, he appeared every inch a dragon of old.
Westeros prized appearances. Beauty, lineage, and bearing were weapons as sharp as swords.
Soon, however, Rhaegar noticed a sour note.
Prince Aerys' gaze lingered too long upon Lady Joanna Lannister. Lord Tywin's expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening like drawn steel.
Rhaegar suppressed a grim thought. Even now… he cannot master himself.
Princess Rhaella's fingers tightened in her lap, though her face remained calm.
Lord Steffon Baratheon observed the exchange as well, his expression hardening. Such lapses were dangerous. The blood of the dragon burned hot, but indulgence without restraint had ruined kings before.
Then King Jaehaerys II rose.
"My lords and ladies," he proclaimed, "before the feast begins, there is a small ceremony. My grandson, Prince Rhaegar, will attend to it."
Attendants brought forth velvet-lined boxes containing heavy gold chains, each bearing a dragon-shaped medallion set with rubies. Upon them was engraved:
Savior of the Stepstones
Rhaegar descended from the dais and personally fastened the chains upon Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Steffon Baratheon, and others who had earned the realm's gratitude.
The honor was profound.
Though such recognition traditionally came from the king himself, none begrudged it. Prince Rhaegar moved with poise beyond his years, and many saw this moment as a blessing rather than a breach of custom.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the King!"
The hall thundered with acclaim.
"Let the feast begin," Jaehaerys II declared.
Wine flowed. Dishes followed one another in abundance—beef and barley soup, hot bread, honeyed fowl, roasted trout, buttered carrots, apple tarts. The centerpiece was a roasted peacock, gaudy and excessive, a symbol of noble vanity if ever there was one.
Then laughter rose as the court jester performed.
At last, a slender man stepped forward from the shadows.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing deeply, "I am a wandering swordsman of Braavos. I thank you for your hospitality—and beg leave to offer a dance."
He drew a slender blade—a Braavosi rapier, light and narrow.
Rhaegar's eyes sharpened.
A water dancer.
The night was not finished yet.
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