The night had already grown deep.
Yet King Jaehaerys II and Duke Mond were still deep in animated conversation.
The flames of the Blackfyre Rebellion were about to die out; apart from the West, most of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Islands were at peace, and for the moment the pressure on king and Hand had greatly eased.
The topics the two men discussed were a mixed bag—women, food and drink—until finally they returned to state affairs.
Power is, for men, an eternal tonic and focal point.
Even a sliver of it can make a petty man shine with outsized brilliance.
Duke Mond drank Arbor red, while King Jaehaerys II sipped boiled water.
Rhaegar watched the pair: a Hand blazing like fire, a king as tepid as water—quite the complementary middle-aged duo.
In truth Jaehaerys II was not old, only thirty-five or so, but thanks to Westeros' proud tradition of early marriage he had already ascended to grand-fatherhood. Duke Mond, younger than him, was likewise on the verge of becoming a grand-sire.
Rhaegar studied the weather-worn faces and thought, "They really ought to look after their health." By Westerosi standards great Lords' lives were short; life was as fragile as grass.
Great Lords were too easily sucked into the whirlpools of war, love, or political intrigue, and often died sudden deaths. Male Lords especially were battle leaders who prided themselves on single combat, so their risk of death was high. Peripheral figures like Grand Maester Pycelle, inside the game yet wielding no real power, lived the longest.
"The realm's greatest hidden danger is that dragon-seed is too scarce; we can't even scrape together enough for marriage alliances," Jaehaerys II sighed. Dynastic decline always seemed linked to thin blood; the Valyrian line had always been sparse, and the tragedy at Summer Hall plus the wars had worsened it. His father Aegon V, his brothers Prince Daeron and Duncan the Small—most had died untimely deaths.
Hearing the king, Rhaegar felt the same. House Targaryen now had only a pitiful handful; his own parents had no uncles or cousins left.
For a monarch the pressure to beget heirs was immense; in Westeros especially, a first-rank king without marriageable children would find second-rank Lords with large broods beginning to stir—never a good sign.
"You are my good-brother and my Hand; you should keep nothing from me about the realm's affairs. Hiding anything would be treason to your king," Jaehaerys II told Duke Mond.
"With respect, Your Grace, the realm's gravest ill is still too few dragon-seeds; broken marriage pacts have offended nearly every great house. Your late father hoped betrothals would strengthen the crown, but repeated broken promises bred hatred and shrank the crown's support. The throne wins great Lords only through marriages and offices, and a jilted love wounds deeper than a lost post. We must not let another wrong love incense the Lords." Mond spoke plain truth, words sharp as steel, yet only a man of his station dared voice it.
Rhaegar shivered at the duke's words. Mond clearly knew how wild dragon-blood could be; he feared even wilder passions to come. A wrong love had once nearly toppled the realm, and Rhaegar himself might become the next fuse.
"Indeed," the king said bitterly, raising and then lowering his cup. The royal children's fires of love had blazed; free courtship followed by rebellion and chaos. He too had once broken a betrothal for love, dousing the crown with icy water, yet love came by chance and was beyond his control.
"My elder brother fell for Jeyne of Oldstones, cast aside his crown and offended House Baratheon. I wed my sister, breaking my betrothal to House Tully and hers to Mace Tyrell. Then my youngest brother Daeron burned for his own sex and also broke his betrothal to the Redwyne girl." Jaehaerys II's bitterness deepened, as if reliving those days when they had been young and headstrong, adding turmoil to the realm.
The eldest's love for Jeyne had given Westeros a gift of corpses stacked like mountains. Each broken promise turned foes into allies, eroding the dragon's rule. Chaos and rebellion followed, the butterfly's wings beating on until, at Summer Hall, sorcery, flame and death ended it all.
Achievement: A game of thrones (Small Player—marriage and office are accelerants and powder-kegs of noble passions. Think carefully and handle affairs of the heart with caution.)
Rhaegar listened intently. The dragon line had bred many passionate hearts. King Aegon V, never meant to rule, had wed for love when his succession seemed remote and no one objected; once crowned he could not curb his children's own wilful loves, and that became a powder-keg. A father-king who could not govern his offspring, infected by their father's example, broke promise after promise, enraging Baratheon, Tyrell, Tully and Redwyne alike.
Rhaegar sighed at the trouble-making ways of his forebears. Their hunger for love had shifted Westeros' balance; otherwise Tully, Tyrell and Redwyne might all be within the dragon camp, instead of the crown clinging desperately to the Baratheons.
"Rhaegar, when the day comes that you are crowned and sit the iron throne, treat your children's marriages with care. Marriage and titles are our chief counters in balancing the Lords; between the great houses flow only marriages and offices," Jaehaerys II told his grandson earnestly.
Rhaegar understood but offered no comment; his role was simply to listen.
Such was Westeros—no great house could be lightly offended. Even the Dragon Kings wielded limited power.
"With respect, Your Grace, another of the realm's blunders is excessive friendship toward Dorne. That ally's strength is limited. The dragon's supporters are few; wed a Dornishwoman and you slight some other great lord's daughter," Mond said, words long pent-up now loosened by wine.
"Now, when the crown must mend rifts and win friends, Rhaegar must on no account wed another Dornishwoman. It is for the good of the realm," the duke declared.
Rhaegar felt the duke's words carried an uncanny touch of prophecy.