The night had grown very late.
Yet King Jaehaerys II Targaryen and Lord Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the King, were still deep in animated conversation.
The embers of the Blackfyre Rebellion were finally dying out. With the exception of unrest in the west, most of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Islands had returned to peace, easing, if only temporarily, the burdens borne by the king and his Hand.
Their conversation ranged freely, from women, to food, to wine, only circling back to matters of state at the very end.
For men, power was an eternal tonic and obsession.
Even a mere taste of it could make the most contemptible wretch shine with startling brilliance.
Lord Ormund drank Arbor red, while King Jaehaerys II merely sipped warm water.
Rhaegar watched the pair: a Hand as fiery as flame, and a king as mild as water, an oddly complementary duo of middle-aged men.
In truth, Jaehaerys II was not old at all, barely thirty-five. But in a land where early marriage was the norm, he had already become a grandfather. The younger Lord Ormund would soon follow the same path.
Rhaegar studied their weathered faces and thought to himself, They truly should take better care of their health.
By the standards of Westeros, the great lords lived perilously short lives, fragile as grass before the scythe.
They were easily swept into the whirlpools of war, love, and political intrigue, often dying sudden deaths. Male lords in particular prided themselves on personal valor and command in battle, which only increased their risk. Ironically, figures like Grand Maester Pycelle, who stood close to power yet wielded little of it, tended to live the longest.
"The greatest hidden danger to the realm," King Jaehaerys II sighed, "is the scarcity of dragonblood. We can scarcely muster enough kin even for marriage alliances."
The decline of dynasties always seemed to accompany the thinning of bloodlines. Valyrian blood had never been plentiful to begin with, and the Tragedy of Summerhall, followed by years of war, had only worsened matters. His father, King Aegon V, his brother Prince Daeron, and Duncan the Small, most had died far too young.
Rhaegar felt the truth of it keenly. House Targaryen had been reduced to a pitiful few; even among his own generation, there were no uncles or cousins left to speak of.
For a monarch, the pressure to produce heirs was immense. In Westeros especially, a first-rank king without suitable children soon found second-rank lords, those blessed with many heirs, growing restless. It was never a good omen.
"You are my brother and my Hand," Jaehaerys II said to Lord Ormund. "You must never conceal matters of state from me. To withhold the truth from a king is treason."
"With respect, Your Grace," Lord Ormund replied bluntly, "the realm's deepest ailment remains the lack of dragonblood. Broken betrothals have offended nearly every great house. Your late father sought to strengthen the throne through marriages, yet repeated reversals bred resentment and eroded royal support. A crown is secured through alliances and offices, but the pain of a love cast aside cuts far deeper than the loss of a title. We must never allow another misguided romance to enrage the lords of the realm."
His words were sharp as steel. Only a man of his standing would dare speak so plainly.
Rhaegar shivered slightly. Lord Ormund understood the wildness of dragonblood all too well. He feared that even greater passions, and disasters, lay ahead. One ill-fated love had nearly torn the realm apart, and Rhaegar himself might yet become the next spark.
"Indeed," the king said bitterly, lifting his cup, then setting it down untouched.
The flames of royal love had burned fiercely before. After free love came rebellion and chaos. He himself had broken a betrothal for love, dousing the crown in icy water, yet love arrived without warning, beyond any man's control.
"My elder brother loved Jenny of Oldstones, abandoned the throne, and offended House Baratheon. I married my sister, breaking my pact with House Tully, and hers with House Tyrell. Then my youngest brother, Daeron, loved another man and broke his betrothal to a lady of House Redwyne."
Jaehaerys II's resentment deepened, as though he were dragged back to those reckless, headstrong years when youthful folly plunged the realm into turmoil.
A firstborn's love for Jenny had left Westeros buried beneath mountains of corpses. Each broken promise turned allies into enemies, gnawing away at the rule of the dragon. Chaos and rebellion followed, the butterfly's wings still beating, until magic, fire, and death brought everything to an end at Summerhall.
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(Minor Role , Marriage and office are both catalysts of virtue and powder kegs of war. Consider carefully; handle matters of the heart with caution.)
Rhaegar listened in rapt attention. Dragonblood had given rise to countless souls of fierce passion. King Aegon V had never intended to rule; when the crown seemed beyond reach, he married for love and met no opposition. But once crowned, he could no longer restrain his children's defiant romances, and disaster followed.
A king unable to govern his own household broke promise after promise, enraging Houses Baratheon, Tyrell, Tully, and Redwyne alike.
Rhaegar sighed, lamenting how his ancestors had always courted trouble. Their hunger for love had reshaped the balance of Westeros. Had things gone differently, Tully, Tyrell, and Redwyne might have stood with the dragon, rather than House Baratheon clinging desperately to the Iron Throne.
"Rhaegar," King Jaehaerys II said solemnly, "when the day comes that you are crowned and sit the Iron Throne, you must treat your children's marriages with the utmost care. Marriage and titles are the chief tools by which we balance the great lords. Only through alliances and offices can the realm be held together."
Rhaegar understood, but offered no reply. His role, for now, was only to listen.
This was Westeros. No great house could be offended lightly.
Even dragonkings ruled within limits.
"With respect, Your Grace," Lord Ormund continued, the wine loosening his restraint, "another grave error was showing excessive favor to Dorne. It is a weak ally. The dragon's supporters are already few; to wed Dornish women is to slight the daughters of other great houses."
"The crown must now mend its fractures and win allies. Rhaegar must never again take a Dornish bride, this is for the good of the realm," the Hand declared.
To Rhaegar, the words carried an uncanny weight, almost prophetic.