Rhaegar's internal scoff didn't reach his face, but his eyes sharpened, stripping away the woman's pleasant veneer.
Lyssaria. It was a Lyseni name. Soft. Musical. Entirely unsuited for the woman whom he knew stood before him.
"Lady Lyssaria," Rhaegar repeated the name, offering a polite smile. "A pleasure. Though I must confess, it is rare to find the followers of the Lord of Light so far from the temple."
"The Lord's light reaches all corners of the world, my prince," Lyssaria replied, her voice melodic, carrying that distinct accent of Volantis. "We go where the flames bid us, and we were compelled to be here."
Rhaegar's eyes narrowed by a fraction. Compelled.
"Is that so?" Rhaegar asked, tilting his head. "And I suppose the flames have a fondness for windswept cliffsides in Westeros?"
Lyssaria's smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "The flames speak in riddles, as you well know. We are but servants."
Rhaegar hummed, unconvinced. He glanced back at Viserys, then at Aeryna. The acolyte was staring at Dreamfyre with wide, terrified eyes, clutching her robes as if they could shield her from dragonfire. Viserys, meanwhile, was standing with his chest puffed out, trying desperately to look like a conquering dragonlord despite the fact that his hair was a bird's nest from the flight.
"My brother," Rhaegar said, lowering his voice to a murmur, "has many virtues. Patience is not one of them. And your companion looks as though she might faint if the dragon sneezes."
He gestured vaguely toward the edge of the cliff, away from the dragon and the other two people.
Lyssaria paused for a moment, her eyes searching his. She inclined her head. "As you wish, my prince."
She signalled Aeryna to stay. The acolyte looked horrified at being left alone with the dragon and the small, intense boy, but she bowed her head in obedience.
Rhaegar turned to Viserys. "Watch the dragon, Viserys. Make sure she doesn't… eat anyone."
Viserys nodded solemnly. "I shall hold the line, brother."
Rhaegar suppressed a snort and walked away, Lyssaria falling into step beside him.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Back near the dragon, an awkward silence descended. Viserys Targaryen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. He glanced at the pale, trembling girl in orange robes, then at the massive, lethal dragon behind him, and then back to the girl. He felt he should say something. He was a prince, after all. Princes made conversation.
"So," Viserys began, his voice cracking slightly before he deepened it. "Do you… like dragons?"
Aeryna looked at him, her eyes wide. She looked at Dreamfyre, who let out a puff of smoke that smelled of sulfur and death. She looked back at Viserys."It is… big," she said in almost a whisper.
"Yes," Viserys agreed sagely, nodding. "Very big. And blue. It's the blue ones you have to watch out for. They're… tricky."Dreamfyre shifted, her massive head swinging low to inspect the girl. Aeryna let out a whimper and took a step back.
"Don't worry," Viserys said quickly, raising a hand. "She smells fear. Just… try to smell like something else."
Aeryna stared at him in horror. "Like what?"
Viserys paused. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "Lavender?" he suggested. "Dragons must love lavender. And mutton. But maybe not mutton. That might be a mistake."
Dreamfyre let out a low, rumbling snort that vibrated in Viserys's chest. The dragon blinked one sapphire eye, looking entirely unimpressed with both of them.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
A few paces away, the air was different.
Rhaegar stopped near the cliff's edge, where the chance of them being overheard was none. He did not speak first. He let the silence stretch, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, Lyssaria broke it.
"You are not what I expected, my prince," she murmured, moving to stand beside him, though not too close. The scent of cinnamon and strange oils wafted from her robes. "The flames... they struggle to place you."
"Maybe your god needs spectacles," Rhaegar said lightly, still watching the horizon.
"As it stands, you are the spectacle, my prince," she countered, her voice dropping an octave, losing its courtly polish.
Rhaegar turned to her then. He sat back against a jagged rock, crossing his arms. "You speak in riddles, Priestess. I have little patience for them. You came a long way to stare at a boy on a cliff. Volantis to King's Landing is not a journey one makes on a whim. So, tell me, why have your flames developed a sudden interest in the geography of the crownlands?"
"To see," she answered. "To gauge. The world is changing, Prince Rhaegar. Shadows lengthen. And in the heart of the fire, where the truth is usually laid bare... There is a hollow where you stand."
She stepped closer, the ruby at her throat pulsing a dull, rhythmic light.
"Who are you?" she whispered, the question feeling less like an inquiry and more like a spell. "Truly?"
Rhaegar held her gaze. He felt the weight of her scrutiny, the prickle of a Shadowbinder trying to peel back the layers of his soul and failing.
He smiled. It was a sharp, dangerous thing.
"I am Rhaegar Targaryen," he said softly. "But you know that."
He pushed against the rock and leaned back slightly. He was a child, dwarfed by her height, and yet, he made himself feel larger.
"'Lyssaria'. It is a pretty name. Truly."
He let his gaze drop pointedly to the ruby at her throat, then back to her eyes.
"But I think Melisandre suits the red much better."
The reaction was almost imperceptible, but Rhaegar noticed.
"How..." the word escaped her before she could stop it. But before she could continue, Rhaegar intervened.
He tilted his head, his voice dropping low and harsh. "Tell me, do they still sell slaves in lot seven? Or have the years in the temple made you forget the auction block?"
This time, the silence that followed was absolute.
He saw the shock hit her, not a physical flinch, but a sudden cessation of breath. Her eyes widened, the pupils contracting.
Rhaegar didn't explain. He didn't gloat. He simply leaned further, his expression bored, as if he hadn't just shattered her worldview. The tension in his chest eased into triumph. He had her.
"I know many things, Melisandre," he said, using her true name like a weapon. "I know of the Shadow Lands. I know of the Lord of Light. And I know that you are far from home."
Melisandre stared at him. The boy before her, ten name days old, with ink stains on his fingers, looked at her with eyes that seemed more horrific than the Doom.
"You are..." She struggled for the word. "Dangerous."
"I try my best. Though I aim to be so only to my enemies," Rhaegar assured her, his tone shifting from menacing back to conversational. "And I have no wish to be yours. Unless you force me to be."
"You came here to gauge me. Fine. Gauge away. But know this, I am not a piece on your god's cyvasse board. I do not play by rules written in your flames."
Melisandre regained her composure slowly, drawing her red robes tighter around herself as if shielding against a cold wind. She looked at him with new eyes, wary and deeply intrigued.
"If you know who I am," she said slowly, her voice regaining its steel, "then you know what I can do."
"I do," Rhaegar nodded.
"Then why meet me?" she asked. "Why not burn me where I stood?"
"Because," Rhaegar said, turning back to the view, his silhouette sharp against the dying sun. "Burning you serves no purpose. But using you?"
He glanced at her sideways.
"The Red Temple has eyes in every port from Volantis to Qarth. You hear whispers before they become shouts. You see daggers before they are drawn."
Melisandre studied him. The fear had receded, replaced by the calculating look of a player recognizing another player.
"We do," she admitted.
"I want that," Rhaegar said plainly. "I have a trade company to run. And many other matters to manage. I need to know when every political and military moves are made and why. I need to know when the price of spice drops in Yi Ti. I need to know who is plotting against whom in the shadows of Lys and other cities across Essos."
"You want us, the temple of R'hllor, to be... spies," Melisandre said, a faint, incredulous smile touching her lips. "For a trade company?"
"I want you to be useful," Rhaegar corrected. "In exchange, you get to stay."
"Stay?"
"In King's Landing. In Westeros." Rhaegar shrugged. "You want to watch me? Fine. Watch. You want to look for your Prince That Was Promised? Look all you like. But you do it quietly. Without drawing suspicion on your identity. No burning statues. No preaching to the high lords. No terrifying my family."
He fixed her with a hard stare.
"You report to me. What you hear, I hear. What you see, I see. Do that, and you have a haven here. Cross me, or try to manipulate my kin..."
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't have to.
Melisandre looked at the boy. The void in the flames. The anomaly.
She had come looking for a sign. She had found a riddle wrapped in dragon scales.
"The Lord of Light wills that I stay," she said, her voice echoing with a strange finality. "He wills that I watch the shadows from which winter shall rise."
Rhaegar scoffed slightly. " Of course. Because the night is dark—"
"—and full of terrors," Melisandre finished slowly, perplexed.
Rhaegar got up from the rock and brushed his clothes, smirking. "It's a good line. Very dramatic. Catchy."
"Now, I don't have much time left. I need your answer. Now." Rhaegar said as he stood straight.
Melisandre paused for a long moment before she bowed, "We accept your terms, Prince Rhaegar."
Rhaegar let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Good."
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Rhaegar reached the dragon, where Viserys was currently trying to demonstrate a 'fierce stance' to Aeryna, who looked ready to weep with relief at Rhaegar's return.
"Time to go," Rhaegar announced, grabbing Viserys by the shoulder and steering him toward the saddle.
"Did you... Did you have a nice talk?" Viserys asked, stumbling a bit.
"Illuminating," Rhaegar said. "Get on."
Rhaegar stopped before Melisandre one last time. He didn't offer a hand; he offered a warning.
"Remember our agreement, Lady Lyssaria. The city has eyes. And so do I."
"As does the Fire, my prince," Melisandre replied, her face impassive, though her eyes betrayed her display.
Rhaegar turned and mounted Dreamfyre behind his brother.
"Soves!" Viserys shouted, clearly relieved to be leaving the strange women behind.
The dragon launched into the air, the wind rushing to meet them. Rhaegar didn't look back this time. He didn't need to. He could feel Melisandre's gaze burning into his back until they were nothing but a speck in the clouds.
The game has changed, he thought, the wind whipping his silver hair. I just invited the fire into the keep.
Let's just hope I don't get burned.