The Red Keep was never truly silent, but in the latest hours of the wolf, it came close.
The bustle of the opulent betrothal feast had finally burned itself out. The lords of the realm were asleep, knocked out by obscene amounts of wine and bloated bellies. But Rhaegar could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind dragged him into dark thoughts he currently had no desire for.
So he had dressed in a simple tunic and gone out to the corridors, letting the chill of the midnight air clear his head. He had always found solace in these quiet moments. Letting his mind wander aimlessly, even for a few minutes, was comforting.
He was walking through the family wing when he heard a familiar voice whispering.
Rhaegar stopped, quickly slipping behind a heavy stone pillar. A few dozen yards down the hall, Viserys was standing outside the door of Daemon's chambers.
His younger brother was still in his feast clothes, though his doublet was unfastened and his silver hair was a mess. Viserys had his ears pressed against the door, knocking repeatedly. Beside him, the household guard stationed at Daemon's door stood rigidly at attention, though the man's eyes darted around nervously. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, trapped in the awkward position of witnessing a royal tantrum.
"Daemon, please," Viserys was saying, his voice low and placating. "Just open the door. We can talk about it."
A muffled, ragged scream was the reply that came from behind the door. "Go away!" It was the unmistakable, cracking pitch of his youngest brother in the midst of a furious meltdown.
Viserys winced, but he did not leave. He knocked again. "Daemon..."
Rhaegar watched from behind the pillar. Seeing Viserys try to coax a tantrum out of Daemon was not an unfamiliar sight, even if the effort was usually futile.
Deciding he had seen enough, Rhaegar stepped out from the pillar and whistled in his brother's direction.
Both Viserys and the guard immediately snapped their heads in his direction. The guardsman reacted instantly, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized the Prince. He offered a hasty bow before snapping his gaze firmly straight ahead, pretending he was deaf, blind, and made of stone.
Viserys's reaction was far stranger. He stiffened and looked at Rhaegar as if he were the absolute last person he wanted to see in the world right now, a look Rhaegar had often earned with his endless, dry mockery of his younger brother.
Rhaegar stopped a few paces away. He raised a hand and beckoned Viserys over with two fingers.
For a second, Viserys hesitated, glancing back at the closed door, before he finally pushed himself and walked quietly over to his older brother.
"What is going on?" Rhaegar asked in a hushed whisper.
Viserys deliberately averted his gaze, looking at the stone floor. "Nothing."
Rhaegar clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. "Come on, Viserys. I am your older brother, aren't I? Tell me."
Viserys remained stubbornly silent, his jaw clenched.
"Viserys." Rhaegar's voice dropped a fraction. "I won't ask again."
Viserys let out a sharp huff of air, his shoulders slumping. "You're such an annoyance," he muttered. He rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted. "Fine."
"So? What is it?"
Viserys leaned his back against the stone wall, keeping his voice low so the sound wouldn't carry to the door. "I couldn't sleep. Maybe I drank too much wine. I was taking a stroll to clear my head. That's when I saw Daemon in a corner of the hallway, crying."
Rhaegar furrowed his brows. Daemon shouted, he broke things, and he swung wooden swords at anything that caused him displeasure. But he did not cry. At least not where anyone could see him.
"I went up to him," Viserys continued. "I asked him what the matter was. I tried to console him. That's when he pushed me and ran straight into his chambers. I've been trying to get him to open the door ever since."
"Why was he crying?" Rhaegar asked.
Viserys did not answer. He looked away again, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Rhaegar's posture shifted, his eyes turning cold.
"Why?" Rhaegar repeated. His violet eyes narrowed, running through a mental list of every noble who had attended the feast. "Did one of the lords or their sons say or do something to him?"
Viserys remained quiet.
"Viserys," Rhaegar demanded, stepping closer. "Answer me. Who was it?"
Viserys let out another heavy sigh, scrunching up his face in exasperation. He looked up, meeting Rhaegar's furious gaze without flinching.
"You."
Rhaegar blinked. "Huh?"
"It was you," Viserys said plainly. "He is crying because of you."
Rhaegar stared at him, pointing a finger at himself.
"Me?" Rhaegar asked, looking back at Daemon's door, then at Viserys, utterly baffled. "What did I do?"
Viserys stared at him with a deadpan expression. It was the look of a scholar dealing with an impossibly slow student. "Are you really this thick-headed, or are you just pretending right now?"
Rhaegar rubbed the bridge of his nose, the sleeplessness finally catching up to him. He did not have the energy to do this. "Viserys, I am too tired for riddles tonight. Just tell me what is wrong with him. Why the fuck is he crying because of me?"
Viserys let out a long, slow breath, the back of his head thumping softly against the stone wall. He looked at his older brother, stripping away the awe and the fear everyone felt, seeing only the fourteen-year-old boy who was somehow blind to the effect he exerted on the people around him.
"He looks up to you," Viserys said softly.
"What?"
"I said, he looks up to you, Rhaegar."
Rhaegar frowned, trying to connect the statement to the screaming boy behind the door. "And what does that have to do with this, Viserys?"
Viserys scrunched up his face, pushing off the wall. "Gods, Rhaegar."
He closed the distance between them. His voice was a fierce whisper. "When was the last time you actually spoke to him?"
Rhaegar frowned, his defensive instincts flaring. "I speak to him."
"No," Viserys shot back, his violet eyes flashing with a rare, protective anger. "You talk at him. You mock his training in the yard. You patronize him when he asks about your ships. You treat him like a nuisance you have to tolerate before you go back to planning your trade empires and whispering with Grandfather."
Rhaegar opened his mouth, prepared to issue a sharp, cutting retort, but the words died in his throat. Viserys didn't give him the chance to speak.
"He's eleven years old, Rhaegar," Viserys pressed, his voice thick with exasperation and a heavy, lingering sadness. "Mother is long dead. Father is...always buried in scrolls, or meetings, or dealing with the King's demands. Everyone else in this castle is lost in their own world and their own problems."
Viserys stepped closer, pointing a finger at Rhaegar's chest. "You and I are the only people he has. We are his entire world."
Rhaegar stood perfectly still in the flickering torchlight. All the intellect he was proud of seemed useless at the moment.
"But it's not me he wants," Viserys continued, the anger bleeding out of his voice, leaving only a quiet, painful truth. "I'm just Viserys. You're Rhaegar. You claimed the Black Dread. You built riches out of nothing. You are the Realm's Pride. You... are everything he wants to be. And you ignore him."
The words struck Rhaegar with the weight of a warhammer.
"Do you know how much that hurts him?" Viserys asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Recently, he has thrown himself into training to the point of collapse. I've seen him in the yard at dawn, swinging that wooden sword until his hands bleed, just so he can show you how much he has improved. He exhausts himself just hoping he can grab your attention for one single moment."
Viserys turned his head, gesturing down the dim, quiet hall toward the heavy oak door where Daemon had locked himself away.
"And now, tonight, you are betrothed," Viserys said, the finality of the word hanging heavily in the cold air. "To him, that means you are a man grown. You are stepping into the adult world, and as such, he has convinced himself that he has entirely lost his eldest brother. That is why he is crying."
Silence descended on the corridor.
Rhaegar stared at the closed door of Daemon's chambers. He did not speak. He offered no sharp retort to defend his pride.
Only a single, damning thought began to gnaw at the edges of his mind.
Is this how they see me?
From the moment he had opened his eyes in this world, he had quietly ridiculed the Targaryens of the past and the future. He had judged them for their madness, their blindness, and the careless, brutal ways they tore their own blood apart over perceived slights and ignored wounds. He had promised himself he would try to be better.
Yet here he was, completely blind to an eleven-year-old boy bleeding his hands raw in the training yard just to earn his nod of approval. If he let this fester, he was no better than the so called characters he despised. Not when he was failing in the exact same vein.
Rhaegar looked at Viserys. His younger brother looked as though a massive weight had been lifted from his chest, though his eyes carried a flicker of regret for having spoken so harshly.
Rhaegar broke the silence, his voice entirely devoid of its usual arrogance. "How long has this been going on?"
Viserys hesitated, his anger fading away to contemplation. "Since I first noticed? At least half a year."
Rhaegar let out a long, ragged sigh. He raised a hand, brushing it over his face and slicking his silver hair back wearily. He could not let this be. He had to fix it tonight, before this turned into something irreparable.
He raised his head, his eyes falling onto the guard stationed a few dozen yards down the hall. The young man had not moved an inch, standing rigidly outside Daemon's door. Given the distance and their hushed voices, it was unlikely the guard had heard them.
"Oi, you," Rhaegar stepped out and raised two fingers, beckoning the man.
The guard looked around tentatively, clearly terrified of leaving his post, but a direct summons from a Prince of the blood was not a request. He scurried over, his armor clinking softly in the quiet hall.
"My prince," the guard greeted, offering a deep bow.
"You know where the wine cellar is, do you not?" Rhaegar asked smoothly.
Both the guard and Viserys looked at him, completely thrown by the question.
"I...yes, my prince," the guard stammered, unsure of what he was getting himself into.
"Good. Bring a flagon up here. No, make it two."
The guardsman stood frozen, entirely bewildered at being commanded like a tavern maid in the middle of the night.
"Pardon me, my prince," the guard stammered, his eyes darting between the two royal brothers. "But... but I cannot leave my post. The Lord Commander would—"
"Do not worry," Rhaegar interrupted, his tone perfectly pleasant. "I will stand guard."
The guardsman fidgeted uncomfortably, the sheer absurdity of the situation breaking his military bearing. "My prince, I cannot let..."
Rhaegar's pleasant smile vanished, replaced by a cool, aristocratic arch of his brow. "Why? Do you not think I am capable of watching a wooden door for a few minutes?"
"It... it is not that, my prince."
"Then what is it?"
The guard looked utterly defeated. He bowed his head. "I will bring the wine, my prince."
Rhaegar nodded, the easy smile returning to his face. "Good man. And make sure to bring three cups on your way back."
The guardsman offered one last, deeply conflicted bow before turning and hurrying down the corridor, looking thoroughly downcast.
"He is a nervous wreck," Rhaegar noted, watching the man's retreating back. "He looks quite young. Is he new?"
"I suppose so," Viserys replied, though his attention was entirely on his older brother. Viserys crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing with deep, familiar suspicion. "Why the wine? What are you scheming now?"
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, feigning offence. "Scheming? Do you truly believe that is the only thing I do?"
"Yes," Viserys replied instantly, without a single heartbeat of hesitation.
Rhaegar let out a short, genuine laugh. It was a rare sound, stripping away the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the night.
"Do not worry, Viserys. I am not scheming," Rhaegar said softly, his violet eyes shifting back toward the heavy oak door of Daemon's chambers. "Since you have so forcefully opened my eyes tonight, I merely wish to speak with our brother. And I find a little wine often helps smooth over the rough edges of a conversation."
Rhaegar turned his back to Viserys and walked towards the heavy oak door of his youngest brother's chambers. He raised his fist and knocked. Three sharp taps that echoed loudly in the quiet corridor.
"I told you to go away, Viserys!" a muffled, furious voice shouted from within.
Rhaegar lowered his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Viserys, the two brothers sharing a brief, silent look. Viserys merely offered a tired shrug, as if to say, I told you.
Rhaegar turned back to the door, tapping his knuckles against it once more.
"It is not Viserys," Rhaegar said, his voice calm.
Dead silence fell over the room inside. It stretched for several long, agonizing seconds. Rhaegar could almost picture the eleven-year-old boy on the other side, freezing in panic, frantically wiping at his face to hide any trace of tears.
When Daemon finally spoke again, his voice was smaller, though he desperately tried to inject it with the same fiery venom. "Go away."
Rhaegar let out a slow breath. He knew Daemon. Trying to reason gently with a boy whose blood ran entirely on pride and fire was a fool's errand.
"Open the door, Daemon," Rhaegar commanded. "If you do not, when your guard returns with my wine, I will have him kick it off its hinges. Or perhaps I will simply do it myself."
Another beat of tense silence.
"I want to sleep!" Daemon shouted back, his voice cracking in the end.
"You can sleep after you open the door," Rhaegar countered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "I will not ask you again."
For a moment, Rhaegar wondered if he would actually have to break the lock. But then, he heard the heavy, reluctant scrape of the iron latch.
The door creaked open, revealing Daemon Targaryen.
He was still in his feast clothes, though his velvet doublet was entirely undone and his silver hair was a wild mess. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, completely betraying the fierce, haughty scowl he had plastered across his face. He stood with his chin jutted out and his chest puffed, desperately trying to project the aura of a fearless prince rather than a boy who had just been caught crying in a hallway.
"What do you want?" Daemon demanded, glaring at Rhaegar.
Rhaegar did not answer. He merely stepped forward, forcing Daemon to take a step back, and barged right past him into the bedchamber.
Daemon's jaw dropped in sheer indignation. Viserys followed close behind his older brother, offering Daemon a highly apologetic wince as he squeezed past him into the room.
"Close the door," Rhaegar ordered without looking back.
"You cannot just barge in here!" Daemon shouted, his voice pitching high with outrage as he spun to face them. "These are my chambers! You-"
Neither Rhaegar nor Viserys paid his outburst any mind. Rhaegar crossed the room, unfastening the clasp of his dark tunic, and made himself entirely comfortable in a high-backed chair near the hearth. Viserys quietly took the other seat adjacent to it, folding his legs.
Seeing that he was being completely ignored, Daemon let out a furious huff. He stomped his heel against the stone floor, a distinctly childish gesture he would have violently denied doing if accused, and slammed the door shut.
He marched over to where his older brothers were sitting, his small hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He looked between the two of them, his red-rimmed eyes burning with a mix of genuine anger and a deep, underlying anxiety.
"I asked what you want," Daemon snapped, trying his absolute hardest to sound like a dangerous grown man.
Rhaegar rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. He looked at the fiery, volatile boy standing before him. He did not rise to the bait, nor did he mock him. Instead, Rhaegar slowly raised a hand and pointed a single finger at the empty chair opposite the hearth.
"Sit," Rhaegar said softly.
Daemon glared at the pointed finger, then glared at Viserys, and finally shot a venomous look at Rhaegar. For a second, it looked as though he might throw something. But the suffocating gravity of his eldest brother won out.
With an annoyed, heavy sigh, Daemon threw himself into the empty chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and sinking low into the cushions, refusing to look either of them in the eye.
Rhaegar looked at his youngest brother, pondering for a moment on how best to approach this. Ultimately, he decided to wait.
Complete silence descended over the bedchamber, stretching out for far longer than was comfortable. Viserys fidgeted under the heavy tension, entirely ignoring Daemon's burning glare. Instead, the middle brother stared intensely at the stone walls, studying them as if they were the most fascinating thing he had ever encountered.
Daemon was stubbornly determined to maintain his uncaring, haughty facade. But he was eleven years old, and patience was a virtue he categorically did not possess. The silence grated against his nerves, winding him further and further until he finally snapped.
He turned his furious gaze from Viserys to Rhaegar. "Are you going to open your mouth?" Daemon demanded. "Or are we just going to sit around in the dark like eunuchs all night?"
Rhaegar did not turn around. He was gazing out the open balcony doors toward the night sky. The pale moonlight cascaded over his silver hair and sharp profile, highlighting his ethereal Valyrian features with a beautiful serenity. It was a picture of profound beauty, which naturally only enraged Daemon further.
Rhaegar held up a single hand, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "Patience, dear brother."
"For what?" Daemon shot back, his tone dripping with venom.
He did not have to wait long for the answer. A timid knock echoed at the heavy oak door.
"Come in," Viserys called out, sounding profoundly relieved for the distraction.
The door creaked open, and the terrified guard slipped inside. In his hands, he carried two heavy flagons of dark wine and three silver goblets. Keeping his head bowed, the man quickly crossed the room, placed the items on the small table between the three princes, and took a hasty step back.
"Thank you, good ser," Rhaegar smiled, finally turning away from the balcony.
The guard bowed so deeply he nearly folded in half, before practically fleeing the chamber as if he did not want to share the air with them a single second longer.
Rhaegar leaned forward. He arranged the three silver goblets on the table, picked one of the flagons, and poured the rich, dark liquid into each goblet. The heavy, spiced scent of the wine filled the space between them. Without a word, Rhaegar picked up his goblet and took a slow sip.
Daemon let out an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms tighter. "What are you trying to do, Rhaegar?"
Rhaegar lowered his cup and merely pointed to the table. "Drink."
Viserys shook his head with a quiet sigh, leaning forward to pick up his goblet. He took a measured sip, wincing slightly as it went down. Daemon watched Rhaegar for a few seconds more, his jaw tight with defiance, before pride got the better of him. He snatched his goblet from the table and took a sip.
Daemon nearly coughed, his eyes watering instantly. This was not the heavily watered-down liquid he was allowed at feasts. He had only tasted proper, unwatered wine a handful of times, usually stolen from the kitchens. This was a deep, robust vintage. It burned his throat as he swallowed.
He caught Rhaegar watching him. Refusing to show even a sliver of weakness, Daemon forced his face into a mask of indifference, tipped the silver goblet back, and gulped the rest of the strong wine down in three large swallows. He slammed the empty cup back onto the table with a loud clatter.
Rhaegar did not say a word. He simply raised a single, questioning eyebrow. Reaching forward with the flagon, he calmly filled Daemon's goblet right back to the brim.
Daemon stared at the dark red liquid, a deep frown creasing his brow. His eldest brother was acting incredibly strange. He hadn't come to speak to him in gods know how long, and now he wanted to share drinks with him.
Rhaegar set the flagon down. The heavy silver clinked against the wood. He leaned back in his chair, resting his forearms on the armrests, and fixed his gaze on his youngest brother.
"Viserys has made me aware of certain... grievances you have regarding me," Rhaegar said softly.
Daemon's head snapped toward Viserys so fast it was a wonder his neck did not snap. The sheer, venomous betrayal in his eleven-year-old eyes could have melted Valyrian steel. Viserys, to his credit, did not flinch, though he did tighten his grip on his own goblet.
Daemon whipped his head back to Rhaegar. "He is a liar," Daemon spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and cornered panic. "I have no grievances. Stop making up stories just so you can sit there and play the wise prince."
"Daemon-" Viserys started.
"Shut up!" Daemon snarled.
"There is no need to be embarrassed, Daemon," Rhaegar intervened, his voice remaining perfectly calm, devoid of its usual mocking edge. He leaned forward, stripping away the haughty charm he was said to have, leaving only an older brother looking at a wounded child. "If anyone in this room should feel shame tonight, it is me."
Daemon froze, his knuckles turning stark white where he gripped his silver goblet. That was not the response he had expected. He was braced for mockery, for condescension, for Rhaegar to coldly dismiss him. The admittance of fault threw him entirely off balance.
"Shame?" Daemon echoed, his voice dropping into a bitter, ragged sneer. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the stone. "Why would you ever feel shame? You are Prince Rhaegar. You claimed the Black Dread. You built fleets of gold. You put Maesters to shame in knowledge. In years, no knight apart from father and the Kingsguard has bested you in swordplay. And now, the King has given you Rhaenys."
Daemon's breathing turned shallow, his chest heaving as the dam finally began to break. The fury in his eyes began to fade, revealing the profound insecurity bleeding beneath it.
"You don't even see me," Daemon accused, his voice cracking, the raw emotion finally tearing through his throat. "I am in the yard every morning before the sun even rises. I fight squires years older than me. I swing that rusted iron until my palms rip open and bleed! And you just walk past me. You look right through me, like I am just another stone in the wall!"
Rhaegar did not interrupt. He sat perfectly still, letting his brother air the festering wounds that Rhaegar's shadow had inflicted.
"You are moving forward," Daemon continued, his hands shaking slightly as he gestured wildly toward the door, toward the Great Hall where the betrothal had taken place. "Soon you will be a man grown. You are going to sit at the tables of lords, whispering with them and commanding armies, and I am just... I am going to be left behind. You don't have time for me. Neither of you does."
Daemon stopped, breathing hard, his jaw trembling as he fought a losing battle against the heat rising behind his eyes. He glared at the floor, absolutely refusing to let his brothers see him cry.
The silence that followed was tense.
Rhaegar looked at the boy. He saw the fire, the desperation, and the immense, terrifying loyalty just waiting to be forged or shattered. In the stories he remembered, this was the exact kind of neglect that drove his brother to reckless abandon, to jealousy, and eventually, to the Dance of the Dragons.
Rhaegar stood up. He closed the distance between them, ignoring the way Daemon instinctively tensed.
Rhaegar reached out, placing a firm, warm hand on Daemon's shoulder.
"Look at me," Rhaegar said softly.
Daemon kept his eyes glued to the stone floor, his jaw locked tight.
"Daemon. Look at me."
Slowly, reluctantly, Daemon raised his head. His violet eyes were shimmering, fiercely fighting back tears.
"You do not have to break your bones in the yard for me to see you," Rhaegar said, his voice carrying an absolute, undeniable sincerity that left no room for doubt. "You do not have to bleed to earn my attention. And you never, ever have to earn my love. You are my brother. You have had it since the day you were born, and nothing, not a fleet of gold, not a betrothal, not the Iron Throne itself, can or will ever take that away from you."
Daemon stared at him, his breath hitching in his throat.
Rhaegar turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Viserys, who was watching them quietly from his chair.
"All three of us," Rhaegar said, making sure Viserys felt the weight of the promise just as heavily. "The world outside this room will try to divide us. They will whisper, and they will plot, and they will try to turn us against one another for their own gain. But they will fail. We are brothers. Through fire and the blood, we will stand together. Always."
Viserys nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile breaking across his tired face.
Rhaegar looked back down at Daemon. The heavy weight of the moment had served its purpose, but Rhaegar knew Daemon would shatter if forced to linger in his own vulnerability for too long. It was time to ground him.
A fond, entirely condescending smirk touched Rhaegar's lips. He reached up, pinching Daemon's cheek with the exact, irritating manner that only an older brother could master.
"Do not worry, Daemon," Rhaegar said, his tone shifting back to light, brotherly affection. "I am not going anywhere."
Daemon's face flushed a furious, embarrassed red. A single tear betrayed him, spilling over his lower lash and tracking down his cheek. He aggressively swatted Rhaegar's hand away, taking a quick step back and scrubbing his arm across his eyes.
"Whatever," Daemon muttered, his voice thick and watery, desperately trying to reassemble his haughty armour. "Keep your hands to yourself."
Rhaegar chuckled softly, stepping back and letting the boy have his pride. He stepped back to his chair and plopped down. "Come, this is too good a wine to waste."
Once the dam had broken and the tears were shed, the emotional exhaustion, compounded by three generous cups of unwatered wine, hit the boy like a physical blow. The conversation slowly slipped from the heavy weight of their bonds and future to simpler, lighter things. Old jests were shared, childhood memories spoken in hushed tones, until finally, Daemon's chin dropped to his chest. He slumped sideways in his chair, the empty silver goblet slipping from his loose grip to roll harmlessly across the rug.
A comfortable, lingering silence filled the bedchamber.
Rhaegar sat back, gently swirling the dark dregs of wine at the bottom of his cup. He watched the deep red liquid catch the moonlight, his mind churning, before he finally spoke.
"Did you ever feel the same?"
Viserys, who had been staring blankly into the hearth, slowly turned his head. "The same as what?"
"The same as Daemon," Rhaegar clarified, taking a slow sip.
Viserys stared at him. He did not blink, nor did his expression betray the sudden vulnerability of the question. He looked back down at his own goblet, studying it for a long, heavy moment.
"Sometimes," Viserys answered quietly.
He tipped his goblet back, finishing the last of his wine, and reached across the table for the flagon. Finding it empty, he let out a soft sigh and slumped deeper into the cushions of his chair.
Rhaegar looked at his younger brother. "I am sorry."
Viserys waved a hand dismissively, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It is fine, Rhaegar. You had better things to do. Unlike me."
"Why?" Rhaegar asked.
Viserys frowned, glancing sideways. "Why what?"
"Why do you not have better things to do? I thought you loved the histories, the architecture of old."
"I like them, yes," Viserys muttered, a distinct note of frustration bleeding into his voice. "But there are only so many books I can read about the same crumbling walls."
"We have the gold," Rhaegar offered. "I am sure we can bring a few master builders from the East, from Volantis, Qarth, anywhere you want, if you wish to study more."
"No," Viserys said.
The reply was sharp. Decisive.
Viserys turned his head, facing Rhaegar fully. The wine had flushed his cheeks, but his violet eyes were entirely clear. Something about him shifted.
"Let me join."
Rhaegar's brow furrowed, genuinely taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanor. "Join what?"
Viserys rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, brother. Do not insult me. I know there is ten times more to everything you do than what you let the world see. I know you have machinations everywhere."
Rhaegar slowly leaned back in his chair, his instincts instantly flaring to life. The relaxed, older-brother facade hardened slightly. "Why would you say that?"
"Years back," Viserys said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "When we met that strange woman in red. Just because I kept my mouth shut does not mean I forgot."
Rhaegar sat perfectly still.
"I know what she was now," Viserys continued, his eyes locked onto Rhaegar's. "A worshipper of the Red God. R'hllor, from the East."
Rhaegar tilted his head, a slow, highly amused smile curving his lips. He decided to test the waters. "And what of it? Are you going to run to the High Septon and inform the Faith?"
Viserys did not smile back. "They are dangerous people, Rhae."
Seeing the dead-serious look on his brother's face, Rhaegar let his smile fade. The amusement vanished. "I know."
"Then why are you in collusion with them?" Viserys demanded.
Rhaegar looked out the balcony doors, out toward the endless black expanse of the sea. He took a slow, deep breath, feeling the crushing weight of the future bearing down on his shoulders.
"Because it is wiser to have them at the table than hiding in the dark," Rhaegar answered, his voice devoid of any youthful innocence. "They are... necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
Rhaegar looked back at him. A rueful, melancholic smile touched his lips. "I don't really know anymore, Viserys. Survival, probably."
Silence reclaimed the room. Viserys looked at him, absorbing the sheer horror of the word survival.
"I had long suspected it," Viserys murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But you really are a Dragon Dreamer, aren't you?"
Rhaegar looked at his brother's slumped figure. He did not answer. He merely averted his eyes, letting the silence serve as a confirmation of a skill he did not actually possess. It was the perfect cover.
Viserys huffed, a low, dry chuckle escaping him. "Whatever the case may be. I say all this to show you that I can keep a secret." Viserys sat up straighter, leaning toward the table. "So, what I am asking you is to let me join your secret council, or order, or whatever it is you have built. Because I know it exists."
Rhaegar looked at Viserys for a long, quiet minute.
He truly examined him. Stripped of the loneliness and the terrible, crushing expectation of the Iron Throne that had ruined him in the original timeline, Viserys, his Viserys, had become someone entirely different. He was observant. He was quiet. He was intelligent. He gathered information while everyone else ignored him. Maybe it was his existence that made it so, but it mattered little what the cause of the change was.
Rhaegar broke into a genuine, incredulous chuckle. "Since when did you develop such a sharp head, brother?"
Viserys looked marginally sheepish at the sudden compliment, slicking back his hair.
Rhaegar's face morphed back into something much more serious. "There is no 'secret order' like in the old tales, Viserys. But I cannot deny that I have my secrets, and that I have people managing them."
Rhaegar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze piercing. "But I will tell you this. It takes far more than the ability to keep your mouth shut to sit at my table."
Viserys looked down, his shoulders dropping slightly as he took the words for a rejection.
"But," Rhaegar continued, his voice hardening. "If you can prove that you have what it takes, I will bring you into the fold in a heartbeat. You are my brother, after all."
Viserys immediately slid to the edge of his seat, his eyes alight with a fierce, sudden eagerness.
Rhaegar huffed a laugh at the boy's antics. He sat back, absently running his thumb over the rim of his empty goblet.
"There is a very curious man who has recently entered the capital," Rhaegar said, his tone turning dangerously soft. "His name is Otto. Younger brother to Lord Hobert Hightower of Oldtown. Have you heard of him?"
Viserys furrowed his brow, searching his memory. "No. What of him?"
Rhaegar looked straight into his brother's eyes, dropping the last remnants of his royal facade. "I want you to get close to him."
Viserys blinked, staying silent as he listened.
"He is an ambitious man," Rhaegar explained, the cyvasse board materializing in his mind before him. "He will try to come for me first because he cannot approach Rhaenys. I am the next eldest, the betrothed of the heir's heir. But I will be cold to his efforts. I will ignore him entirely. When he realizes he cannot penetrate my inner circle, he will turn his sights on the next best thing. You."
Rhaegar leaned closer, his violet eyes burning. "When he does, I want you to let him in. Make him believe that he has your ear. Make him think that you are in the palm of his hand."
Viserys swallowed hard.
"But be very careful, Viserys," Rhaegar warned, his voice a whisper. "He is extremely cunning. Never, and I mean never, actually fall into his hands."
Viserys stared at him, his mind racing to catch up with the game his brother was playing. "You want me to be an informant. Over a second son of Oldtown."
"Technically, yes," Rhaegar said flatly. "And do not, by any means, believe that this is an easy task I am assigning you. If you show him the smallest fracture, the tiniest opening, he will slither his way into your brain and your heart."
Viserys looked down at the stone floor. He took a long, steadying breath. He knew that the last traces of his childhood innocence were fading away. He looked back up, his jaw set with newfound grit.
"Fine. When do I start?"
Rhaegar smiled, a dark, entirely predatory smile.
"Do not worry," Rhaegar said softly. "He will come to you."
Viserys nodded slowly, accepting the burden.
"You do this without fault," Rhaegar promised, his eyes glinting in the dying firelight, "and you can consider yourself a permanent fixture of my 'secret council'."
He chuckled as he uttered the last two words.