The Bronze Gate opened, and the guards at the gate, their armor clinking as they lowered their spears in salute, didn't waver in their gaze as a lone rider passed slowly through the first gate.
The horse was a pure white steed, not a single speck of color on its coat, its gait steady and elegant. In the setting sun, it moved along the dusty road outside the palace, the faint dust seeming to transform into a golden veil around it.
A harp was strapped to the horse's back. The rider was a young man, cloaked in a worn linen cloak, the hood pulled low, only half his face visible: tight lips, a slender chin, and a refined jawline, all as smooth and perfect as ivory. Even without seeing his entire face, one glance was enough to know he was a handsome man.
The attendants waiting at the third gate of the castle, upon seeing Prince Rhaegar return alone with his harp, immediately guessed where he had been: he must have gone to the dirty and chaotic Flea Bottom to sing as a bard again.
The attendants bowed, the stable boy led the horse away, and the highest-ranking personal attendant noticed something even more keenly: the prince's personal belongings—the ring, the collar, the jeweled clasp he wore when he left, and even the rubies inlaid on the horse's saddle—were all gone. Of course, this didn't mean the noble prince had been robbed, as Prince Rhaegar was one of the best fighters in King's Landing.
"You are truly benevolent."
Rhaegar, praised with such sincerity, showed no hint of satisfaction in his violet eyes. He looked depressed. Flea Bottom today was the same as always: foul-smelling and muddy, with sewage flowing everywhere. Skinny, impoverished people reached out to beg, children sat listlessly beside their dying relatives, and women of indeterminate age were dragged towards brothels by their hair—even though he had given them his wealth, even though he played the harp and sang—the one hundred and twenty-eight copper coins he earned, every single one stuffed into those withered hands—he felt no comfort. He found that the scene here was no different from his last visit, or the one before that. Some of the old people he had given money to before were no longer in their usual spots under the walls.
What can I even do?
The prince pondered, finding no appetite for the food placed before him. Each time he returned from Flea Bottom, he lost his appetite after witnessing what the poor considered delicacies – the copper coins he gave them only bought stale bread and a bowl of thin, brown soup.
Am I weak and useless?
Everyone in the Red Keep praised him as a skilled warrior. He scoffed at the thought. If he wasn't the king's son, if he wasn't a noble – if he'd grown up in Flea Bottom – the very people now surrounding him would wrinkle their noses and probably drive him away with whips.
He dismissed the six personal guards who stood watch in his chambers and opened a book in the flickering candlelight; reading alone each night was his favorite routine. He carefully traced the gold-leaf illustrations on the parchment, which was somewhat damaged with age. It was a treasured possession of his since childhood, a book of prophecies from the late King Aerys I. Many of the ancient words were difficult to read, but he had understood "Winter is Coming" since he was ten.
Rhaegar rubbed his forehead. While immersed in his reading, he also maintained awareness of something else, a skill of a good warrior.
He glanced at the window across from him, knowing someone had entered the room, delivered dinner, and extinguished the lamp.
In the tower across the way lived his young brother, Viserys. He was also the only surviving prince for over a decade. Since his birth, the king had ordered that no one was allowed to approach the young prince to protect him.
Nor would any servants dare to approach him.
Rhaegar would never forget his two younger brothers, Daeron and the unnamed prince who died before their first birthdays. The king suspected the prince's wet nurses, he suspected his mistresses, and ordered the imprisonment and torture of hundreds of people involved. The poor girl, Redony, who had been the king's mistress and strutted around the court, was eventually burned black with hot irons. Her screams reached her mother's ears… The queen's lips twitched in a smile, then she gazed out the window, tears falling like rain.
The king blamed the queen for her incompetence. Even Rhaegar himself was subjected to his suspicions. As the eldest son and only heir, he wouldn't be imprisoned, of course, but the cold, calculating look in the gold-crowned man's eyes made Rhaegar realize the wariness and displeasure. He was his father by blood, yet he saw him as a ruthless usurper. All of this deepened Rhaegar's melancholy.
The sensitive prince knew he carried a certain prophecy. But the great fire that celebrated his birth, which burned Summerhall and caused terrible casualties, and the fact that his mother, the queen, had been pregnant and given birth eight times, yet only he and Viserys survived... Could his birth have brought misfortune to the Targaryen family?
Without mentioning it to anyone, Rhaegar had always quietly kept an eye on his remaining brother. Now – there was an unusual movement.
He stood up abruptly, frowning at the opposite side. What was Viserys doing?! He wanted to climb out the window and run away?!
No one dared to spend time with the little prince! Rhaegar rushed out of the Crown Prince's suite without a second thought.
Thank the Seven. He managed to grab Viserys's arm before he fell! He successfully pulled him back!
The little prince looked stunned, his face pale with shock. Behind Rhaegar, the servants and guards rushed into the room. He turned his head, frowning at those who hadn't kept an eye on the five-year-old child, and said softly, "Viserys almost lost his life tonight. You must be punished. I am removing you from your court duties now."
"Everyone understood. The Crown Prince punished them ahead of the King, excellent! If Prince Rhaegar hadn't arrived in time, they and their families would have been tied to the stake before sunset tomorrow."
Then, Prince Rhaegar sent a message to Lady Stannis Baratheon, who was staying in King's Landing with several children and was deeply trusted by the King, asking her to send someone to look after Viserys temporarily.
Turning his head, Viserys stared at him with round, bright eyes; his younger brother shared his blood, his purple pupils like lavender.
He gently stroked the top of his pale-gold hair. "Hello, Viserys, I'm Rhaegar, your older brother."
The little prince continued to stare at him, his expression blank. Rhaegar knew this was a reaction to the shock, and he ordered the royal physician to come again—
The cautious, nervous physician gave the most conservative treatment: to bleed the little prince.
Rhaegar frowned. Before he could say anything, Viserys suddenly burst out with a loud cry— "I don't want it!!"
He threw himself towards his brother. "I don't want it, I don't want it! I'm fine! Don't bleed me!! Brother, save me!!"
Rhaegar looked down at his shirtfront, which was clutched tightly by a tiny fist, and was utterly surprised. He had never had close contact with his siblings; his status and martial prowess meant no one dared to grab him. He was a little unsure how to handle the situation—although, Viserys did indeed seem to be perfectly fine, judging by his clear speech and boundless energy.
When Lady Stannis Baratheon, who had been hastily summoned to the palace, arrived with the nannies, the troubled Prince Rhaegar still hadn't managed to escape Viserys's clutches.
The young prince, who rarely interacted with others, seemed to have taken his brother Rhaegar as a suddenly appearing, shiny treasure. Yes, just like a young dragon guarding its hoard, unwilling to budge an inch. Who could have guessed that, in Viserys's eyes at this moment, knowing the future plot, Rhaegar was a lifeline to save him from a tragic fate. He was truly terrified and had to hold tightly onto the first step that could change his destiny.
After all attempts to get Viserys to let go had failed, the Lady Stannis Baratheon said with a smile, "Children always love beautiful people, Your Highness the Crown Prince. You have completely captivated the young prince. He doesn't want anyone else."
"It's not a good idea to isolate the young prince like this. Tomorrow, I'll request to speak to His Majesty—I'm quite good at taking care of children! Although this matter is best suited for Her Majesty the Queen, or, in the future, your wife—"
Rhaegar sighed and expressed his thanks to the departing lady. He said gently to his brother, "Viserys, would you like to listen to me tell you a bedtime story?"
The young prince nodded vigorously.
Rhaegar then settled his brother and himself on the spacious bed. He had read that many children would fall asleep contentedly after listening to stories. After some thought, he decided to tell his brother the stories he had read about their ancestors.
"Eight thousand years ago, to the east of the continent we're on now, there was a country, supposedly called the Freehold. Dragons soared freely in the cities and coexisted peacefully with humans. Golden-red lava flowed between the cities, and there were fourteen fire peaks—"
Viserys listened to Rhaegar's smoky voice, becoming more and more engaged. He pretended to listen carefully, but in reality, he was admiring the beauty without blinking. How could anyone be so gentle and handsome? Looking at his purple pupils, which shimmered like deep pools of gems, and his thick eyelashes, the same color as his hair, so delicate and elegant, while his brows balanced the gentleness with a masculine air—If I can grow to even a tenth of this beauty, I'll wake up smiling at myself in the mirror every day!
Unaware of this, Rhaegar spoke of the story's tragic ending with a sorrowful voice: all the fire peaks erupted, turning buildings, people, and dragons into dust—
Uh, is this a story for little kids?
Viserys quietly complained, but looking at Rhaegar's melancholy eyes, his brother did seem to be naturally prone to depression.
Thinking for a moment, he tugged at Rhaegar's long hair, "But I think there's still hope! It's impossible that everyone on the continent died, and there are dragons, don't they fly?"
Rhaegar nodded gently, "Indeed, a certain local lineage escaped this disaster, which is our Targaryen family. They brought dragons and conquered the current Westeros. However... the dragons are now extinct."
Looking at his brother, who was truly exuding a gloomy aura, Viserys sat up and said in a firm tone, "Then we'll call to them like our ancestors did, and the dragons will return! One day, they'll come soaring down from the sky! Then, brother, you can ride one, and I want one too! What should we name the dragons?"
Rhaegar, worn down by his younger brother's relentless demands, lost the inclination to brood. He patiently answered his brother's questions all evening, the details of their conversation eventually fading into a blur as he drifted off to sleep.
Unbeknownst to him, Viserys was once again propped up, chin in hand, admiring his sleeping face. "Truly handsome," he murmured, lost in appreciation. Such beauty deserves a hundred years of praise. How could Rhaegar die so young? Such a waste is not allowed! He also felt relieved that his transmigration hadn't been too disastrous. Viserys had picked up on a crucial detail from the lady Stannis Baratheon's flattery of Rhaegar: Rhaegar was currently unwed.
Excellent! The earliest of a series of tragedies, and there was still time to prevent it! He wouldn't allow Rhaegar to marry the Dorne Princess according to the original plan!