The Crown Prince's ship unfurled its sails to the full, cutting westward along the mouth of Blackwater Bay toward the open sea. The royal fleet patrolling the waters spotted the banner of the Targaryen three-headed dragon and, from afar, signaled their salute to His Highness with flag code.
Rhaegar stood against the wind, gazing toward the stretch of mainland emerging ahead across the waters—over two hundred years ago, King's Landing had still been nothing more than a fishing village, the first stop of the War of Conquest. Back then, Aegon the Conqueror had set out from Dragonstone as well, following the very route Rhaegar traveled today to set foot upon the continent of Westeros.
The Crown Prince had been familiar with his ancestors' glorious deeds since childhood through books. He looked up at the three hills of King's Landing, each named for Aegon and his sisters—legend said that out of family duty he married his elder sister Visenya, and out of love he married his younger sister Rhaenys… Both queens had fought for Aegon's affection in their own ways.
Love cannot be seized by force, Rhaegar thought.It is born naturally, cannot be fabricated, and is utterly different from the familial bond that accompanies it—his thoughts turned to his younger brother, and a brief, bitter smile crossed his face.
The ship pressed on. Upon Aegon's High Hill stood the pale red stone castle where he and his brother had grown up. The towers were inlaid with amethyst glass, gleaming like Targaryen eyes. The deep shade of the godswood dotted one side of the narrowing river channel—how many beautiful nights had been recorded in that place. Rhaegar watched it with unmistakable nostalgia in his gaze.
The winch chains rose slowly, the sluice gates lifting. The waterway they followed was a small passage linking the Blackwater Rush to the area outside the royal palace, part of the Red Keep's vast, spiderweb-like network of secret ways. Wearing his family's black helm, Rhaegar stepped steadily onto land. His cloak flared as he swung up onto his horse and led his small retinue toward the nearest bronze-and-oak gate.
The Gold Cloaks on patrol saluted the returning Crown Prince, their weapons flashing dazzlingly in the sunlight. Gate after gate, layer upon layer of familiar inner courts, covered bridges, and courtyards. Suddenly, Rhaegar reined in his horse and came to a halt.
To his delight, at the entrance of Maegor's Holdfast ahead—there stood a large group, armor and garments bright and fresh. At the very center of the formation was his brother!
Viserys!!
Seven Gods—thank you for letting me see him!!
The Crown Prince's heart pounded wildly. Since the night before his wedding, he had never again seen his brother up close—his dazzling, radiant brother!
Viserys was not dressed like the other knights and lords heading out, in fitted armor. He still wore a light summer shirt, with a red-and-black brocade coat draped over it. Today, at King Aerys's side, he had already achieved his goal. With success in hand, and unwilling to linger in the Red Keep where his brother's presence was everywhere, he had simply gathered his attendants and prepared to depart.
The moment he stepped out of Maegor's Holdfast, Viserys could not help but widen his eyes—
Gods! Is this my imagination?
The brother he had been longing for stood right there, at a gate in the distance ahead! Though backlit, his features indistinct, there was no mistaking that posture—no one stood like his brother! And no one else possessed a full head of silver hair shining so brilliantly—sparks that instantly ignited the fire in Viserys's violet eyes.
His excited, fevered mind could not control the trembling of his body. Viserys leapt down from his horse and strode straight ahead, faster and faster—then he was running, hurling himself toward his goal.
Rhaegar, too, stepped out from among his attendants, striding quickly to meet his brother. That his brother was still willing to be close to him filled him with sincere joy—
Smiling, the Crown Prince opened his arms to the silver-haired youth who had shot up another stretch in height. Viserys was like a beautiful great bird, plunging straight into his embrace.
"Brother!"
It was a touching display of brotherly affection. They were truly close. That was what the guards and attendants inside and outside the castle all thought.
A pair of elegant hands clutched tightly at the armored arms, their owner still breathing hard. The breath he exhaled fogged and warmed the black iron cuirass right before him, as if it were being smelted—Rhaegar felt his own skin heat with it, his blood warming. The one he loved most, his brother, was right here within his arms. His brother lowered his head; with just a slight tilt, he could kiss him as he had before.
Rhaegar exerted every ounce of restraint, letting everything remain natural.
"Brother—" Viserys murmured softly. His heart thudded madly, and at last he received a feather-light touch to his forehead. Brother is far too measured, the young prince thought, unwilling and confused. Don't you love me? Then I want passion that won't let go, biting and entwining— He swallowed, stealing a glance at his brother's jaw, terrified that the chaos in his mind might spill out.
"Viserys." His brother called his name in a gentle, smiling voice. As those lips opened and closed, Viserys's gaze drifted upward, staring—imagining leaving rose-colored bruises there, wishing his tongue could become a daring explorer, charging straight toward that pearl-laden land—
Would his secret fantasies be seen through?
"It's getting late. Bat hour is almost here. Tonight… will you stay in the Red Keep?" Rhaegar asked with concern.
Viserys nodded blankly, then shook his head—stay the night? In the Red Keep? What about you, brother? He nearly blurted out, Can we sleep together? The brother he adored was right before him—to hell with morals and taboos, those damned constraints. Who could control him? They loved each other! It was only right!! He would be that Nearys who seized love without scruples, who held fast to his own choice—why not? Why not?!
Rhaegar clearly noticed his brother's taut state. Sensitively, he thought that Viserys must be recalling his confession again… If they could still maintain the closest bond of brothers, he should be content. So the Crown Prince gently stepped back half a pace, soothing him with a mild expression.
"It's all right, Viserys. I'll go to the White Tower tonight to visit Jon again. Would you like to come with me?"
Viserys glanced at the high tower bedroom of Maegor's Holdfast, then looked back at his brother, who seemed to see straight through his thoughts—and shamelessly nodded.
And so, just like before, Rhaegar took Viserys along to one of those "young people's gatherings." His friends in King's Landing—Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, and also Hightower, Velaryon, and several young men from the city's great houses, including Jaime Lannister—were all assembled in the meeting room of the White Sword Tower.
They drank in moderation, spoke freely without barriers of rank about matters great and small in King's Landing, and inevitably the topic turned to the losses suffered by the Prince of Summerhall in this affair.
Golden-haired Jaime, like Tyrion, loathed the Iron Islands. Because the Westerlands had suffered countless incursions, he called them a land of plunder, a people of brigands.
Rhaegar sighed. "Because from ancient times there has been the saying: those who sail do not sow. The Ironborn needed to build large numbers of ships, and to do so they cut down all the trees on their islands. With no choice, they turned their eyes toward the green lands. And once people discover that with sword and axe they can obtain more, they can never escape that way of life."
"'Taking is better than toiling.' The Greyjoys' words are still that, even today."
"Your Highness, do you sympathize with the Iron Islands?"
"No." Rhaegar denied it outright. "Plunder must be punished, strictly forbidden, and the Ironborn restrained. But I think that everyone present—if we had not been born into our current houses, but instead on the Iron Islands—perhaps right now we would be sitting on a ship, axe in hand."
Hearing this, Viserys suddenly realized that his brother would not only be the greatest of kings—he was also a true knight. If the Lord of Light truly had a prince walking the mortal world, the gods would have to be blind for it to be anyone else.
He gazed at his brother, his longing deepening, yet unease crept in—his brother was like a god, beloved by all; he was merely one among countless admirers. His brother said he loved him, but…
His brother's love—
Even if he were to fall in love with Lyanna, he would first dissolve his own marriage to give her a proper name, and only then would they have children… If he knew that Viserys's mind was full of thoughts of ruthless exclusion and possessive obsession, of being so base and dark that he wouldn't mind even being just a lover—would he still love him?
His brother's love was open and upright, wholehearted. He'll discover what kind of person I am, Viserys thought. A black-hearted, greedy brother, wanting endless entanglement, wanting to fall… Then he might not love me anymore. How foolish I am. Brother is spiritual, devoted; yet I've caught Robert Baratheon's sickness, drooling over the bed… Oh! From beginning to end, his brother would never want to roll in bed with his own brother.
His face flushed red. He warned himself that if he didn't want to lose his brother, he should act a bit more like a knightly Plato. When it came time to part, Viserys suppressed his wanton thoughts, straightened his spine, and leaned briefly against his brother's shoulder.
"I'm leaving, brother. Take care."
He felt Rhaegar's happiness. Viserys lowered his lashes, despising himself for still being restless at such a moment, still wanting to be with his brother… Dejected, he thought, I can't drag brother down and ruin his reputation… He will be the most renowned and wise king. He must not be tainted by rumors of taboo.
Rhaegar patted Viserys on the back. Though there were a thousand words he wanted to say, now was not the time. He gently assured his brother that the matter of the Iron Islands would not leave him at a disadvantage.
"My father and I will come to an agreement on this. Quellon Greyjoy must restrain his people and forbid plunder."
"Brother! You mustn't go against Father's will!" Viserys pleaded despite himself.
Smiling, Rhaegar told him, "If Father's decisions are in error, we should stop them—or at least lessen the harm. Viserys, this is the duty of a prince. Don't worry. Father cannot do anything to me."
Viserys opened his mouth, but in the end dared not say it—it was I who urged Father to make an example of the Iron Islands. The entire raid had been a trap; war would inevitably ignite. Ships wrapped in wet cowhide, filled with sand and wildfire, had long since set sail, disguised as merchant vessels lying in wait in the seas of the Westerlands…
The Stormlands, Storm's End.
Robert Baratheon was savoring the sight of this piece of merchandise brought by a merchant: it was a chair, plump and unlike any chair he had ever seen, like several large, soft loaves of bread piled together.
"Look, my noble lord. This is the most precious and comfortable new furniture of the age—a sofa. Its surface is made from fine, tender sheepskin, smooth and soft to the touch. It won't feel icy in winter, nor hot like fur in summer. And its most marvelous use is—every lady will love it!"
Robert roared with laughter and tried sitting on it. He felt as though he were being embraced by one—no, several—voluptuous kitchen maids, sitting upon their full, springy thighs!
And there was more. The finest sponge cushions and wire springs clearly supported Robert as he flopped about on the sofa like a giant infant weighing two hundred pounds, without collapsing. His massive frame bounced up and down, feeling the creak and springiness, imagination running wild—yes! He could bring a woman he fancied onto this new piece of furniture and have his fill! Far more exciting than doing it on a bed! Hahaha! His powerful arms could lift the girl up—then sit back down! The girl would be like a little four-hoofed foal—
The image in Robert's mind transformed again into the wild, brown-haired Lyanna. How perfectly she would fit!
The more he thought, the hotter his body grew. He couldn't wait to pull some agreeable girl at his side to quench his burning desire early—and when the merchant named the price, fifteen thousand silver stags, he agreed without a second thought.
"Excellent! Don't move it to my bedchamber—put it right in the center of the great hall! I'll sit on it and enjoy my wine! And women!"
He laughed heartily, then turned and saw the stiff expression on his younger brother Stannis's face. Robert's thick black brows knit together.
"Hey! Don't look like that!"
"When Father and Mother return from Essos and see how much you spent, their expressions will be uglier than mine," Stannis said coldly.
"Shut up!" Robert snapped. "I've lost the only girl I ever wanted! Now I can't even buy a piece of furniture without someone pointing fingers at me?"
Stannis's expression turned mocking.
"Just wait! I'll toss you to some poor count's house and make you marry his ugly daughter!" Robert threatened.
Just as the brothers were about to erupt into another clash, the maester of Storm's End hurried in, holding up a freshly received letter, panting and pale with tension.
"My noble young lord! War! There is war! His Grace the King orders the North, the Westerlands, and Storm's End to join forces and campaign against the Iron Islands! Prince Viserys will also lead a contingent to join!"
"Oh!" At the mention of battle, Robert was instantly invigorated. He asked casually, "And the Crown Prince?"
"It is said that Prince Rhaegar was harshly reprimanded by the King and sent back to Dragonstone, forbidden to return to the Red Keep."
...
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"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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"Game of Thrones The Glory of a Knight"
(End Chapter)