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Arguments between father and Rhaegar were rare. Not that father didn't get angry at his older brother, he'd let anyone know what a disappointment Rhaegar was. Simultaneously ranting about his marriage to that Dornishwoman and also how little he'd see her. About how obviously the existence of his nephew and niece were daggers aimed at his throat, and how Rhaegar had a duty to create more Targaryens to continue the line, even if it meant the death of his wife, about how he was plotting on Dragonstone, isolated from the rest of the world hoping to wake dragons there and burn the Red Keep, and how he was conspiring with every single lord in the realm to usurp his rightful King.
But father rarely got into a real argument with him when the two were in the same room. Father had the dignity and resolution to present a united front when both were sharing the same air. The tourney and birth of their new son changed everything. Now, Elia couldn't leave the Red Keep without dying, being too weak to walk. And so, for the first time in years, Rhaegar stayed here.
Viserys thought he'd enjoy this. When Rhaegar was here, so was Arthur. Arthur Dayne was the best knight in the realm, even better than Barristan. Dark-skinned, with white and black hair, as tall as an oak and as muscled as an auroch, he and Rhaegar regularly practised in the yard, and it was exquisite to watch. Viserys had asked his father if one day he could squire for Rhaegar or Arthur, and his father had slapped him in the face for that, instead saying he had to be kept safe from their enemies. He had to stay here. That had saddened him, but now Rheagar had to stay here too; maybe he could ask again.
It wasn't just in the yard that the two men would meet. Viserys enjoyed wandering around the Red Keep, sometimes chasing his niece and playing with her cat. She'd insist he was hurting him just because he was stroking him, or training Balerion to live up to his legendary name, but while wandering around his castle, Viserys saw lots of things. Like the bald man meeting with a fat man in the bowels of the castle, whispering to one another, or Aerys talking to his pyromancers about wildfire. Not all of it was just talking, though. He had twice seen Rhaegar and his ever-present knight simply holding one another, down in some dark part of the castle, far from prying eyes. They'd hold each other's arms, or Rhaegar placed a hand on Arthur's chest and whispered lowly. He wished he could hear the conversation; perhaps they were planning to convince Father to let him leave the Red Keep with them when they did.
But as he said, it wasn't always quiet in the Red Keep. Rhaegar was always sad and usually quiet, but his father could pull him out of his melancholy and get him to shout, telling him how he really felt. He was good at letting Rhaegar live again, unlike his wife, who was just a silent, moaning, dying reminder of whatever it was that made Rhaegar so sad.
The two had been arguing in the throneroom late at night- Rhaella had been too tired, too sad, as she often was, to keep a close eye on him, and Viserys had used the opportunity, while she cried in bed, to sneak out and listen.
"I know you know who he is!" Father shouted, leaning forward on the throne. Only the White Bull and Darry stood beside him, their hands on their swords, dressed only in half of their shining plate armour, escewing the need for greaves. "For nearly a year, you've tried to hide him from me!"
"Still, your grace?" Rhaegar asked, exasperated. This was the side of Rhaegar nobody but family and their knights saw. The Rhaegar that wasn't just playing a harp and crying, the Rhaegar that felt something other than sorrow. The Rhaegar that lived. Even annoyed, Rhaegar kept his manners, calling father by his honourific. Viserys didn't quite know why. Aerys was their father; they were princes, not paupers or lesser men. He could call him family, but Rhaegar surely loved their father so much that he called him by his honours. "Ten moons now, and you're obsessed with a hedge knight that bested three men hardly worth their spurs?"
Viserys didn't know who they were talking about. Arthur Dayne? That was the first thought that came to mind whenever he heard Rhaegar talking about another knight, so inseparable were the two men.
"It could be a hundred lifetimes, Prince Rhaegar, and I will not forget treason as easily as you. I entrusted you with a task, and I want it carried out even now. I know you found him. Varys-"
Rhaegar huffed, throwing his arms out. He was so animated now, a distant cry from the man the lessers saw.
"Varys will tell you anything he thinks will make you hate me. What purpose would I have to fail you?"
Father scoffed.
"The same that you had when you called that tourney. Treason. To gather the realm around you, to poison their minds against their rightful King, to place yourself on my throne. To rule alongside Dornish mongrels, your good-uncle, your wife, your lover."
"Did I betray you? Did I poison you? Have I in any way been anything but your loyal son? I have married whom you asked, done as you asked. The Whents arranged that tournament, and they threw it in your honour," Rhaegar explained.
Aerys cackled to himself, rubbing one of his hands on the arm of the throne.
"Haha-" He said without mirth. "My honour? They truly honoured me when I found out about the whole thing from my spymaster. Mayhaps they sent Varys an invitation before me?"
Rhaegar let out a little breath, straightening his back. Father was right, of course. A Whent might sit on the Kingsguard, but they were no more loyal than anyone else. Only blood secured true, unyielding faith. Father had told him the few houses he could trust, but Viserys didn't know their sigils and couldn't remember their names.
"The whole thing was arranged at great expense, I hear. It could've gone desperately wrong. Perhaps the Whent's wished to wait until they knew the whole thing was ready for your royal presence?"
Aerys laughed again.
"Good enough for the Prince, not for the King? Is that your claim now? And how is it that these poor wretches afforded such a tourney? Varys informs me that Dragonstone has been awfully careful with its coin for several months. Am I to believe your unending sadness explains that? Am I to believe this mummer's farce of sorrow? Is the life of a Prince truly so difficult? I must've spoiled you rotten for you to not appreciate the life of a prince with his own castle."
"How quickly you forget Summerhall," Rhaegar said lowly. His voice was sharp and cruel; it was no wonder Ser Darry and Ser Hightower tightened their grip on their swords.
Aerys cackled again.
"Oh yes, my memory of one of my houses burning down when I was five and ten cannot compare to that of a babe of five minutes. Tell me, what was Ser Duncan like? Do you remember your grandfather's smile? Don't tell me you cannot remember Ser Maegor, oh gods, please, how could you not!" Aerys screamed, clutching at his heart with a bleeding hand, the other hand reaching for his forehead, his eyes fluttering. "Please, Rhaegar, I am lost without your prodigious memory. The images, the images Rhaegar! They fade like dew in the midday sun. Thank the Seven. My son, a babe at the time, remembered them and can tell his dear father what they were like. Oh, the Gods were merciful when they gave you unto me."
Rhaegar seemed to clench his teeth, his fists curling and uncurling.
"When was the last time you were there?" Rhaegar challenged.
"When I saw it aflame. When my cousins, my grandmother and grandfather, when the greatest knight of the realm burned. A knight far greater than that Dornish cur whose cock you suck in some back alley. A true knight, a true man."
Viserys had no idea what he was talking about, or whom. Everyone knew the Sword of the Morning was the greatest knight in the realm. There were plenty of songs about him, and one could tell by looking at him.
If Rhaegar was insulted by his father's words, he was doing a good job at not showing it. The knights by Aerys' side looked more uncomfortable than he did.
"You're right, your grace. I apologise," his brother said calmly.
Aerys laughed to himself once more, wiping his bloody hand on his robes, scratching at his chest with one of his long fingernails.
"Pathetic. Go," father said, pointing towards Viserys. He panicked before he realised that his father was just pointing towards the door nearby. "Perhaps you ought to return to your wife. She must've been missing you these past few days."
Rhaegar bowed his head slightly and turned on his feet, clicking his shoes together and marching off towards Viserys. He tried to hide, moving carefully around the pillar, but Rhaegar's violet eyes settled on him. He tilted his head slightly, signalling for the young boy to follow.
When Rhaegar opened the heavy wooden door, Viserys quickly slipped inside, his older brother following close behind.
Rhaegar clicked his tongue, tutting to himself.
"You shouldn't drop eaves, Vissy. The King has a short temper about spies."
Viserys scrunched his face in annoyance.
"I'm not a filthy spy!" He shouted.
Rhaegar pushed him onwards, away from the throne room.
"Aerys might disagree."
"Father! He's your father, too!"
Rhaegar sighed.
"Yes, I know. Sorry, Viserys."
Tears started to well up at the corner of his eyes.
"You should be nicer to him. He's not well," Viserys said. It was true. Mother didn't like talking about it, well, she didn't like talking much at all these days, but father was getting more scared, more worried. He had explained to Viserys how the walls were closing in, how his enemies were getting their claws into his own son. That one day, he might have to set the realm right.
Viserys wanted his brother's help with that, but Rhaegar seemed intent on fighting their father, not helping him.
"No, Viserys, he's not," Rhaegar said. He took a few seconds to study the boy, then patted him on the head and moved on.
"Get some sleep, brother. I'm sure Mother misses you."
_______________________________________
It was a week later, when the rains were falling heavily over King's Landing, that Rhaegar and Arthur entered their apartment within the maidenvault. Rhaella had been reading to him a story of a knight with sapphires for eyes, letting him trace the words with his fingers as she read, asking him to tell her whenever he didn't understand one.
"Mother, Brother. Elia and I are planning on a dinner with the children, and we'd wish for the two of you to join us," Rhaegar said, placing his hands behind his back, a rare smile gracing his lips.
Rhaella flinched slightly, glancing at the empty spot on the bed.
"Is your father-"
Arthur smiled too.
"His grace has been informed that a passageway has been found within the walls of the Red Keep, and that he should sequester himself with only his guard in the Godswood. If you worry for his health, a small wildfire brazier has been lit to keep him warm, and the White Bull's cloak shall shield him from the rain."
Viserys furrowed his brow, only for his eyes to widen when his mother laughed. It truly was a day of surprises. Viserys thought only he could bring such joy to his mother, but this knight could too?
"Oh, I am glad his safety is of paramount concern. Six knights should serve to protect him," Rhaella said.
Rhaegar chuckled.
"Indeed. As for you and the children, mother, well, Arthur and I shall have to do."
"The Sword of the Morning and the Champion of Harrenhal? Hmm... Adequete," Rhaella said, letting Viserys help her to her feet.
Viserys was very confused by everyone acting so strangely. Things only got more peculiar when they reached the table. The roast duck peas and leeks, covered in gravy and bread sauce, was normal, almost peasant food by Viserys's estimation, but everyone was so....
Aegon was fast asleep, his face buried in Elia's bosom, occasionally gurgling. Rheanys and he were flicking peas at one another from across the table, starting with their fingers and moving on to greater and greater contraptions, like forks and even a dagger.
Rhaegar and Arthur had combined their efforts to tell of the Kingswood brotherhood, laughing at poor young Merret Frey, who had been branded on the bottom by a woman. Rhaella had said some quiet comment that had all the adults laughing, though Viserys did not hear it.
For nearly three hours, they were laughing and celebrating. Arthur and Rhaegar had even taken part in this strange peasant game they had learnt while fighting the brotherhood, teaching the rest of the group how to play "Charades", a game in which you had to describe a book, mummers play, historical event or man of great renown without saying a word.
Viserys never successfully shouted a correct answer and had been most perplexed when his younger cousin guessed "Nymeria!" during his mother's turn, but it was still fun.
This was how it was supposed to be, he thought to himself. It was a shame that Father was not here; he'd enjoy this. He would doubtlessly be even better at this game than Arthur was, who had an uncanny ability to pretend to be someone else. Even Viserys had recognised his Maelys the Monstrous, though Rhaegar had been quicker to shout.
Mother had nearly tipped her wineglass on his head, and as an apology, placed her crown on her son's head with a giggle.
"My Darling Prince!" She slurred happily, kissing him on the forehead.
Viserys beamed, pulling the crown down over his head lest it float away. It rested around his neck.
When the White Bull entered, his cloak stained ever so slightly red, he explained that they had found a boy within the walls writing something down, and had dealt with him. He said they were to return to their quarters. As he turned to leave, the laughter and joy seemed to leave with him.
Rhaegar, his wife and Arthur returned to their apartment in the keep. Rhaegar had explained he was to set off early tomorrow on an errand, and it would be some time before he was to return, but wished Rhaella and Viserys well.
Mother had let him sleep with the crown on when she sent him off to his own room and bed. She swayed on her feet, and Viserys could see she was once more on the verge of tears.
"My brave prince," She whispered, returning to the room she shared with Father, each step slower than the last. With the crown on, it was a little hard to place his pillow over his ears that night, but he knew he would manage to forget them by dawn.
His hands shook, the silver and ruby crown in hand. They were calloused- years on the road had stripped the top layer of skin from them twice now by his count. His nails were filthy. Gone was the baby fat that kept his hands smooth and chubby; now they were almost skeletal. Darry had told him that "heavy was the brow that bore the crown", but so too was the hand that held it aloft.
"Final offer," the merchant said. Viserys glanced at the bag of gold. His other bony hand clenched into a fist. His mother's crown was supposed to be worth a kingdom. He had hoped that, if he ever needed to trade it, it would be for an army: the Golden Company, the Second Sons, a legion of Unsullied. Not for a bag of coins from a city he- his sister could not even pronounce correctly.
He thought back to how good that duck had tasted, at the corpses that sat beside him, and the ghosts who played their silly little games.
"Deal."