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A Golden Path: Foundation 2.5 (ch. 14)
🕑 Added 2025-02-10 16:24:53 +0000 UTCNobility could only be maintained for brief amounts of time, Rhaegar witnessed as the festivities continued as he was seated in a place of honor. Music filled the banquet hall, people danced on the floor while others continued to gorge themselves on the seemingly never ending courses. On the very first day of the celebrations, the nobles maintained that aristocratic dignity.
However, it wasn't something that was easy to maintain. Not for most, at least. It was like clenching your fists at all hours of the day -- restraining yourself, measuring every word and action, watching the invisible web of alliances, friendships, and grudges that were ever changing amongst your peers. It was exhausting. Rhaegar knew that quite well. He didn't have the same kind of magnanimous charisma that seemed to feed off of interacting with others.
Most days, a celebration like this would be enough to drain most people. A celebration that now extended on for over a week? That was pushing it. However, now that the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms had done thing but indulge themselves for closing in on two weeks?
That visage was slipping everywhere. Men and women showed up drunk to the start of celebrations, as they were still drunk from another party that happened the night before. Or, they arrived hobbled with drinking pains. Which made it that much harder to maintain your dignity and made it harder to avoid giving offense. The pride of the nobility was already a prickly thing, but too loose tongues and sour moods made the palace volatile.
It was unsustainable, Rhaegar witnessed. The nobility could only manage to tolerate each other in small doses, hours at a time over the course of a few days.
“You seem rather deep in thought, my love,” his betrothed noted, seated next to him. “You've hardly touched your… quail stuffed pigeon,” Aenessa observed, a touch of amusement in her voice.
He offered a thin smile, “Merely realizing that by the time our wedding has arrived, the Seven Kingdoms is likely to shatter to pieces.” He saw the rifts forming, both large and small. Some were catastrophic and beyond anyone's hope of repair -- Rhaegar could almost feel the radiating anger from Tywin Lannister as he sat at the high table amongst the other lords. The man hadn't stopped seething as he was humiliated by his father, and humiliated further every day since.
Others were less grave. Boys fighting over the same girl, duels happening over insults. Duels to the death were expressway forbidden, but they still happened and those grieving cared little about the legality of the duel. Some simply found their way into the center of controversy due to the excessive rumor mongering, sometimes deservedly so but often due to entirely invented falsehoods.
“I wouldn't be so sure, my love,” she said, reaching out and placing a hand on his. “There seem to be as many alliances being made. I suspect you'll break even.” She said with a slight smile and, of their own will, Rhaegar's gaze went to the dance floor where an unexpected couple were dancing freely.
Robert Baratheon and Elia Martel. They weren't yet betrothed, but Robert made it known he intended to court her. And, to the surprise of many, Elia was receptive. even now, as they danced, they both wore soft smiles and candied words that were lost in the music.
Rhaegar felt a pang of jealousy deep in his heart for his cousin. Not because of the woman, though Elia was beautiful and a clever match. He was jealous that their match was a happy one. No doubt Lord Steffon pushed for it, but they seemed happy.
And that wasn't something Rhaegar had any expectation of being with his own marriage.
“I suppose you're right,” Rhaegar allowed, his gaze dancing around as he looked to the others. Such as Paul Atreides as he spoke quietly to Ned Stark, who stole a glance at Ashara Dayne with a red face. Though, despite his apparent nervousness, he approached the woman with a stiff spine and wooden legs. “Though, I suspect we will have to redraw a few maps.”
For this was also one of the few occasions that the Seven Kingdoms interacted on this scale. His ancestors Jaeharys had begun the integration of the Seven Kingdoms into one unified whole, yet that work was not yet complete.
“That too, can be to our benefit, can it not?” Aenessa asked, and Rhaegar looked into her eyes and he saw… nothing. How easily she called him her love, yet he didn't see an ounce of affection in her gaze. In the weeks since they met, through the long feasts and the stolen private moments, Rhaegar found that he was no closer to her than he was when they first met. He might know more about her -- what tea she liked, what flowers she preferred, yet he didn't know her.
Dealing with her… it felt like he was dealing with himself. How many had tried to ingratiate themselves with him? All to seek his friendship so they might benefit when he sat upon the Iron Throne. He understood his own reputation as being aloof and melancholic, which made it hard to approach. And, if they were peers, Rhaegar could understand her cadence quite well. Yet, they weren't.
They were to be husband and wife. King and queen.
And it felt as if there was an unassailable wall between them. Which hardly gave him any reason to trust her.
“I suppose you are right once more,” Rhaegar allowed, running a thumb over her knuckles. “In that case, shall we?” He said, asking for a dance.
Aenessa offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes, “It would be a pleasure, my love.” She agreed as they both stood up from the high table, and instantly, he found dozens of eyes looking their way. Some more subtly than others. They walked hand in hand, and because so much attention shifted to them, the many that had eyed Ashara Dayne for a dance missed it when Eddard Stark led her to the dance floor.
Aenessa knew the dances well, despite her short time in Westeros. They moved in perfect synchronization, gliding across the floor so lightly they barely touched it. She wore a gentle smile, her expression relaxed and inviting -- making it appeared as if she were a woman gripped by love and expressing the deepest of joys because a dream came true.
Rhaegar found that he was coming to hate that expression. Simply because she was so good at faking it that he couldn't believe anything was real. All of her felt so… curated. As if she molded herself to be the perfect idea of a wife, and Rhaegar found it entirely off putting.
Yet, he would never dare say as much. And, as the dance concluded, he couldn't deny it did have some benefits as both of them were promptly besieged by poltiking nobles who didn't dare approach the high table. In public, she was demure, offering only the occasional remark or observation, and always in support of whatever Rhaegar found himself saying at any given moment.
Then they glided over a very different dance floor. Or, perhaps it would be more correct to call it a battlefield -- and, if it wasn't handled with care, it could be just as bloody as a true killing field. Nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms approached them, including the North. Some trying to ingratiate themselves, others bringing court gossip while others brought their grievances and expectations.
“An unlikely match,” Aenessa tittered behind a hand as their gazes shifted.
“It's their third dance?” Rhaegar noted, seeing Eddard and Ashara still dancing. Unbidden, Rhaegar found himself looking to Arthur, who was still positioned at the high table. His face was largely hidden behind his helmet, but his pale violet eyes seemed to be affixed on the dance floor itself, so it would seem that he had noticed. There were few curses quite like having a beautiful sister, Rhaegar thought to himself, having to swallow a smile.
“She could do better than some savage of the North,” one man remarked, his tone sharp with an edge of bitterness. “The second son of a great house or not,” he added, speaking just a bit louder, and earning some chuckles and mutters of agreement.
Rhaegar expected it. There were few faster ways to pull yourself up than to pull another down. Just as there was no faster way to make friends than to have a common foe.
Yet, faster didn't always mean good.
“The fuck you say you shite for brains fuckin’ piss pot?” Robert Baratheon thundered, his head snapping to the group of nobles that Rhaegar found himself surrounded by with such intensity that it was a wonder he didn't break his own neck. A couple bumped into him on the dance floor as he and Elia suddenly stopped in the middle of the dance. Elia herself seemed faintly alarmed but said nothing as Robert shoved past another couple.
The noble in question locked up, his expression one of utter panic. Honestly, Rhaegar just found it impressive that Robert had managed to hear the remark. So, the noble looked to Rhaegar, expecting to be saved from the thunderous rage.
Rhaegar did give it a moment of thought.
Just a moment though.
A friendship with Robert was simply more beneficial than a favor for… a Stormlander? Rhaegar hadn't realized and, more importantly, neither did Robert.
Robert simply strode forward, grabbing the man by the head before lifting him off of the ground to headbutt him. The sound that rang out reminded Rhaegar of a skull being struck by a mace. Unsurprisingly, the noble crumpled like a sheet of parchment.
“Robert… that was one of your bannermen,” Rhaegar felt compelled to point out. And, in response, Robert spat on the unconscious man.
He really was just a breath of fresh air. Rhaegar wasn't even sure if Robert was capable of long term thinking.
And, another time, perhaps cooler heads would have prevailed. Robert hardly needed a reason to start a brawl, but defending his friend's honor was a compelling one for him. The others, however, were they not drunk or hungover, would have had second thoughts about what they did next. Because, what they did next was a man threw a wild punch at Robert that clipped his chin. A weak punch, but Robert was hardly known for his restraint.
Robert struck back and, as the second blow landed, the conflict became a tavern brawl. Robert was immediately swarmed, which caused stormlanders to take note that their future lord was being attacked. Though, Robert seemed almost overjoyed as he proved his prodigious strength by treating grown men like they were boys trying to wrestle down their father.
Rhaegar merely took a step back, pulling his bride away from the growing storm of flying fists. And, even now, his bride didn't express any true emotion. Her expression was one of surprise, sure, yet it didn't match her body language. She clung to his side as if she were seeking protection and comfort, but the action felt too controlled. Panic made the body clumsy, and she didn't.
All the same, he accepted it, “Perhaps it would be best if we stepped out for some fresh air?” He remarked, taking another step back as the brawl seemed to grow.
“Lets,” Aenessa replied in a tightly controlled voice. With that, they retreated across the floor and Rhaegar was almost glad for the distraction as they went unnoticed as they headed to the balcony of the ballroom.
Calling it fresh air was an exaggeration, Rhaegar knew. The stench of King's Landing was almost legendary at this point, but it couldn't be compared to what it was now, when the city was overstuffed twice over. He had long since gone nose blind to it, but even to him, someone who was raised in this city, the air was particularly foul.
Yet, it was quieter. There was that, at least.
It seemed like a perfect moment of respite… until Rhaegar saw they weren't alone on the balcony. His heart stilled in his chest as he saw Paul Atreides leaning against the railing, taking a moment to gaze out at the city. At least until the sound drew his attention and he glanced over his shoulder. His posture straightened and he immediately dipped into a respectful bow, “Prince Rhaegar. Lady Aenessa.”
“Lord Atreides,” Aenessa greeted him with a certain tightness in her voice and, despite herself, her grip tightened on Rhaegar's arm. “We hope we aren't intruding but the festivities have become… a bit too festive for our tastest.” And, as if to punctuate her statement, there was the pained shout of a man followed by a chair being smashed.
Paul offered a thin smile, “I can hardly protest. It is your balcony, after all. As for the party itself… one would think they would save it for the melee on the morrow.”
One would think so, Rhaegar found himself agreeing as they approached the stone railing that overlooked the gardens and the city beyond. The exhaustion bled away, replaced with an almost seering panic -- why now? Why now, of all times? He had been angling to find a private moment with Paul in a way that wouldn't arouse his suspicions like an official summoning would. Why did it have to be now, when he found it with a snake hanging off of his arm?
“When one is as deep in their cups as they, I suspect thoughts of tomorrow never occur to them,” Rhaegar said conversationally. “I see it's not a weakness that you shall share in the melee,” he observed, noting that Paul was one of the few who was neither drunk nor hungover.
“I fear that I shall need whatever edge I can get to win,” Paul replied, his tone humble but that's not what the stories said. Robert was a braggart, but he was a rare breed who'd brag about anyone rather than just his own accomplishment. And he had quite a bit to say about Paul’s prowess. “I think that is perhaps something that we both share, my prince. Stacking the deck well beforehand against a foe that seems… almost overwhelming.”
Rhaegar couldn't quite hide his reaction -- he blinked. His tone didn't change, yet the wording didn't quite fit. The melee would have the best knights of every kingdom participating in an all out fight where one kingdom would stand victorious. There were many knights that would prove fearsome, certainly a challenge to overcome, but… ‘a foe.’ As in one foe in particular.
“I can't say that I disagree, Lord Atreides,” Rhaegar replied after the briefest of replies. It didn't necessarily mean anything. He could be jumping to conclusions. It would be best to not reveal his hand until he was absolutely sure what Paul meant by that. “The contest is promised to be fearsome. But quite rewarding to the victor.”
“Indeed, my prince,” Paul agreed easily before there was the sound of glass smashing. They looked over to see that the brawl had only grown in the ballroom. “You have my sympathies, Prince Rhaegar. And you, Lady Aenessa. I can only imagine what it be like to bare such a burden. Though, I do imagine it'd be like herding cats. Very angry cats,” he added, seeing a man get a wine glass smashed over his head by a man that he hadn't even been fighting.
“I fear that… is a rather apt description, Lord Atreides,” Rhaegar admitted with some exasperation. “Uniting them for a common goal has its difficulties,” he added, testing the waters just a bit.
Only for Aenessa to speak up. “It's quite possible that you'll have your common cause soon enough, my love. The nobility have treated the matter with the Daughters entirely too lightly, I fear.”
“Indeed,” Paul swiftly agreed. “I do feel some responsibility for the development, as I was one of the responsible for setting the events into motion.”
That caught his attention, “You believe that this trade war will escalate then?” Rhaegar saw nothing of it in his dreams.
“Almost certainly,” Paul said with a small nod. “The Daughters will have to retaliate in some form, and it only becomes a question of what degree. The issue could be one of survival in their mind for those who live in decadence… mere excess can feel like oppression.” Rhaegar found that he didn’t disagree with the idea, but his lips thinned. If there was a war coming to the Seven Kingdoms, then surely his dreams would have forewarned him of it?
Or perhaps they had? Had he mistaken what the conflict that was centered around Paul was? Was the looming darkness that plagued his dreams not of the White Walkers, but warning him of disaster from a war with Essos? It seemed unthinkable and Rhaegar’s first reaction was the reject the idea outright -- there was no way he could be so wrong about so much.
His second reaction was to force himself to consider the idea. The danger of prophecy was in interpreting it. That was a fact he had hammered into his mind and something he reminded himself of every time he wrote down one of his dreams. Yet, the very thought made his stomach twist into knots. The idea that he could be so mistaken sent a shiver down his spine and, worse, he couldn’t entirely hide his reaction.
Not from Paul nor from his betrothed.
“I wouldn’t overthink it, my love,” Aenessa swiftly tried to reassure him. “I have seen both the Daughters and the Seven Kingdoms, and I can say with certainty that should it come to war, the Seven Kingdoms shall triumph. You shall triumph,” she said, placing a hand on his and gave it a small squeeze.
“Indeed, my prince,” Paul was quick to second. “The lords of Essos are unfamiliar with war. It is why they hire mercenaries to fight for them. Those who fight for coin will quickly see which way the wind is blowing, I suspect, once the conflict between us begins in earnest.” The reassurance did little except confirm Paul’s confidence that there would be a war.
It wasn’t enough to shake his iron certainty of what was to come. But it was enough to plant a seed of doubt. If he had managed to miss something so glaring… then what else had he missed?
“My thanks,” Rhaegar replied with an easy confidence that he didn’t feel. He plastered on a fake smile. “Your concern is much appreciated. In fact, as I suspect you’ll be one of the central figures in this conflict, either a mere trade war or a war in earnest, I would appreciate your perspective.” On what, he didn’t say, but the request was a reasonable one. An extension on what was already being asked of him as his father looked to the North and its promise to replace their dependency on Essos for fine goods.
Paul offered a respectful bow, “It would be my honor, my Prince.”
It was ideal, but it would allow for an opportunity for a more… neutral meeting and it was there that Rhaegar could determine the validity of his dreams.
Yet, it would only be days later that Rhaegar looked back upon this conversation to realize that he had missed something of note. So off kilter by Paul's presence, and the prospect of war…
He completely failed to realize that it should have been impossible for Aenessa to have seen the Three Daughters of Essos.
Comments
anon patron
Your end of chapter lines are always so G.O.A.T.ed
