RHAEGAR
The prince's fingers moved across the harp strings with practiced precision, drawing forth a melody both haunting and melancholy. The song was his own composition, a ballad of ice and fire that had come to him in fragments over the past several months, pieced together during long nights of solitary contemplation. As the final notes faded into the stillness of his chamber, Rhaegar lifted his gaze to the window, where a flash of movement had caught his attention.
A dark shape soared across the sky above King's Landing—unmistakably Nightfury with Thalor astride his back.
Rhaegar set aside his silver harp and moved to the window, watching as his younger brother guided the dragon through a series of intricate aerial maneuvers. The beast's wingspan had grown impressive over the years, its midnight scales gleaming like obsidian in the afternoon sun. Where once the sight had filled Rhaegar with wonder, now he felt a more complex emotion—admiration mixed with a quiet melancholy that seemed to color all his perceptions lately.
Outside, Thalor guided Nightfury into a steep dive toward Blackwater Bay, pulling up at the last moment in a maneuver that sent spray glittering in the sunlight. The smallfolk who had gathered along the shore burst into cheers, their voices faintly reaching even Rhaegar's tower chamber.
"They love the spectacle," came a voice from behind him.
Rhaegar turned to find Ser Arthur Dayne at his door, the legendary knight of the Kingsguard watching the aerial display with his characteristic quiet intensity.
"More than the spectacle," Rhaegar replied. "They love what it represents. A Targaryen prince on dragonback—something from stories and songs made flesh before their eyes." He smiled faintly. "They love my brother for making legends real again."
"And what will they make of your legends, when the time comes?" Arthur asked, the question carrying weight beyond mere curiosity.
Rhaegar turned back to the window, watching as Thalor and Nightfury completed their display with a dramatic climb high above the Red Keep.
"That remains to be written," he said softly. "But first, we have more immediate concerns."
"Your father?" Arthur guessed.
"My father," Rhaegar confirmed, his expression darkening. "Despite Thalor's presence, yesterday's council meeting nearly ended in disaster when Lord Velaryon suggested delaying the fleet expansion. If not for Lord Tywin's intervention..."
He didn't need to finish. Both men knew how close the king had come to accusing his Master of Ships of treason—a charge that could have ignited conflict with one of the crown's most loyal supporters.
"Your brother's return to court has helped," Arthur observed. "But it may only be delaying the inevitable."
Before Rhaegar could respond, a servant appeared with a message sealed with the royal stamp—his father's uneven handwriting visible even through the folded parchment.
"His Grace requests your presence, my prince," the servant said, bowing deeply. "And Prince Thalor's as well, when he completes his... exercise."
Rhaegar accepted the note with a nod, dismissing the servant before breaking the seal.
"It seems my father wishes to finally discuss my betrothal options to me," he said, scanning the contents. "And he wants both his sons present for the conversation."
Arthur's expression remained carefully neutral. "Shall I find Prince Thalor?"
"No need," Rhaegar replied, nodding toward the window where Nightfury was now circling toward the Broken Tower. "I'll speak with him myself. This conversation should begin privately, between brothers."
---
The Broken Tower had transformed dramatically since Rhaegar's last visit. What had once been a partially ruined structure now hummed with purpose and activity, even at this late afternoon hour. Craftsmen and apprentices moved efficiently between workstations, their focus so complete that many barely looked up as the crown prince passed through the main workshop.
Rhaegar climbed the spiral staircase to his brother's private study, where he found Thalor still in his riding clothes, hair windswept from flight, reviewing what appeared to be reports from the Night's Watch.
"I saw your demonstration," Rhaegar said by way of greeting. "Impressive control."
Thalor looked up, a genuine smile lighting his features. "Nightfury did most of the work. I just provide suggestions now and then."
Both brothers knew this modesty concealed a bond of remarkable depth—one that allowed dragon and rider to move as a single entity through maneuvers that left observers breathless.
"Father has summoned us," Rhaegar said, holding up the message. "To discuss my potential marriage prospects, apparently."
Thalor's expression sobered immediately. "Ah. Another round of theoretical betrothals that ultimately go nowhere?"
"So it would seem. Though this time he specifically requests your presence as well."
Thalor set aside the reports, moving to a basin of water to wash the dust of flight from his face. "Any indication why?"
"None. Though given his current fixations..." Rhaegar hesitated, then decided directness was necessary. "He may be contemplating a double announcement. Your marriage as well as mine."
Thalor stilled, water dripping from his face. "Has he mentioned specific candidates for either of us?"
"Not in the message." Rhaegar watched his brother carefully. "Though for me, the usual names have circulated. Cersei Lannister remains his least favorite possibility, despite Lord Tywin's obvious hopes."
Thalor reached for a cloth to dry his face, his expression carefully neutral. "And his favorites?"
"Various distant Targaryen cousins, primarily." Rhaegar's mouth tightened slightly. "He grows more focused on bloodlines by the day."
The younger prince nodded thoughtfully, hanging the cloth back on its hook. "Then we should prepare ourselves for an uncomfortable conversation."
As Thalor changed into more formal attire for their meeting with the king, Rhaegar moved to the study window, looking out over the city as afternoon light began to fade toward evening. From this vantage point, he could see the entirety of King's Landing spread before him—from the grand structures of the Red Keep to the squalid alleys of Flea Bottom.
"The first phase of your sewage system improvements seems to be progressing well," he observed, noting the organized construction activity in one section of the city.
"Faster than scheduled," Thalor confirmed, fastening the last of his doublet closures. "The workers have proven more capable than the guild masters initially estimated. And having proper wages has motivated extraordinary effort."
"The smallfolk tell stories about you now, you know," Rhaegar said thoughtfully. "The Dragon Prince who cleans the city's waters, grants jobs, and flies on a beast of legend. They say you listen when they speak, that you understand their concerns."
"Is that unusual?" Thalor asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"For a Targaryen prince? Yes." Rhaegar turned from the window. "For you? No. You've always seen the world differently."
"Not differently," Thalor corrected. "Just... more practically, perhaps." He hesitated, then added, "I had good teachers in this life. Mother. Maester Gyldayn. And you, in your own way."
Rhaegar smiled at that. "I taught you court protocol and history. You taught yourself engineering, architecture, and dragon-riding." His expression grew more serious. "And whatever wisdom guided you to refuse Father's command that day—to not use Nightfury for executions—that didn't come from any lessons I provided."
"That came from experience," Thalor said quietly. "From understanding what happens when extraordinary power is misused."
The brothers stood in contemplative silence for a moment, each recognizing the weight of the conversation they were about to have with their father.
"Before we go," Rhaegar said finally, "I wanted to share something with you." He produced a small scroll from inside his doublet. "I've been researching the prophecy of Azor Ahai and the Prince That Was Promised. This text from Old Valyria offers a different interpretation than what we've previously discussed."
Thalor accepted the scroll, genuine interest in his expression as he unrolled it carefully. "From the collection you received from Volantis?"
"Yes. One of their oldest preserved fragments, predating the Doom."
As Thalor read, his brow furrowed in concentration. "This speaks of three heads of the dragon, not just one prince."
"Precisely." Rhaegar moved to stand beside his brother, pointing to a specific section of the ancient text. "Here, it suggests that the prince—or princes—will be born 'amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star.' The language allows for multiple interpretations."
"Including multiple individuals sharing the burden of the prophecy," Thalor concluded, looking up to meet his brother's gaze. "You believe the prophecy refers to House Targaryen specifically."
"I do." Rhaegar's voice lowered, intense with conviction. "And potentially to us, Thalor. Your birth during that great storm on Dragonstone—salt from the sea, smoke from the lightning-struck tower. And my birth amid the tragedy of Summerhall, with its great fires. Both significant events, both potentially fulfilling aspects of the prophecy."
Thalor was silent for a long moment, studying his brother's face. "You've been dwelling on this for some time."
"I have." Rhaegar took back the scroll, carefully returning it to his doublet. "While you've been building sewers and designing weapons, I've been trying to understand our family's connection to this prophecy—to what's coming."
"The Long Night," Thalor said simply.
"Yes." Rhaegar's violet eyes met his brother's green ones. "You prepare with practical inventions. I prepare by seeking knowledge, understanding patterns across history and prophecy."
"Different approaches to the same threat," Thalor acknowledged.
"And perhaps," Rhaegar added quietly, "that's why we were both born when we were—you with your extraordinary connection to a living dragon, me with... whatever vision drives me toward these ancient texts."
The crown prince fell silent, aware that he was revealing more of his inner thoughts than he typically allowed. Yet with Thalor, he felt a rare freedom to express the weight of destiny that sometimes pressed upon him like a physical burden.
"We should go," Thalor said finally, though his tone was gentle. "Father doesn't appreciate being kept waiting, especially in his current state."
Rhaegar nodded, gathering himself. "Yes. And afterward, perhaps we might continue this conversation. There's more in these texts I'd like to discuss with you—patterns that become clearer when viewed alongside your reports from the North."
As they descended the spiral staircase, moving through the workshop where craftsmen were beginning to clean their stations for the evening, Rhaegar observed the respect with which they regarded Thalor—not the wary deference typically shown to royalty, but a genuine admiration based on shared purpose and mutual respect.
It was different from how men looked at him, Rhaegar realized.
They respected his title, admired his martial and scholarly abilities, even loved him for his music and dignified bearing. But they didn't know him the way these craftsmen knew Thalor—as someone who worked alongside them, understood their challenges, valued their expertise.
For all his life, Rhaegar had walked a solitary path, convinced that his destiny was singular and separate. Yet watching his younger brother navigate the complex worlds of both nobility and common craftsmen with equal ease, he wondered if perhaps there was wisdom in Thalor's more integrated approach to leadership.
These thoughts occupied him as they crossed the castle grounds, heading toward the royal chambers where their father awaited. Two brothers, so different in their methods and perspectives, yet increasingly united in their understanding of the threats facing the realm—both immediate, in the form of their father's deteriorating mental state, and distant but growing, beyond the Wall in the frozen North.
The song Rhaegar had been composing that morning returned to his mind—its melody weaving themes of ice and fire, darkness and light, separate yet harmonized. Perhaps, he reflected, he had unconsciously been writing about this very duality—about two princes, two paths, ultimately serving the same greater purpose.
With that thought providing unexpected comfort, Rhaegar nodded to the Kingsguard knights standing watch outside their father's chambers. Whatever came next, he and Thalor would face it together, their differences becoming strength rather than division.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Thalor nodded, his expression resolute. "Ready."
The doors swung open, and the brothers entered to face their father's unpredictable rage and demands—another verse in the complex song of dragons that was House Targaryen's legacy.