Cutting his own path through the carnage towards the same destination.
To many he had appeared as a God, returning from his self-imposed exile in time to save the city of his birth with his brother.
Only the two men in question knew what utter gibberish all of it was.
…
The brothers sat in silence in the Small Council Chamber, one at each end of the table.
Rhaegar, hauntingly beautiful face framed by long silver hair, was strumming his lute, changing the song periodically.
Aelor, his face bruised and bloodied, held a chalice of wine in his right hand and a tankard to refill it in his left.
Neither spoke for a long time.
“Do I have to call you ‘Your Grace’ now?” The latter finally asked, the cut he received from Tygett Lannister bound to make for one hell of a scar.
His elder brother smiled sadly.
Rhaegar does everything sadly.
“Only in public.
In private you are still my brother.”
Aelor nodded sharply.
“Good.
Because King or not, I’m still going to curse you for a fool.”
Rhaegar Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, smiled all the sadder.
“I know.”
Their father was dead.
They had found the Mad King dead at the feet of Jaime Lannister, his long fingernails snapped from his impact with the ground, a bloody smile carved into his throat.
Jaime sat the throne, dressed in the golden armor of his house instead of the white enamel plate of the Kingsguard, looking as calm as if he’d only swatted a fly instead of killing the King he was sworn to protect.
The lad hadn’t put up a fight, dropping his sword and submitting himself to chains in the black cells when Ser Barristan and Alaric had found him after finding and killing the fat Armory Lorch in Rhaenys’ chambers.
Aelor didn’t feel so much as a hint of sadness at the death of his father, a fact that no longer bothered him; his heart was so black by now it would have surprised him if he was to actually feel remorse.
Ser Barristan Selmy stood guard at the door of the chamber, the only Kingsguard left in the city besides the new Kingslayer, as Rhaegar’s three companions hadn’t returned with him, Prince Lewyn Martell was with the new heir to the throne, and Ser Jonothor Darry had been found slain in the chambers of Princess Elia, having gone to check on the Princess and instead running into a giant as he crushed a lady-in-waiting’s head.
Darry was an excellent swordsman, but he didn’t stand a chance against the behemoth they’d learned had been called Gregor Clegane.
They’d found his body nearly cut in two at the waist, lying over the ruin of what had once been Talana Vaith, the lady in waiting looking as if she’d been ravaged by a monster.
That same monster had very nearly killed Aelor, only stopped from succeeding by the new King.
Clegane’s head now resided on a spike on the battlements of the Red Keep.
Rhaegar cleared his throat and for a moment Aelor thought he was going to begin to sing, but instead the new King of the Iron Throne spoke.
Pity.
I always like my brother’s singing; maybe it would have calmed me down enough to not want to kill him.
“Where are my children?”
Aelor took another drink of wine.
He wasn’t overly fond of alcohol, but right now he needed plenty of it.
“Halfway to Dragonstone by now, if the winds were good.”
Rhaegar waited for an explanation Aelor didn’t voluntarily give.
“How?”
“The same way I knew Tywin Lannister was marching; with the help of a Spider.”
Rhaegar tilted his head back in understanding.
Aelor nodded.
“You know of the secret passages; you and I used to ditch our lessons and play in them as boys.
The Spider knows them better than anyone.
I left my man Manfred Darke and recruited Varys’ help should the city be attacked.
He did the rest.
Odds are they were well gone by the time I arrived, though in my panic I’d entirely forgotten the plan myself.
I’ll have to apologize to the swordfish knight for my crude language.”
“Baratheon?”
Aelor clenched his jaw, teeth grinding.
“I had the choice of riding for King’s Landing or destroying the Rebellion’s leader.
I could not do both.”
Rhaegar nodded.
“I understand.” They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Rhaegar strumming the lute absently.
“Our father is dead.
If I were to sue for peace, do you believe—”
“No,” Aelor cut him off.
“Why the hell would they?
They have an army already amassed and reinforcements with a claimant marching towards them.
And you and I are still alive.
We are as guilty of starting this war as our father was.”
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Aelor said, voice growing hard as his anger rose.
“You ran off with a woman who wasn’t your wife.”
Rhaegar sighed.
“Brother—”
“Save it,” Aelor cut in, rising in his wroth.
“You stole a woman, disrespecting your beautiful wife who will make the best Queen since Alysanne Targaryen.
And then you brought the girl’s father and brother to King’s Landing, where our father killed them.
Thanks to you.
You, Rhaegar.” Aelor glared at his brother a moment before dropping back into his seat in a defeated slouch, taking a long sip of wine.
“And I am no better.”
Rhaegar watched his brother calmly.
“How so?”
Aelor stared into his wine.
“We’ve always known what our father was, since we were little boys.
For a long time we didn’t stop him because we couldn’t, but what excuse do we have for the last few years?
We were his sons; you were loved by all the realm, and they at least didn’t hate me.
We could have done something, stopped all of this.
Instead you steal a woman and I watch as a good man is burned alive, his son killing himself in a desperate attempt to save his father.” Aelor’s stare was unseeing, the Prince reliving a dark night full of wildfire and burnt flesh. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
“I stood and watched.
I could have done something, stopped the madness before it began, but I did nothing.
And then I ran.
I ran so I wouldn’t have to listen as he raped our mother, the sweetest woman the gods ever graced Westeros with.” Aelor took another long drink before laughing bitterly.
“Some Princes we are.”
Rhaegar said nothing, instead starting to strum The Dornishman’s Wife on his lute.
The King played and the Prince drank, neither speaking for a long while.
“I suppose I owe you for saving my life,” Aelor said eventually, his tone making no secret of how distasteful he found that fact to be.”
“No,” Rhaegar responded, still playing.
“You ensured Elia and my children were smuggled to safety.
That is a debt I cannot repay.”
“Good,” Aelor said, slamming his chalice down.
“Because you’re the most foolish son of a bitch I have ever known.”
Rhaegar sighed again.
“I know you don’t understand, Aelor.”
“You’re damn right.”
“The prophecy—”
“Piss on your prophecy,” Aelor spat, voice cold and sharp as he rose to his feet again.
“That whole ridiculous delusion that you let become your obsession has already killed thousands.
You broke a good woman’s heart and ran out on two wonderful children because you buggering dreamed it was for the best!
Horse shit it was.
You tore a realm apart because of the decades old ramblings of a woods witch.”
“The Prince that was promised—”
“Sure as hell isn’t you or I.”
Rhaegar clenched his jaw, only now beginning to grow angry at his younger brother’s berating.
“Careful, brother.”
Aelor snorted.
“Or what, Your Grace?
Are you going to burn me alive as our father would have done?
I’ve been fighting a war for you, Rhaegar.
I’ve been doing it poorly at times I admit, but at least I was trying to put a stop to the destruction of our dynasty.
And what were you doing?
Hiding hell knows where with a woman who for all I know you kidnapped, letting men die by the scores.” Aelor had both his hands on the table as he leaned over it, violet eyes boring into his brother’s identical ones.
To Rhaegar’s credit he met them evenly.
“Maybe Aegon is the Prince that was promised, but he can only fulfill your prophecy if we steer him to greatness.
And we can only do that if we are alive.
In case you weren’t aware, there are tens of thousands of men at Riverrun and thousands more heading there, all aimed at killing every Targaryen that breathes.”
…