Rhaegar tore into a roasted pigeon with great enthusiasm. Whenever the crowd offering congratulations blocked Rhaena's line of sight, he managed to sneak a few gulps of wine as well.
The atmosphere around him was lively. A group of knights, after downing several cups of strong liquor, quickly reverted to their usual soldierly manners. One crude joke followed another, each more vulgar than the last, drawing bursts of laughter from the table.
Rhaegar glanced toward the royal dais.
The king and the others kept raising their cups and setting them down again. To maintain royal dignity, they hadn't touched the exquisite food laid before them and were clearly still hungry. Compared to that, Rhaegar could happily eat until his lips glistened with grease.
Thinking of it that way helped him feel a little better.
Suddenly, the great doors swung open.
Two guards on duty pulled them apart, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall. One of them stepped forward and announced loudly:
"Lord of the Tides, Lord of Driftmark, head of House Velaryon, Lord Daemon Velaryon- arrives to offer his congratulations!"
More than a dozen pure-blooded Valyrians strode into the hall, their silver-gold hair and purple eyes unmistakable. Behind them followed a large retinue of knights.
They wore matching sea-green cloaks and tunics embroidered with bright silver seahorses, the sigil of their house gleaming in the candlelight.
At the front of the procession walked a deeply wrinkled old man, supported by a young man at his side.
Scrrrape—
Chairs slid against the floor and knocked into tables.
Every single person in the hall stood to show respect to the elder.
Even the king and queen rose, along with every member of House Targaryen.
Boremund Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End, and the three royal siblings treated the old man with particular reverence, for they all called him uncle.
He had been among the earliest great lords to betray King Maegor I during the previous war. After his defection, many other great houses had followed his example, turning against Maegor as well.
The nobility respected him because he had once served as Hand of the King, Commander of the Royal Fleet, and Master of Ships.
Even after leaving office at the Red Keep, the Velaryon fleet remained the largest in the Seven Kingdoms. Their warships could easily blockade the sea routes of any region.
Aside from dragons, it was the greatest military power in the realm.
The knights honored him as well.
Among the first seven Kingsguard, there had been a member of House Velaryon, and the first Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had also come from that house.
In Westeros, the glory earned by one's ancestors could continue to shelter their descendants for generations.
Lord Daemon's great days had passed before Rhaegar ever arrived in this world. Everything Rhaegar knew of him came from books and old stories.
To Rhaegar, the old man's importance lay mostly in a simpler fact,
He was Rhaena's uncle.
The Velaryons were also one of the houses Rhaegar had harmed.
A plague he had unleashed had nearly wiped out the main branch of the family. Now only Daemon and three grandchildren remained. The other Valyrian-looking figures following behind them were merely distant relatives from cadet branches.
Rhaegar had long since accepted that he was Westeros's butcher.
What difference did a few more vengeful ghosts make?
When he was younger, the fear had driven him to sleep in Rhaena's chambers at night. But now, like a man covered in fleas who no longer noticed the itching, he ate well and slept soundly.
Lord Daemon's era was coming to an end.
Rhaegar was far more interested in someone his own age,
The young man supporting the old lord.
Corlys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark.
His name had been chosen in honor of his great-grandfather, the first Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.
Corlys was three years older than Rhaegar. They had crossed paths at several banquets before. Setting aside their distant blood ties, they could at least be considered acquaintances.
Corlys was lean rather than tall. In Rhaegar's personal scale of size, only men like Boremund truly deserved to be called "large."
The young man wore his silver hair tied into a short ponytail behind his head. His purple eyes were sharp and lively.
Every joint of his fingers was thick with calluses.
Even while supporting his grandfather, every step he took was measured and steady. Clearly he had never neglected martial training over the years.
Rhaegar suspected that if Corlys ever overcame his stubborn pride, he would grow into a truly remarkable man.
A seasoned sailor rarely had delicate skin.
The Velaryons, men and women alike, had sailed the seas with their elders since childhood. Years beneath the sun had bronzed their skin.
Corlys in particular looked even darker than the last time Rhaegar had seen him.
*
Later — The Feast
Once everyone had eaten their fill, dancing began.
When they tired of dancing, they returned to eating.
The banquet would continue from evening until deep into the night, and tomorrow, the entire celebration would begin again.
Rhaegar adapted easily wherever he went.
He could stiffen his posture and play the part of a noble among aristocrats, or he could sit drinking and trading stories with rough soldiers who possessed little culture.
All it took was a few high-quality dirty jokes, and suddenly a whole crowd gathered around him.
More musicians joined the ensemble, raising the volume of the music that filled the hall. Those who had been drinking in the wide central aisle quickly returned to their seats.
Aemon rose from his chair and took Jocelyn's hand.
They were the first couple to step onto the dance floor.
After exchanging formal bows, they began the opening dance.
When the lively tune softened midway through, more finely dressed young men and women joined them on the floor, turning the pair's dance into a full group performance.
"Sausages in hand, the world is mine!"
Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, his belly round from overeating, staring at the few sausages left on his plate and wondering what to do with them.
He knew well enough that, as a bastard, no noble lady would accept an invitation to dance with him.
Rather than trouble himself over it, he simply shrugged.
I'm a man chosen by fate, he thought.
When my day finally comes, I'll host a grand ball for an entire month.
He grabbed several slices of white bread, spread them with strawberry jam, and stuffed the sausages between them.
Then he headed off to deliver them to Aemon.
Harrenhal had never stocked proper wine. Over the years he had drunk only the fruit wines brewed by serving girls. Now, suddenly sampling pear brandy from Tyrosh, Rhaegar felt the alcohol rushing to his head after only a few steps.
Swaying slightly, he staggered toward the edge of the dance floor.
The dance ended, and a slower tune began immediately afterward.
The younger couples left the floor to rest. Now it was time for the middle-aged nobles to enjoy themselves.
Led by King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, they took the floor together.
"Aemon!" Rhaegar called.
He slipped the bread secretly into the prince's hand.
"I've been starving all day!" Aemon muttered while turning his back to the hall and wolfing the food down. His tongue stumbled over the words as he chewed. "I… couldn't… find… a chance to eat."
"Jocelyn- this one's yours."
Rhaegar discreetly handed her another piece.
Jocelyn was far more reserved than Aemon. After accepting it, she glanced around carefully and slipped behind a pillar to eat where no one would notice.
Rhaegar studied Aemon's lean frame.
"You've grown taller but not heavier. You need to eat more! With Jocelyn's build, once you're married, you'll be the one who can't get out of bed."
"Ah? I never thought about that…" Aemon said.
Both boys instinctively looked toward Jocelyn behind the pillar.
Girls matured earlier than boys. Jocelyn was also two years older than Aemon.
She possessed the distinctive traits of her house: thick black hair that fell to her waist, and beautiful dark eyes that many considered among the most striking in the realm.
Her figure, however, was… formidable.
By Rhaegar's estimation, she was already close to six feet tall, despite not yet reaching sixteen. The low neckline of her gown revealed a generous bust, but her shoulders and arms, like her brother's, were packed with solid muscle.
She could easily pick up the reed-thin Aemon and toss him onto a bed.
"Scared yet?" Rhaegar grinned.
He knew his own growth spurt would arrive a year or two later, but he had no doubt he would eventually match them.
"A little," Aemon admitted. He had been drinking quite a bit that night as well.
Rhaegar slung an arm around Aemon's shoulders and repeatedly patted his chest, where there was very little muscle to speak of.
"Ever heard of swimming and weight training?"
The alcohol was bringing fragments of Rhaegar's previous life rushing back.
Former athlete. Small gym owner.
Old habits resurfaced.
"Sure, sure. After the ceremony I'll go find Ser Redwyne," Aemon replied.
He had already experienced Rhaegar's strange training methods, very different from traditional knightly drills, and hadn't quite warmed to them yet. After a few perfunctory words, he slipped away to greet more guests.
Rhaegar turned back toward his seat to resume eating.
Staggering slightly, he wandered into a particularly noisy crowd.
Pushing through the ring of spectators, he saw Corlys Velaryon seated at a table, arm wrestling a young man.
"Whoa! Impressive!"
"Nicely done, Corlys!"
Amid the cheering, the defeated challenger slunk away in embarrassment.
Corlys had won again.
Looking pleased with himself, he kept his right arm planted on the table, ready for the next opponent. With his left hand he lifted a wine bottle and drank deeply, waiting for another challenger.
For someone so young, he already carried himself like a seasoned old sailor.
Ignoring a strong man like this was impossible.
Faced with such blatant provocation, how could Rhaegar resist?
He dropped into the seat across from Corlys, raised his right hand-
and clasped Corlys's firmly.
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