A few days after Rhaegar had received his thrashing from Baelon in the training yard, the sun was making its way toward the horizon, and the torches in the Red Keep's outer corridors were beginning their nightly business. A guard appeared at Rhaegar's door.
"His Grace summons you, my prince."
He had just bathed and eaten after training, and was in that comfortable limbo between exhaustion and actual rest when the knock came. He rose with some complaint, smoothed his tunic, and followed.
The Old King's solar was warm, as it always was. A fire in the hearth, two candles on the table, and the familiar scent of old parchment and wine. Jaehaerys was not at his desk. He was in the chair by the fire, which Rhaegar had come to learn meant this was not an administrative meeting.
Rhaegar settled into the seat opposite, the one that had, over the years, acquired an unofficial permanence as his.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled. Outside, the peaceful sound of waves crashing on the bay mixed with the faint and distant bustle of the city could be heard.
Jaehaerys let the silence sit for a while. Only taking a sip of his wine as he seemed to read through some reports.
"You owe this family a great deal of masonry work," the Old King said as he put the parchment down.
"I am aware," Rhaegar said.
"The second time," Jaehaerys said, as if noting a pattern of mild academic interest. "That you have destroyed the Dragonpit."
"I prefer to think of it as expanding the ventilation."
The corner of Jaehaerys's mouth did not quite move. "I am sure you do."
Another pause. The fire shifted.
"Balerion is recovering," Rhaegar said. Not quite a deflection, the Old King would know it wasn't. Just an offering of the most relevant fact.
"So I am told." Jaehaerys looked at him across the firelight. "And you are managing his recovery personally. Every day."
"Yes."
"Good." He held Rhaegar's gaze for a moment before continuing. "A rider who neglects his bond in its early days rarely finds it strong when he needs it."
Rhaegar nodded. "I shall keep that in mind."
The king reached for his goblet, took a slow drink, and set it down again.
"The Realm's Pride," Jaehaerys said softly, letting the words settle into the quiet room.
Rhaegar blinked. "Pardon?"
"The song. The one drifting through my city every night and day since you took your flight." Jaehaerys looked at him across the firelight. "They are calling you the Realm's Pride. Did you know?"
"I was informed of it, yes," Rhaegar admitted as he grabbed a goblet and poured some wine for himself.
"A title bestowed by a king is a compliment," the Old King noted, his tone mild. "A title bestowed by the smallfolk is power. You have captured the imagination of the city, Rhaegar. You have brought them gold, and now you have brought them a legend of old. It makes you a very complicated dilemma."
He paused, letting the statement hang in the air for a few moments.
"I intend to call a council," he said. "Within the fortnight. Word has already been sent. The lords of the Crownlands will be required to attend in person. Others further afield, given the situation in the Stepstones and the Marches, will likely send representatives."
Rhaegar waited.
"I will receive them here," Jaehaerys continued, his voice even. "There will be some formal business. The logistics of the situation in the south will need to be addressed, and it would be useful for the lords to hear the scope of it from the Crown's own lips rather than each other's interpretation of ravens."
He paused again. Rhaegar said nothing. He had learned, through some years of practice, that his grandfather's pauses contained information.
"And while they are assembled," Jaehaerys said, "we will settle the matter of your betrothal."
The word landed without ceremony.
Rhaegar looked at him. He did not respond immediately.
"Your cousin Rhaenys," Jaehaerys said, answering the unasked question before it was asked. "You will understand why I see no need to construct an elaborate explanation. You are aware of the situation. You have been aware of it for some time."
He was right on both counts. Rhaegar had seen something like this coming for a while now. And it was not anything very complicated to deduce. Aemon was the heir. Rhaenys was Aemon's daughter, and after him, the next in the direct line of succession. She was also a woman, and whatever the personal affections of the king might be toward his granddaughter, the kingdom's lords were not Jaehaerys.
But there was another undeniable fact that Rhaenys was eighteen.
By Westerosi standards, she should have been betrothed three years ago and married by now with at least a child on the way. The noise from the highborn lords must have been deafening. From the lowest Lords, the Faith to the Lords Paramount, they would have sent endless ravens, first and second sons, all vying to wed the blood of the dragon. And yet, through all of that immense political pressure, Jaehaerys had stubbornly kept her out of their clutches.
Rhaenys was no fool. She possessed a sharp wit and a calculating mind of her own. She would have seen her own delayed betrothal for what it was. She knew she was being held back. She knew why she was being held back. And, Rhaegar realized with a sudden clarity, she had never raised a fuss about it. Perhaps, she wasn't particularly against being tied to him.
"And my uncle?" Rhaegar asked.
"Aemon has given his agreement," Jaehaerys said, simply.
"He must have required some convincing."
"He required a great deal of it." There was something in the Old King's voice that was not quite fond but was adjacent to it. "Your grandmother was more effective on that front than I. She has been a proponent of this arrangement for some time. She believes the realm is ready for a ruling Queen. And so does Aemon."
"And what do you believe, Grandfather?" Rhaegar asked quietly, his violet eyes locking onto the King's.
Jaehaerys met his gaze without flinching. "I believe the realm will be ready to accept whatever the rider of Balerion tells them to accept. This arrangement satisfies all of us."
Rhaegar leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "You went against someone who rode Balerion once, Grandfather. And you won, did you not?"
The firelight danced across Jaehaerys's lined face. The Old King did not look away.
"I did," Jaehaerys agreed, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly timber. "But I was fortunate in one very crucial regard. All my uncle Maegor had was Balerion. He ruled by terror alone, and terror is a brittle thing."
The King leaned forward as well. "You are not Maegor. You have the wealth of the East. You have the whispers of the capital. You have the adoration of the populace, and now, you have the Black Dread. You do not command fear alone, Rhaegar. And that is why, when the time comes, the realm will accept Rhaenys, because they will not bring themselves to challenge you."
Rhaegar processed this. The King was actively rewriting the future. He was trying to build an unassailable fortress around Rhaenys's claim, and Rhaegar was to be the fortress.
"My Father?" Rhaegar asked, breaking the heavy silence.
"Was not a difficulty," Jaehaerys said, leaning back with a dryness that suggested this had been something of a relief. "Your father, whatever his other characteristics, has never been confused about which direction his interests lie."
A moment passed.
"How long have you intended this?" Rhaegar asked.
Jaehaerys looked at him with some amusement as he answered. "Longer than you might think. Balerion had no bearing on the decision, though he has simplified several subsequent conversations considerably. I waited for you to be old enough that the arrangement would not seem absurd to the lords who needed to accept it. And I waited for Aemon to let go of his stubbornness."
Rhaegar was quiet for a moment. He looked at the fire.
He was not opposed. In truth, Rhaenys was his closest companion in the Red Keep, sharp and reckless and funny in ways that most people underestimated.
"Does Rhaenys know?" he asked.
Jaehaerys paused, which was answer enough. "Not yet. I had intended to speak to her and to your grandmother together in the next day or two."
Rhaegar thought about this.
"Let me tell her," he said.
The Old King studied him. The crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the room for a while.
After a moment, Jaehaerys took a sip of his wine. "You have always had a closer relationship with her than most. I see no reason why that cannot be put to use." He held Rhaegar's gaze a moment longer. "Your grandmother and I will speak with her after. But you may go first."
Rhaegar nodded as he rose, taking one final sip from his goblet.
He was halfway to the door when his grandfather spoke again.
"She will not be entirely surprised," Jaehaerys said. "Rhaenys is a good deal more observant than she is usually given credit for."
Rhaegar paused at the door, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I know," he said.
He left.