Doggett shook his head. "It's not that simple. Didn't you see the people outside? They'd rather let you kill them than pick up a weapon. They mean to use their own deaths to disgrace the honor of House Targaryen."
"A pack of damned lunatics!" Royce slammed his fist on the table, cursing loudly. The handsome image of the black-haired knight vanished entirely in that moment.
"They refuse weapons only because no one's taken the lead," Rhaegar said, straightening in his chair. He rubbed the back of his head where he'd been struck earlier. "The dissolution agreement the Faith signed back then, does it still hold legal force?"
Dojit glanced at Rhaena. Only after she gave a slight nod did he answer.
"The High Septon who signed that agreement was Septon Afwyn. He strongly supported the exception allowing Targaryen incestuous marriages. Unfortunately, he died during the great plague that began late in 59 AC. If not for that, the king wouldn't need to go through all this trouble now."
Rhaegar wiped a hand across his face and listened silently.
"The current High Septon is the younger brother of Lord Hightower. King Jaehaerys himself placed him on the seat. Neither the Red Keep nor the Starry Sept has altered the agreement to this day, nor have they revoked it."
Doggett added one final remark.
"And for the record, these fanatics truly have nothing to do with the Faith of the Seven or the High Septon. He can't control them at all."
Good news.
Rhaegar fixed his gaze on him.
"Then according to the agreement, the moment those zealots pick up weapons, they cease to be harmless rabble and become rioters. At that point both the laws of the realm and the doctrines of the Faith can condemn them. And we'll be within our rights to take their heads."
Doggett said nothing.
Perhaps Rhaegar had a point. Everyone seated at the table would gladly see every last one of those fanatics dead.
But Rhaegar had never commanded soldiers, never fought a war. He held no noble title, not even a knight's spurs. Changing the current plan would require a direct order from the king himself.
Wealth, fame, power, when such things fall from the sky, the nobles seize them first. What trickles down afterward is nothing but scraps they never wanted.
If he continued acting as Jaehaerys's shield, the king would discard him the moment the Faith crisis was resolved. If Rhaegar wanted to rise, he would have to prove his worth.
He spent the entire night thinking.
At dawn the next morning he dragged Tessarion along and headed straight to Rhaena's chambers.
Pulling a chair over, Rhaegar sat down and pinned the little dragon between his knees so it wouldn't scamper away.
"Rhaena," he began carefully, "I want to change the king's arrangements for this matter."
Rhaena sat before her dressing table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror.
"I'm old," she said calmly. "When boys grow up, they stop wanting to live in the shadow of their elders. They want to carve their own path."
Rhaegar heard the displeasure in her tone, though there was something deeper beneath it. A trace of sadness.
"Rhaena," he said softly, "before Corlys sailed, he wrote asking me to join his voyage of exploration. I wrote back and told him I get seasick."
He paused.
"I refused him."
Rhaena said nothing. Her eyes drifted briefly to the little dragon chewing on the hem of Rhaegar's trousers.
"If things continue according to the king's plan, this will drag on forever. One year… maybe two. As long as his spies fail to capture those two surviving rebels, I'll spend the rest of my life locked away in Harrenhal."
Rhaegar spoke slowly now, his voice heavy.
"A dragon locked in an iron cage, unable to take to the sky… is it still a dragon?"
"Graa!"
Head lowered, Rhaegar's voice trembled as if on the verge of tears. At the same time he squeezed Tessarion lightly between his knees, forcing the dragon to cry out.
Silence filled the room.
Neither spoke for a long time.
At last Rhaena turned sharply. Her fingers gripped Rhaegar's chin and lifted his face.
"You stubborn brat," she said with a faint smile. "Not a single tear. All that acting for nothing."
The moment Rhaegar saw the smile on her face, he grinned as well.
"You forgot? I used to call myself 'the boy who never cries, even in death.'"
Rhaena studied his face.
A face she knew all too well, one she had watched grow from childhood softness into the hardening lines of youth. A face she never seemed to tire of looking at.
Her fingers traced slowly across his forehead… his eyes… his nose… his lips… his cheek.
Only after a long while did she speak again.
"What exactly do you intend to do?"
Rhaegar threw his arms around her in a quick embrace.
"Hah! I knew you'd agree."
Rhaena rose and gestured for him to take her seat. From a cabinet she retrieved parchment, ink, a quill, and a box of sealing wax, placing them neatly on the dressing table.
"The letter to the king," she said. "You'll write it."
"My handwriting looks nothing like yours," Rhaegar said in surprise.
Rhaena removed the gold ring from her finger and set it on the table. Engraved upon it was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
The three royal siblings knew one another too well. Jaehaerys would recognize Rhaena's hand instantly.
But once the letter bore Rhaena's seal, the king would understand that the ideas written within came from Rhaegar, approved and supervised by Rhaena herself.
"If you want a lord to accept your terms," she instructed, "you must clearly state what he gains in return. Gold, fame, honor, something of value."
"Don't write how many knights you intend to call up. That leads to misunderstandings. Specify whether you mean fully armored knights or light cavalry."
"And don't write how much logistical supply the army must carry. That's the responsibility of the commander and the quartermaster. They might skim from it. You must judge the situation yourself, decide whether to be iron-fisted or simply look the other way."
No matter how absurd or unrealistic Rhaegar's plan appeared, Rhaena never dismissed it outright. She stood beside him patiently, correcting mistakes in his letter and guiding him step by step.
"A dragon cannot show its true strength on the ground. Its battlefield is the sky. And dragonfire is far from its only weapon."
"I'll say the command once. Write it down, and repeat it after me."
When the letter was finished, Rhaena began teaching him dragon-riding battle commands, correcting the pronunciation of those he had learned before.
"Rȳbās — obey the command."
"Sōvēs — take flight."
"Naejot memēbātās — charge forward."
"Aderī pālēs — rapid evasive turns."
"Angōs — bite."
"Hepās embrot — dive."
"Drakarys — dragonfire."
…
"Rhaegar," Rhaena said quietly, her hand resting gently on his hair, "I know that one day you will command many dragons at once. The following High Valyrian variants… do not reveal them to anyone for now."
"I understand."
Rhaegar dipped the quill in ink again, flipped the parchment over, and carefully recorded the plural commands used to control multiple dragons.
"Rȳbātās — dragons, heed the command!"
"Sōvētēs — take flight!"
"Aderī pālētēs — evade!"
"Angōtōs — bite!"
"Drakarytās — unleash flame!"
"Dohaerātās — rain dragonfire freely upon the ground!"
…
The letter to the king was sent by raven to the Red Keep.
During the days they waited for a reply, Rhaena spent nearly every hour with Rhaegar.
Within the quiet of her chamber, she passed on everything she had learned from Aegon and Maegor, family dragon-taming commands, ancient Valyrian battle phrases, and secret words known only to their bloodline.
She held nothing back.
Everything was entrusted to him.
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