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The royal pavilion had grown quiet as evening deepened into night. Servants had cleared the remains of dinner, and the guards outside maintained their silent vigil. Inside, Queen Rhaella sat beside a small brazier, brushing out her silver-gold hair with slow, methodical strokes while Aerys reviewed correspondence at a writing desk nearby.
From the adjacent section of the pavilion, separated by silk partitions, came the sounds of children finally settling into sleep. Young Viserys had fought exhaustion for hours, his four-year-old pride refusing to admit that weeks of travel had worn him down. Princess Daenerys, barely past her first nameday, had been fussy all evening—the constant motion of the wheelhouse disagreed with her, and she'd cried more in the past week than in the previous month combined.
"They're finally asleep," Rhaella said softly, setting down her brush. "Viserys was asking about the dragons again. He wanted to know why we couldn't fly to Summerhall instead of riding in that 'bouncing box.'"
Aerys looked up from his papers, a faint smile crossing his features. "He has his grandfather's impatience. Jaehaerys never could abide slow travel either."
"He has your stubbornness," Rhaella corrected gently. "He refused to nap this afternoon because he didn't want to miss seeing the coastline. Then he fell asleep against the window anyway and woke up furious that no one had kept him awake."
"A true dragon," Aerys said, though there was warmth in his voice rather than the edge that sometimes crept in when discussing their children. "And Daenerys?"
"Exhausted. The wet nurse says she's been restless since we left Highgarden. I think she misses having solid ground beneath her." Rhaella's expression softened with maternal concern. "This trip has been harder on them than I expected. Perhaps we should have left them in King's Landing."
"No." Aerys's tone was firm but not harsh. "The realm needs to see the royal family united. Our children are part of that image. Besides—" He set down his quill and turned to face her fully. "—I wanted them to see the kingdoms they'll one day help rule. Viserys should understand that Westeros is more than just the Red Keep."
Rhaella nodded, accepting the logic even if she privately questioned whether a four-year-old absorbed such lessons. "Highgarden certainly made an impression on him. He's been talking about the gardens ever since."
At the mention of Highgarden, something shifted in Aerys's expression—not suspicion exactly, but the calculating awareness that never fully left him, even in his calmer moments.
"Highgarden," he repeated. "Yes. The Tyrells were... hospitable."
Two weeks earlier - Highgarden
The seat of House Tyrell rose from the Reach like something from a singer's dream—white walls cascading with flowering vines, towers that seemed to grow from the earth rather than being built upon it, and gardens that stretched in every direction like a sea of color and fragrance.
Queen Rhaella had walked those gardens with Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns maintaining a pace that belied her years while servants trailed at a respectful distance. The older woman's tongue was as sharp as ever, but she'd been careful—careful enough that Rhaella had noticed the calculation behind every comment.
"Your Grace looks tired," Olenna had observed, her tone sympathetic but her eyes measuring. "This progress must be exhausting, dragging half the court across the realm while managing young children."
"The king wished to show the royal family to his subjects," Rhaella had replied diplomatically. "It's been many years since a full progress."
"Indeed. And what better way to remind everyone of Targaryen strength than parading through their lands with dragons on every banner?" Olenna's smile had been knowing. "Though I notice Prince Rhaegar rarely leaves his carriage. Is he unwell?"
"My son prefers his books to public display," Rhaella had said carefully. "He fulfills his duties when required."
"Of course. Studious young men often make the best rulers—eventually." Olenna had paused beside a rose bush, examining the blooms with apparent interest. "Speaking of young men and their futures, I wanted to share some happy news. My son Mace has finally agreed to a betrothal. Lady Alerie Hightower will become the next Lady of Highgarden."
Rhaella had offered appropriate congratulations, though she'd noted the political implications immediately. Tyrell and Hightower united by marriage—the two most powerful houses in the Reach binding themselves together. It would create a formidable bloc in southern politics.
"Lord Leyton must be pleased," Rhaella had said.
"Lord Leyton is always pleased when his calculations prove correct," Olenna had replied dryly. "He's been planning this match for years, I suspect. The man thinks three moves ahead in everything—reminds me of myself, actually, which is probably why I find him so irritating."
They'd continued walking, Olenna steering their path toward a more private section of the gardens where the sounds of the progress's camp couldn't reach.
"Your Grace, might I speak frankly?" Olenna had asked, though she hadn't waited for permission. "There are... changes happening in the realm. The North, particularly. Whispers reach even Highgarden about what Lord Stark is building up there."
"Whispers often exaggerate," Rhaella had said neutrally.
"They do. But sometimes they understate." Olenna's eyes had been sharp as thorns. "A bastard who defeats the finest young knight in the realm. Economic innovations that are already affecting trade throughout the kingdoms. These aren't whispers, Your Grace—they're facts that anyone with eyes can see."
"The king is aware of developments in the North," Rhaella had replied. "He monitors all his kingdoms."
"I'm sure he does." Olenna had smiled that dangerous smile of hers. "I merely wanted Your Grace to know that Highgarden remains loyal to the crown. Whatever changes come, the Reach will stand with House Targaryen. The Tyrell-Hightower alliance strengthens that commitment—two great houses, united in service to the realm."
It had been a declaration of loyalty wrapped in a reminder of power. Olenna was telling the crown that the Reach was consolidating, preparing for whatever instability might come, and positioning itself as an essential ally rather than a potential threat.
Rhaella had understood the message perfectly.
Present - The Royal Pavilion
"Lady Olenna was quite forthcoming during our walk," Rhaella said now, watching her husband's reaction carefully. "She mentioned the Tyrell-Hightower betrothal. Mace and Alerie Hightower."
"I heard," Aerys said. "Lord Mace informed me himself, with all the subtlety of a mummer's farce. He practically glowed with pride at securing a Hightower bride." He paused, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "The match makes sense. Tyrell ambition, Hightower wealth and learning. Together they'll dominate the Reach for the next generation."
"Does that concern you?"
Aerys considered the question with the focused clarity that had characterized this entire progress. "It would concern me if they were positioning against the crown. But Olenna is too clever for that—she knows that opposing House Targaryen directly would unite everyone else against the Reach. No, she's building strength to weather whatever storms come, not to create them."
"She mentioned the North," Rhaella said quietly. "The changes there."
"Everyone mentions the North lately." Aerys's tone carried a hint of the irritation that sometimes presaged his darker moods, but he controlled it visibly. "Lord Steffon mentioned it tonight. The small council discusses it constantly. Even Rhaegar has been reading reports about northern trade innovations." He stood, moving to the brazier where warmth flickered against the evening chill. "Arthur Snow. Everything seems to trace back to that bastard."
"You offered him a place in the Kingsguard," Rhaella reminded him gently. "He declined."
"He did. Politely, respectfully, but firmly." Aerys stared into the flames, his expression unreadable. "That interests me more than his fighting prowess. Most men would leap at such an honor. He refused because his loyalty to Stark was stronger than ambition for himself." He glanced at her. "That's either admirable or dangerous, depending on how events unfold."
"Perhaps both," Rhaella suggested. Her voice softened. "And… Aerys, since you woke from the coma after the fight with Jaime, you've been different. When you collapsed, I feared we had lost you."
Aerys inhaled slowly, the firelight flickering against his face. "I know," he murmured. "And I am… grateful you were there when I woke."
He hesitated, the words that followed forming in a more private corner of his mind.
The boy saved me. Not by intention—perhaps not even knowingly—but his refusal, his strength, forced the break that shattered the madness.
A quiet, genuine gratitude warmed his chest, though he kept it hidden behind a king's composure.
Aloud, he only said, "Some things are better left unspoken, Rhaella." His gaze sharpened thoughtfully. "The realm must never believe its king fell to weakness. And it must certainly never know what that boy is capable of. Power like his… if whispered in the wrong ears, it could reshape loyalties overnight."
He returned his attention to the flames, expression calm but guarded.
"In my heart, I thank him. But publicly?" His voice lowered. "No. The realm is safer not knowing."
A thoughtful quiet settled over him before he finally spoke again, the shift in his eyes revealing the turn of his mind.
"Perhaps." Aerys returned to his chair, settling into it with a sigh that carried genuine fatigue. "The North has always been… apart from the rest of the realm. They keep the old gods, follow old ways, care little for southern politics. If Rickard Stark is building something new up there, something that makes his people stronger and more capable, it need not threaten us. A strong North means a secure northern border, the wildlings contained, and the realm's flank protected."
Rhaella heard the unspoken hesitation. "But?"
"But strength seldom grows in isolation," Aerys finished quietly. "Arthur's loyalty to Rickard Stark is absolute—so absolute that it raises questions of its own. A man like that inspires others, draws eyes, reshapes expectations. If Rickard chooses to forge new alliances… perhaps even elevate a new house under his patronage… it could change the balance of power in ways we do not yet see."
He let out a slow breath. "A lord who can produce warriors like Arthur Snow—and command their devotion—could become the crown's greatest ally… or its greatest uncertainty. Everything depends on loyalty. And loyalty, as we both know, can shift like sand."
Rhaella rose and moved to his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Rickard Stark has shown no sign of disloyalty. His house has served the realm faithfully for generations."
"I know." Aerys covered her hand with his own—an unguarded gesture, rare but sincere. "I'm not suspicious of Stark. I'm simply… aware. A king must be aware of everything especially changes he don't see coming."