Chapter 37: Pointing the Sword at the Westerlands
Rhaegar awoke in the gray light of early morning, his heart still pounding.
It had been a magnificent dream.
He had seen the fall of the Rhoynar, three hundred dragons darkening the skies of Essos, and the unstoppable might of Valyria at its zenith. Purple banners had burned across the heavens, and dragonfire had ruled the world.
When dragons dance, he thought, even the seas must bow.
And yet—
House Targaryen was now a house without dragons.
A dragonless royal house.
"Prince, are you unwell?"
The familiar voices pulled him back to the present. Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the bedside, straight-backed and vigilant, while the Braavosi swordsman Cesar lingered nearby, arms folded, eyes sharp.
Rhaegar glanced around. Red silk curtains. A goose-feather mattress. The comforting scent of incense.
He was awake. The past had released him.
"I'm fine," Rhaegar said after a moment. "Did I… say anything in my sleep?"
Barristan shook his head. "Only the word dragon, my prince."
That was hardly unusual. The realm already whispered that the blood of Valyria dreamed more vividly than other men.
(Dragon dreams — dreams of what was, or what is yet to come.)
Both men relaxed slightly. Rhaegar was still a child, and children were fragile things in this age. Even kings lost sons to fever and chance.
King Jaehaerys II spared no expense in guarding his only grandson: wet nurses, maesters, sworn shields. Barristan and Cesar served both as instructors and protectors.
Cesar handed Rhaegar a cup of warm water.
Rhaegar thanked him and drank, steadying his thoughts.
He wished to open the bronze ring and consult the ancient records again—but with both guards present, he chose patience.
After breakfast, a royal attendant arrived.
"The King requests your presence, my prince."
Jaehaerys II often summoned Rhaegar when matters of governance were discussed. It was a grandfather's affection—but also preparation. One day, the Iron Throne would require a steady hand.
Rhaegar was still too young to serve officially, but in time he would become the King's cupbearer, as many great lords had before him.
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen had once served her father in that role.
Tywin Lannister himself had poured wine for King Aegon V.
Cupbearers learned by listening.
Today's council concerned the Westerlands.
Prince Aerys, sulking and furious, had refused to attend. The King had forbidden him from traveling west to see Tywin Lannister and Lady Joanna, and Aerys took the slight poorly.
Rhaegar sat quietly as the council spoke.
The Westerlands stood on the brink of open war.
After the War of the Ninepenny Kings ended in 260 AC, Tywin Lannister returned home and immediately began restoring Lannister authority—collecting long-overdue debts, crushing banditry, and reorganizing the levies.
He had moved too quickly.
House Reyne of Castamere and House Tarbeck took offense. They had grown accustomed to defying Lord Tytos Lannister, and Tywin's iron hand enraged them.
Tytos attempted reconciliation.
Hostages were exchanged. Forced smiles shared.
Lord Roger Reyne, the Red Lion, embraced the Golden Lion in public, swearing loyalty "until the end of days."
Tywin Lannister did not attend the feast.
Everyone at the table knew what that meant.
"The peace will not last," said Lord Ormund Baratheon, Hand of the King, his voice heavy. He had marched beside Tywin in war and knew the young lion well.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, nodded. "House Lannister's strength dwarfs both Reyne and Tarbeck. Gold, men, castles—once Tywin moves, the outcome is inevitable."
"House Tarbeck boasts five hundred knights," Ormund continued coolly, "most of them worthless. Roger Reyne may have courage, but he lacks discipline. When the lion bares its fangs, mercenaries scatter."
King Jaehaerys II listened in silence.
Finally, he spoke.
"We cannot afford to lose House Lannister. The Iron Bank's loans hang over us like a blade. If Reyne and Tarbeck prevail, they will turn their pride against the Iron Throne next."
Two parchments lay before him, sealed in red wax bearing the three-headed dragon.
"House Reyne and House Tarbeck have defied royal authority repeatedly. They refused mediation under my predecessor and spilled noble blood without leave. This rebellion must end."
Ormund Baratheon inclined his head.
"Then we must support Tywin—decisively."
Ser Gerold stepped forward. "If Your Grace requires a messenger, I will go. This decree must be delivered by someone whose authority cannot be questioned."
Jaehaerys II studied the White Bull for a long moment.
"You have my trust, Ser Gerold," he said quietly. "The realm thanks you."
The Lord Commander accepted the blood-red decree.
From this moment forward, House Reyne and House Tarbeck were traitors to the realm.
Rhaegar watched in silence.
He knew what would follow.
The Rains of Castamere had already begun to fall.
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