The victory banquet following the celebration at the Dragonpit was surprisingly austere. The war and the subsequent fortification of the Stepstones had drained the treasury, forcing every detail to be streamlined to the point of extre frugality.
Despite this, the feast remained lavish in spirit. The lords and ladies were eager to dance, and Rhaegar watched as knights and nobles laughed heartily. With every toast, their smiles grew brighter, fueled by the relief of a clean victory.
The bronze-and-iron gates of the Dragonpit stood wide. Triumphal processions, balls, and tourneys were now as frequent as pit fights, all designed to keep the smallfolk jubilant. Both commoners and nobles loved these spectacles with the bloodthirsty fervor of sharks. While King Jaeherys II was a good king in his own way, he was not a man who inspired laughter, which often left the masses feeling a quiet resentnt; Rhaegar's presence was the cure for that.
The walls were hung with the banners of the Great Houses: the black-and-red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, the crowned black stag on gold of House Baratheon, the crimson lion of House Lannister, the golden rose on green of House Tyrell, and the sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon of House Arryn.
The procession began with King Jaeherys and his Queen, followed by Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella, Lord Monford and Lady Alinda, Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna, Lord Luthor and Lady Olenna, Lord Jon and Lady Lysa, and Ser Steffon and Lady Cassana. The lords presented their symbolic weapons to their ladies, all clad in their house colors—black and red for the dragons, gold and crimson for the lions, green and gold for the roses, and white and blue for the falcons. To Rhaegar, it looked like a river of jeweled crowns, eralds, and expensive silks flowing past.
Then ca the children. Two small princes walked at the front, waving to their older brother—they were miniature reflections of Rhaegar himself. He urged them forward with a gentle smile.
Finally, there was Rhaegar, with Roberta Baratheon on his arm. They were both radiant, appearing as if carved from jade and alabaster. Rhaegar wore a black steel circlet set with rubies to bind his hair, a black silk doublet embroidered with shimring silver dragons, and a black-and-red dragon-shaped sword belt. Roberta wore a gown of gold thread, her dark curls falling over her shoulders, pinned by a galloping golden stag. Her smile was shy yet sweet.
Behind them ca the golden twins of House Lannister and the Baratheon brothers.
Robert nudged his brother. "Stop scowling, Stannis. Cheer up. The boards are groaning with food—eat and drink your fill."
Stannis fought back his irritation. "We are guests, brother. If we ss this up, our sister will flay us alive."
"Look at you!" Robert said, unconcerned.
Stannis felt a surge of bitterness. His life felt like a long ordeal of the second son: always at the bottom, always overlooked. Why couldn't he be like Robert—taller, more handso, bolder, louder, the center of every hall? People said Robert had the soul of a "Laughing Storm." He, however, was just a superfluous shadow in the corner.
Whoever marries that boorish stag will regret it, Cersei thought, her eyes fixed on Robert's tall fra and loud laughter. He and Jai might be handso, but compared to Prince Rhaegar, they were as thorns to a rose.
Minstrels plucked their harps, singing songs of friendship and love. As the nobles took their seats and exchanged toasts, the feast began in earnest.
Rhaegar and Roberta dined at a table placed just one step below the throne, surrounded by the heirs of the Great Houses. He saw the marks of different lineages: the Baratheon children were tall with black hair and their mother's bright blue eyes; the Lannister twins had the signature gold curls and green eyes; and Raynald Arryn had sandy hair and the sa dimples people said Jon Arryn possessed in his youth.
"Every one of them a beauty," Rhaegar mused. Westeros worshipped coliness. Generations of intermarriage had fixed the house looks: the Stark grey eyes and long faces, the Lannister green eyes and gold hair, the Tully auburn curls. Yet, beauty was no guarantee of virtue; Cersei sat at this very table, and madness walked beside her. No wonder Tywin felt ill looking at Tyrion; in a crowd of such perfection, a halfman was a scandal he could not bear.
Rhaegar studied each face: Roberta's frank innocence, Robert's boisterousness, Stannis's rigidity and second-son sensitivity, the arrogance of the Lannister twins, and Raynald Arryn's sharp intelligence.
"Are the Norvoshi axen of Dorne really that fierce?" Robert asked Rhaegar, leaning past his sister. Though young, Robert was already strong, possessed of a warrior's soul.
"Very fierce, but you would never survive Dorne."
"Why not? Could my warhamr not crush an axeman?" Robert questioned.
"The Dornish sun is too hot, the desert too vast; you wouldn't stand it," Rhaegar laughed. He knew Robert well. Robert would indulge in pleasure just like Aegon the Unworthy; handso in youth, but fat and bloated in death, having long forgotten the warrior he once was.
"True. I hear it's a desolate place—no fun to be had," Robert admitted, backing off. He was a creature of appetite who would eventually beco a "Laughing Storm," but he preferred the bustle of King's Landing or the Reach over the sands of Dorne.
"The children grow fast; soon it will be ti to talk of marriage," Lady Joanna said to Queen Rhaella.
"Indeed. If only Princess Elia's children were still with us," Rhaella sighed, referring to the lost potential for matches. "But they are still young; it will be easier when they are older." Because of Rhaella's insistence, no one pressed further. They only hoped Rhaegar would not follow Aegon IV's example and father a brood of bastards.
Later that evening, the Master of Ceremonies announced: "Next, Prince Rhaegar will perform a song for us!"
Rhaegar smiled at Roberta, stepped forward, and raised his silver-stringed harp. The music he played was filled with a sense of longing for a ho one can never return to.
The lody of Five Hundred Miles began to drift through the hall. He humd the notes, letting the music speak for the soul. Tonight, everyone felt like a wanderer—oh, the holand! Though written for the Orphans of the Greenblood, were the Targaryens not also exiles from a lost Valyria?
The soft, mournful tune touched every heart. The beautiful, distant holands—did lovers still wait there? Ho was ten thousand miles away, yet no one could forget. The maidens wept, wanting to comfort the Prince and his sorrowful song. Even the n, especially the soldiers far from their holdfasts, felt the weight of mory.
[Achievent: Instrunt Mastery — You poured your soul into the harp, and the music moved everyone present.]
"Sister, why are you crying?" Robert teased. "I hate this sort of thing—I want a loud song like 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'!"
Roberta glared at him and promptly poured a goblet of golden wine over his head. The liquid ran down his face in sticky streams.
"I told you not to annoy your sister," Stannis said with a smirk.
The Silver Dragon of King's Landing then danced with the Doe of Storm's End. They spun together, elegant and light.
Rhaegar, with his pure Targaryen blood, silver hair, and violet eyes, was tall and incomparably handso. Yet he also carried the blood of Martell and Dayne. He was already a beauty beyond compare; now, tempered by the "Dawn Fire," his visage was even more radiant.
Lady Roberta was no less brilliant. She had the height of the Baratheons, thick black hair, and eyes as clear as sapphires. She was a rose of the storm, vibrant and full of life. Beside her, other noble maidens felt their chances wither. The "Doe" was a masterpiece, and with the blood of the dragon in her veins, she seed destined to win.
"You are truly beautiful," Rhaegar complinted.
"So are you! If you were a bit more carefree, you'd be perfect—a twelve-year-old prince with the mind of a man twice his age," Roberta replied. Her eyes were deep as the sea, and Rhaegar saw joy, shyness, and a hint of mischief within them.
Rhaegar laughed. "If you want to forget everything, then just dance! A man should have the heart of a tiger but the scent of a rose. Youth isn't just about battles and blood; it's about roses and fragrance."
They continued to dance, ignoring the stares of the crowd, the brightest lights on the floor.
Stay away from my sister, or she'll crack your head open, Robert thought grumpily, even as he noticed the infatuated look on Cersei's face.
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