BARRISTAN
The practice yard echoed with the familiar sounds of training—the clash of blunted steel, the thud of feet on packed earth, the occasional grunt of exertion or command from the master-at-arms. Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the edge of the yard, his white cloak and armor gleaming in the afternoon sun as he observed the young princes at their training.
Prince Rhaegar, at fifteen namedays, was already showing promise that matched the legends of his ancestors. Tall and well-proportioned, with the classic Targaryen beauty that drew admiring glances from the ladies who often gathered to watch the training sessions, the crown prince moved with a fluid grace that made swordplay look like a dance. Even Ser Willem Darry, not a man easily impressed, had remarked that Rhaegar might one day rival the greatest swordsmen in the realm.
More surprising to most observers was the skill displayed by Prince Thalor. At ten, he was smaller than his older brother had been at the same age, his build slender rather than broad. Yet he moved with a speed and precision that compensated for his lack of reach and power. Where Rhaegar fought with textbook technique refined to artistic perfection, Thalor employed an unusual style that seemed to incorporate elements from various fighting traditions.
"He adapts," Ser Arthur Dayne had observed during a previous training session. "Watches his opponent, identifies weaknesses, then exploits them with whatever technique works best, regardless of its origin."
It was an apt assessment, Barristan thought as he watched Thalor duck under Rhaegar's swing and counter with a move that appeared to combine a Braavosi water dancer's footwork with a Westerosi knight's blade angle. The younger prince fought as he did everything else—with practical efficiency prioritized over traditional form.
"Impressive, isn't he?" a voice spoke from beside Barristan.
He turned to find Lady Cersei Lannister, daughter of the Hand, standing nearby. At eleven, the Lannister girl was already showing signs of the great beauty she would become, her golden hair and emerald eyes drawing attention wherever she went. More notable to Barristan, however, was the keen intelligence behind those eyes—an assessment that missed little and revealed less.
"Both princes show considerable skill, my lady," Barristan replied diplomatically.
A slight smile curved Cersei's lips. "Of course, Ser Barristan. Though Prince Thalor's style is rather... unconventional."
"As is much about the prince," Barristan acknowledged, curious about the Lannister girl's interest. He had noticed her increased presence at court events involving the second prince over recent weeks.
In the practice yard, Thalor executed a particularly nimble feint that momentarily caught Rhaegar off guard, drawing appreciative murmurs from the observers. The crown prince recovered quickly, however, using his superior reach to force his younger brother back several steps.
"Where did Prince Thalor learn to fight like that?" Cersei asked, her gaze never leaving the sparring match. "It doesn't resemble any style I've seen the Kingsguard or master-at-arms teach."
Barristan considered how to answer. The truth—that no one quite knew where Thalor had acquired certain skills and knowledge that seemed beyond his years—was not something openly discussed at court.
"Prince Thalor observes and adapts," he said finally. "He studies fighting techniques from across the known world and incorporates elements that suit his particular strengths."
"Self-taught, then," Cersei mused. "Like his engineering projects."
"To an extent," Barristan allowed. "Though both princes benefit from the finest training the realm can provide."
The match concluded with Rhaegar executing a complex series of strikes that finally broke through Thalor's defense, ending with a blunted sword tip at the younger prince's throat. Both brothers were breathing hard, sweat dampening their silver-gold hair, but their expressions held genuine respect rather than rivalry.
"Well fought, brother," Rhaegar said, lowering his practice sword and extending a hand to help Thalor up from the defensive crouch he had assumed in the final moments of the match.
"Not well enough, apparently," Thalor replied with a good-natured smile, clasping his brother's forearm. "One day I'll match your reach."
"Perhaps," Rhaegar acknowledged. "Though by then I'll have grown as well, and we'll be back where we started."
The easy camaraderie between the princes was genuine, Barristan knew. Unlike many royal siblings throughout history, Rhaegar and Thalor maintained a strong relationship despite the potential for rivalry created by Thalor's dragon and unusual abilities. It spoke well of both their characters—and provided a rare source of stability in a court increasingly defined by their father's unpredictable behavior.
As the princes moved to the edge of the yard to retrieve water and towels, they noticed Cersei's presence. Both offered appropriate bows, though Barristan noted subtle differences in their greetings—Rhaegar's was perfectly correct but somewhat distant, while Thalor's held a warmth that suggested more than mere courtly manners.
"Lady Cersei," Thalor said, his green eyes brightening. "I didn't realize you were observing our practice."
"I was passing through the courtyard on my way to the library and couldn't help but stop to watch," Cersei replied with a perfect curtsy. "Both Your Highnesses demonstrated remarkable skill."
"My brother was merely being generous in allowing me to last as long as I did," Thalor said modestly, though the gleam in his eye suggested he knew exactly which techniques had worked and which had failed. "Another year or two of growth and perhaps I'll present a more genuine challenge."
"Your technique compensates admirably for the difference in reach," Cersei observed. "Particularly that move where you shifted inside his guard using the Braavosi footwork."
Both princes looked momentarily surprised at her knowledgeable assessment. Even Barristan felt his eyebrows rise slightly. Few noble ladies—particularly those as young as Cersei—would recognize specific fighting techniques by name.
"You have an interest in swordplay, Lady Cersei?" Rhaegar asked, curiosity evident in his tone.
A flash of something—frustration, perhaps—crossed Cersei's features before her courtly mask reasserted itself. "I find it valuable to understand all forms of power, Your Highness, even those I am not permitted to wield myself."
It was a diplomatic answer that nevertheless revealed more than perhaps she intended. Barristan had encountered such sentiments before among high-born women with minds too active and ambitions too great to be satisfied with the limited roles society permitted them.
Thalor studied her with undisguised interest. "An astute perspective," he said. "Understanding precedes influence, whether direct or indirect." He glanced toward the armory, then back to Cersei with a hint of mischief in his expression. "Would you care to try a practice blade yourself? The lighter ones might suit your frame quite well."
Cersei's momentary expression of naked longing was quickly masked, but not before Barristan caught it. "I fear that would scandalize my septa beyond recovery, Your Highness," she replied with practiced lightness. "Though I appreciate the offer."
"Another time, perhaps," Thalor suggested. "When fewer eyes are watching."
Rhaegar, observing this exchange with thoughtful attention, interjected smoothly, "I believe we're expected at the Small Council meeting shortly, brother. We should prepare."
"Of course," Thalor agreed, though his eyes lingered on Cersei a moment longer. "Lady Cersei, it was a pleasure to see you. Perhaps you might join us for falconry tomorrow? My mother mentioned inviting you."
"I would be honored, Your Highness," Cersei replied, her perfect composure betrayed only by the genuine pleasure that brightened her eyes.
As the princes departed to prepare for their council obligations, Barristan found himself intrigued by the interaction he had witnessed. There was a connection developing between Prince Thalor and Lady Cersei that went beyond the polite interactions of noble children thrust together at court. A mutual recognition, perhaps—two unusually intelligent minds recognizing something of themselves in the other.
Politically, such a connection made sense. House Lannister's wealth and military power made them natural allies for the crown, and a marriage between Tywin's daughter and one of the princes had been speculated about since Cersei's birth. That it might be Thalor rather than Rhaegar was perhaps unexpected, but not illogical given the dragon prince's growing importance.
Yet Barristan sensed something beyond political calculation in their interactions. Having served the Kingsguard for many years, he had developed a keen eye for the unspoken currents that flowed beneath the surface of courtly behavior. And what he observed between the young prince and the Lannister girl seemed genuine—a natural affinity rather than merely a strategic alliance.
"They make an interesting pair, do they not?" Queen Rhaella's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.
Barristan turned and bowed deeply to his queen, who had approached so quietly he hadn't noticed her arrival.
"Your Grace," he acknowledged respectfully. "I didn't realize you were observing the practice as well."
"From the covered walkway," she explained, gesturing to the columned passage that overlooked the training yard. "I find it... reassuring to watch my sons engaged in normal princely pursuits. Their brotherhood gives me hope for the future."
The unspoken implication—that such hope was necessary in an increasingly uncertain present—hung between them. As a member of the Kingsguard, Barristan was more aware than most of King Aerys's deteriorating condition, having stood guard through episodes that the court politely pretended not to notice.
"They are a credit to Your Grace's guidance," Barristan said sincerely. "Both princes show character and abilities that will serve the realm well."
Rhaella's smile was gentle but knowing. "You are ever diplomatic, Ser Barristan. A valuable quality in these complicated times." She gazed thoughtfully in the direction where Cersei had departed. "The Lannister girl has been spending considerable time in Thalor's company these past weeks."
"Indeed, Your Grace. She seems genuinely interested in his inventions and projects, beyond what court protocol might require."
"So I've observed," Rhaella agreed. "An unusual young lady, with a mind that matches her beauty. Not unlike her mother." A shadow of sadness crossed the queen's features at the mention of her former friend Joanna Lannister, lost in childbirth years earlier.
"Lord Tywin appears to encourage the acquaintance," Barristan noted carefully.
"Of course he does," Rhaella replied with a touch of the political acumen that many overlooked in the gentle queen. "A dragon is power, Ser Barristan, and few understand power better than Tywin Lannister." She sighed softly. "What I find myself wondering is whether Lady Cersei's interest stems primarily from her father's ambitions or her own genuine curiosity."
"Perhaps both, Your Grace," Barristan suggested. "They seem well-matched in intelligence and determination, whatever the initial motivation."
"Yes," Rhaella mused. "That is what concerns me, in some ways. Their combined brilliance could be a tremendous asset to the realm... or a complication, depending on how events unfold." She shook her head slightly. "But they are children yet, with years before such considerations become pressing. For now, it is enough that my son has found a companion who stimulates his mind. Thalor has always been somewhat isolated by his unusual intellect and interests."
Barristan nodded in understanding. Prince Thalor's unique personality and prodigious abilities had indeed set him apart from his peers, creating a solitude that even his close bond with Nightfury couldn't entirely alleviate. A human companion capable of understanding and challenging him represented a positive development, regardless of the political implications.
"I must attend the king before the council meeting," Rhaella said after a moment. "Would you escort me to his chambers, Ser Barristan?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
As they walked through the Red Keep's corridors, their conversation turning to more general matters of court, Barristan reflected on the complex dynamics he had observed. The strength of the bond between the Targaryen princes, the growing connection between Thalor and Cersei Lannister, the queen's quiet vigilance over her children's development—all represented potential sources of stability in an increasingly unstable situation.
For stability was what the realm needed most as King Aerys II Targaryen continued his descent into unpredictability and paranoia. And Barristan, who had sworn to protect the royal family in all ways, found himself increasingly concerned about threats that could not be countered with sword and shield.
---
The king's private solar was oppressively warm, multiple braziers burning despite the mild spring weather outside. King Aerys II paced the chamber restlessly, his tall frame grown gaunt over recent years, his once-handsome features sharpened by suspicion and irregular habits. At thirty-seven, he appeared far older, his silver-gold hair hanging in unwashed strands past his shoulders, his beard untrimmed, his violet eyes holding a feverish gleam that set Barristan's nerves on edge.
"Your Grace, the Small Council awaits your presence," Queen Rhaella reminded him gently, maintaining a careful distance—a habit she had developed as her husband's moods grew more volatile.
"Let them wait," Aerys snapped, continuing his agitated pacing. "I am the king. The dragon. They serve at my pleasure, not I at theirs."
"Of course, my love," Rhaella agreed soothingly. "But important matters require your wisdom today. Lord Tywin has prepared reports on the Stepstones situation."
Aerys stopped pacing, his gaze sharpening at the mention of his Hand. "Tywin," he repeated, the name becoming a hiss between his teeth. "Always Tywin with his reports and his suggestions and his subtle manipulations." He crossed to a side table and poured himself wine with unsteady hands, spilling drops on the polished surface. "Do you know what they call him in the streets? The true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. As if I were merely a figurehead in my own realm!"
Barristan maintained his position near the door, face impassive despite his internal concern at the king's deteriorating state. He exchanged a brief glance with Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander, who stood at his customary place behind the king. Both knights had witnessed similar episodes with increasing frequency over recent months.
"No one with sense believes such nonsense," Rhaella said firmly. "Lord Tywin serves ably as your Hand, but all know that you are the true power in the realm."
"Do they?" Aerys demanded, gulping his wine and immediately refilling the cup. "Then why do lords bring their petitions to him first? Why do merchants and guild masters seek his approval for matters that should come directly to their king?" His voice rose in pitch. "And his daughter—always near Thalor now, always watching, always whispering in his ear with her golden Lannister smiles!"
Rhaella tensed almost imperceptibly at this new direction of the king's paranoia. "Lady Cersei is a child, Aerys. Eleven namedays. Her friendship with Thalor is innocent and appropriate for their age and station."
"Innocent?" Aerys laughed, a brittle sound devoid of humor. "Nothing Tywin Lannister does is innocent. He placed his golden cub in our midst deliberately, to entangle our dragon prince in Lannister ambitions." He slammed his cup down, wine sloshing over the rim. "Perhaps I should send the girl back to Casterly Rock. Remove the lioness before her claws sink too deep."
Barristan saw alarm flash briefly in the queen's eyes before her diplomatic mask reasserted itself. Such a move would gravely insult the Hand of the King, potentially destabilizing a relationship already growing increasingly strained.
"My love," Rhaella said carefully, "would that not give the appearance that a mere child poses a threat to House Targaryen? Better to allow the friendship to run its natural course under our watchful eyes. If there is any attempt at inappropriate influence, we would observe it immediately."
Aerys considered this, his mercurial mood shifting again. "Perhaps you're right," he conceded, his tone suddenly reasonable. "Keep your enemies closer, as the saying goes. And the girl might prove useful in understanding Tywin's schemes." He nodded to himself. "Yes, we will watch and wait. The dragon is patient when necessary."
Relief flickered across Rhaella's features, though she maintained her composed expression. "A wise approach, Your Grace. And now, the council awaits your guidance on several pressing matters."
The king drained his wine and straightened his rumpled clothing in a sudden concern for his appearance. "I must look a proper dragon king when addressing my lords," he muttered, gesturing impatiently for a servant to bring his crown.
As preparations were made for the king's entrance to the council chamber, Ser Gerold moved to stand beside Barristan near the door.
"His state worsens," the Lord Commander murmured, pitched for Barristan's ears alone. "The episodes come more frequently now, and last longer."
"Have you spoken with Grand Maester Pycelle?" Barristan asked quietly.
Ser Gerold's expression darkened. "For what purpose? Pycelle reports everything to Lord Tywin, and the maesters' remedies have proven ineffective besides." He shook his head slightly. "We must simply adapt and ensure the king's dignity is preserved as much as possible."
It was their duty, of course. The Kingsguard served the king, protected the king, obeyed the king—without question, without hesitation. Yet Barristan found himself increasingly troubled by the implications of that duty as Aerys's behavior grew more erratic. When the king's commands contradicted the realm's best interests, what was a true knight's obligation?
Such thoughts bordered on treason, and Barristan pushed them firmly aside. His path was clear, defined by sacred vows and centuries of tradition. Personal doubts had no place in the white cloak's service.
The king's preparations complete, they proceeded to the Small Council chamber where the realm's highest lords waited to address matters of state. As they walked, Barristan observed Queen Rhaella's quiet dignity, her composure maintained despite what must have been tremendous internal strain. Her strength, he reflected, was perhaps the most underappreciated force in the current royal court—a quiet counterbalance to her husband's growing instability.
The Small Council rose as the king entered, each lord bowing deeply as protocol demanded. Lord Tywin Lannister stood at his place to the right of the king's chair, his expression impassive as always, though Barristan thought he detected a flicker of assessment in those cold green-gold eyes as they took in the king's disheveled appearance.
Prince Rhaegar and Prince Thalor were present as well, standing behind empty chairs at the lower end of the table. Both had changed from their training attire into appropriate formal wear, though Thalor's green eyes still held the alert energy of their earlier sparring match.
King Aerys took his seat with exaggerated ceremony, arranging his robes with precise movements that contrasted with his earlier agitation. Queen Rhaella seated herself more quietly to his left, her presence a subtle stabilizing influence.
"Let us begin," Aerys commanded, his tone imperious. "What matters require the dragon's attention today?"
Lord Tywin began a measured report on tensions in the Stepstones, where Tyroshi and Lysene forces had clashed over shipping routes, potentially threatening trade to Westerosi ports. His precise delivery and clear recommendations demonstrated why, despite the king's growing suspicion, he remained indispensable as Hand.
Barristan, standing at his position behind the royal chairs, observed Prince Thalor's intent focus on the discussion. The younger prince took notes occasionally, his quick mind evidently processing implications beyond those explicitly stated. When Lord Staunton mentioned potential disruptions to timber imports, Thalor leaned forward slightly.
"If I may, Father," he said during a pause in the discussion, "the timber shortages could impact our sewage system improvements in the lower city. We've been relying on Tyroshi cedar for certain critical components due to its resistance to water damage."
Aerys's expression shifted, his earlier paranoia momentarily forgotten as he regarded his second son with evident pride. "My practical prince thinks of details others overlook," he declared. "What do you suggest, Thalor?"
"We could source replacement materials from the Stormlands," Thalor replied promptly. "Lord Bryce's lands produce a comparable hardwood. I've already tested samples in our workshop. It would require adjusting some specifications, but the work could continue with minimal disruption."
Lord Tywin nodded slightly, acknowledging the practical solution. "I'll have my steward draft the necessary arrangements," he said. "Lord Bryce would likely welcome the royal contract."
"See to it," Aerys commanded, seemingly pleased by this display of problem-solving. His mood had shifted again, the reasonable king temporarily ascendant over the paranoid one. "What other matters require my attention?"
The council proceeded to discuss crop yields, tax collection, and minor judicial matters requiring royal approval. Throughout, Barristan noted the complex dynamics at play—Lord Tywin's efficient management, Queen Rhaella's occasional gentle redirections when the king's attention wandered, Prince Rhaegar's thoughtful contributions on matters of justice, and Prince Thalor's practical insights on infrastructure and resources.
It was, all things considered, a productive council session, with decisions made and directives issued that would keep the realm functioning smoothly. These were the good days, when King Aerys's natural intelligence and education asserted themselves over his growing instability.
As the meeting concluded and lords gathered their papers, preparing to depart, a servant entered with an urgent message for the king. Barristan watched as Aerys read the parchment, his expression darkening with each line.
"What treachery is this?" he demanded suddenly, rising from his chair with such force that it toppled backward. "Who authorized this?"
The council members froze, the comfortable atmosphere evaporating instantly. Queen Rhaella leaned toward her husband, attempting to see the message that had triggered this reaction.
"My love, what troubles you?" she asked softly.
"This!" Aerys thrust the parchment toward her, his hand trembling with rage. "A report from my loyal informants in Lannisport. Lord Tywin's brother has been stockpiling wildfire components. Substances that, when combined, create the very flames used by House Targaryen since before the Conquest!"
All eyes turned to Lord Tywin, whose expression remained impenetrable despite the serious accusation. "Your Grace, I assure you—"
"Silence!" Aerys shouted. "Do you take me for a fool, Tywin? First your daughter circles my dragon prince, and now your brother gathers the elements of dragon fire? The plot is transparent!"
Barristan shifted slightly, one hand moving instinctively toward his sword hilt as the tension in the chamber rose dangerously. Ser Gerold caught his eye with a minute shake of the head—a warning not to escalate the situation unnecessarily.
"Father," Prince Thalor interjected calmly, rising from his seat with deliberate slowness. "May I examine the report?"
Something in the young prince's tone—neither challenging nor dismissive, but matter-of-fact—caught the king's attention. After a moment's hesitation, Aerys handed the parchment to his son, watching with suspicious eyes as Thalor read its contents.
"Ah," Thalor said after a moment, his expression clearing. "I believe I can explain this, Father. These aren't wildfire components." He glanced toward Lord Tywin. "They're supplies for our water purification system."
Aerys frowned. "Explain."
"The chemicals listed here—alum, quicklime, and ferrous sulfate—are indeed volatile in certain combinations," Thalor acknowledged. "But they're also essential components of the water treatment process I designed for Lannisport's harbor district. Lord Kevan is overseeing the implementation based on plans I sent three months ago, with your approval."
Thalor turned the parchment to indicate specific entries. "See here? The quantities match exactly what our calculations indicated would be necessary for a city of Lannisport's size. And here—" he pointed to another section, "—the storage facilities described are identical to those I recommended for safety and efficiency."
The council chamber remained utterly silent as King Aerys scrutinized the report again, his brow furrowed in concentration. Barristan watched Lord Tywin, noting that the Hand's expression had not changed during this entire exchange, though a slight tension around his mouth suggested contained anger at the public accusation.
"You sent these plans to Lannisport?" Aerys asked his son, his tone less hostile but still suspicious.
"Yes, Father," Thalor confirmed. "After the success of our initial implementations in King's Landing, you approved expanding the water purification systems to major port cities throughout the realm. We discussed it during the infrastructure council three months past."
Queen Rhaella gently placed her hand on her husband's arm. "I remember the discussion, my love. You were particularly pleased that Thalor's inventions would improve health conditions across the Seven Kingdoms, not just in the capital."
For a long moment, the outcome hung in balance. Barristan could see the conflict playing across the king's features—suspicion warring with rationality, paranoia with paternal pride in his son's achievements.
Finally, Aerys handed the parchment back to Thalor. "Very well," he said, his tone abruptly switching to magnanimity. "I recall the project now. A worthy endeavor for the realm's wellbeing." He turned to Lord Tywin with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It seems my concerns were misplaced, Lord Hand. You must forgive a king's necessary vigilance in troubled times."
"Of course, Your Grace," Tywin replied with a slight bow, his voice giving no indication of the insult he had just weathered. "The crown's vigilance protects us all."
The tension in the chamber gradually dissipated as the king's mood stabilized, though Barristan noted the careful way the council members now moved and spoke—like men navigating a field known to contain hidden pitfalls. Queen Rhaella smoothly suggested concluding the meeting, guiding her husband toward the door with practiced skill.
As the council dispersed, Barristan observed a brief exchange between Prince Thalor and Lord Tywin—a nod from the Hand, a slight inclination of the head from the prince. No words were spoken, yet an understanding seemed to pass between them. The prince had defused a potentially disastrous confrontation with quick thinking and diplomatic skill beyond his years.
Following the royal family out of the chamber, Barristan reflected on what he had witnessed. Prince Thalor, at ten years old, had demonstrated not just intelligence but political acumen that men twice his age might envy. He had neither contradicted his father directly nor allowed an innocent man to be falsely accused, finding instead a middle path that preserved both truth and dignity.
It was, Barristan thought, exactly the sort of skill that the realm would increasingly need in the challenging times ahead. And it reinforced his growing suspicion that the second Targaryen prince—the "Dragon Prince" as the smallfolk had taken to calling him—might prove more consequential to the realm's future than many anticipated.
As the Kingsguard knight resumed his duties, escorting Queen Rhaella to her chambers after she had seen the king settled with his pyromancers, he found himself wondering what might have happened had Prince Thalor not been present at that council meeting. How much of the realm's stability now rested on the slender shoulders of a ten-year-old boy with unusual eyes and an even more unusual dragon?
It was not a comforting thought for a man sworn to protect the realm and its rulers. Yet it was increasingly difficult to ignore the evidence before him: King Aerys's condition continued to deteriorate, while his second son demonstrated capabilities that seemed almost uncanny in their timeliness and application.
Perhaps, Barristan reflected as he took up his post outside the queen's solar, watching Prince Thalor and Nightfury conduct aerial exercises above the Red Keep, the gods had sent the unusual prince and his dragon precisely when the realm needed them most. And perhaps that was providence rather than coincidence.
Only time would tell whether such divine intervention—if that's what it was—would prove sufficient for the challenges that lay ahead.