Rhaekar gazed at himself in the mirror. A red tunic, baggy and sagging, hung over his muscles, while brown tights clung to his legs. Dark brown boots rose up to his knees. He mused how it had been quite a while since he had dressed up for anything – perhaps the last time was the tourney in King’s Landing. How fitting it was that he was now dressing up for yet another tourney. Public appearances such as this forced you to look your best; there was no need to do so in the battlefield, or when you were sparring with your men in the castle courtyard.
There was a soft rapping on the door. “Come in,” Rhaekar called. There was a soft turn of the handle, and then the door creaked as it was ever so gently pushed open. Rhaekar turned his head, and saw two small violet eyes staring at him from a small, round head. It was his daughter, Laena. Just three name days along, she had already grown a good portion of long, silver hair from her little scalp. She was peeking through the open door, a plain brown dress over her tiny little body. She gripped the side of the door as she looked up at her father.
“Well, no need to just stand there. Come in, Little Lanna.”
Laena stepped in, then turned and closed the door behind her. She turned back and looked at her father, blinking.
“Which vest should I wear?” Rhaekar asked.
Laena tilted her head, the locks of her silver hair swaying to one side. Her violet eyes studied the clothes hanging in the wardrobe for a few good seconds, then lifted her little hand and pointed a finger.
“This one?” Rhaekar reached in and pulled out the vest in question. It was a maroon one with the white unicorn of House Valzyren rising up in an elaborate, floral-like pattern. “Would it not be more modest if I chose this one?” He pointed to a plain, green vest.
Laena shook her head and again pointed to the vest in his hand.
“Alright, very well. The house vest, it is.” Rhaekar lifted the vest up and over his head, then brought it down. As he tugged and pulled, he glanced back at his daughter. “Have you been good to Maester Albar?”
Laena nodded.
“And no temper tantrums?”
Laena nodded again.
“Good. How is your brother Daemon doing?”
Laena shrugged.
Rhaekar smirked. “I suppose with a child that young, no news is good news.” He took his sword and drew it from the sheath. He could see his reflection in the metal, and as he tilted it forward, he caught the reflection of his daughter, gazing on him with quiet admiration. He pondered for a moment if Laena realized, with the birth of her brother, that she was no longer the heir to Duskendale, but now merely pretender. Perhaps it was better that such a thing should occur when she was of a young and innocent age. Rhaekar had heard of ladies and princesses who threw tantrums and destroyed furniture when they heard that their newborn sibling had proven to be a male. Now, with Rhaena pregnant a third time, one could only wonder if the prospect promised Laena a sister, or yet another heir to push her down the pretender line.
“Are you ready for your travels? Has Elonne helped you packed? You are aware where we’re going?”
Laena shook her head.
“Lord Rolland Hollard has invited us to a tourney at Hollard Hall. You might remember that father was very irate with him a while ago. Well, that has changed, and now we are attempting to make amends.” Rhaekar turned his blade around and dipped the very tip of it into the sheath. He let his fingers open up, and at once the sword dropped up to the hilt. A loud clink sound echoed across the room. “Sometimes you must show mercy to someone, when they deserve it. A blade should only be drawn when it is absolutely necessary.”
His violet eyes turned and considered Laena. She had inherited his same hue, rather than a darker shade like her mother’s. Gazing into his young daughter, it was almost as if the orbs were reaching out to one another, connecting across the open space of cool air between them. Rhaekar remembered the time he had gripped a sword in hand and thrust it into the chest of a man who threatened to kill Laena, when she still nursed at a wet maid’s bosom.
“You should run along now,” Rhaekar said, a smile curling over his lips. “Find Elonne, and ask her to help you get ready.”
Laena held up her two hands. She balled them into fists, placed them beside each other at the thumbs, then began to bounce them up and down.
“Oh, you want to ride with me at the tourney?”
Laena nodded.
“I am afraid women cannot ride during the jousts, Little Lanna.”
Laena held up her hands, formed them into fists, and repeated the motion.
“Perhaps I will find another way for you to ride with me. If I did, would you be satisfied?”
Laena nodded, with more enthusiasm, and she smiled so wide her little child’s teeth went on display.
“Good. Now run along.”
A few days later, the entourage from the Dun Fort had arrived at Hollard Hall. A small force of select footmen had been chosen to attend the initial melee, just before the jousts. Wearing well tailored tabards bearing the white unicorn over their chests, they stood in formation at the far end of the tourney field. They were tall and rigid, though the banners they held aloft fluttered like the wings of wild birds. The checkered pattern of Duskendale danced with the rising unicorn of Valzyren. Behind them, knights prepared for battle, and other soldiers from all across the region prepared for the day. In the stands at the far end, all the ladies and many lords were taking their seats.
“Get ready!” came a cry. “The Unicorn Prince arrives!”
The men glanced to the side, then stared straight forward again. Sure enough, riding over the hill, followed by a small troupe of knights, was Lord Rhaekar himself. His horse pranced in a trot, his silver hair flowing behind him like a cape. The maroon vest with the white unicorn seemed to almost glow from his front. On his lap, clinging to his arms as she bounced up and down on the saddle, was his daughter Laena. She was smiling proudly as she sat side-saddled, one shoulder pressed against her father. A beautiful, blue dress spun by fine fabric was over her body. Rhaekar rode his horse towards the formation of his men, then came to a stop. The men lifted their swords and spears in a salute. He lifted his hand in return.
“Men of the Dun Fort!” Rhaekar cried. “Where is your loyalty?”
With deep bravado and perfect unison, the men declared in cadence, “To the Unicorn and to his line!”
As soon as they were done, another voice rose up. It was the tiny voice. It was the unmistakable voice of a little girl. It was Laena. “Loyalty!”
Rhaekar, holding back the immense laughter that was forming in his chest, watched as the footmen glanced nervously to one another. Even the officers seemed at a loss. Finally, after a few awkward seconds, the entire forced repeated, with enthusiasm equal to the first time, “To the Unicorn and to his line!”
Laena opened her mouth. “Loy-”
Rhaekar’s hand came over it.
Now it was the turn of the footmen to suppress laughter.
Rhaekar lifted up his hand from his daughter’s mouth. He patted her head a few times, then said in a loud voice: “Let the games begin!”
He turned the horse around and rode along the edge of the tourney field. As he did, the footmen raised their swords and spears. “UNICORN! UNICORN! UNICORN!” The formation turned and marched towards the opposite end of the field, where those partaking in the melee were getting ready. Rhaekar rode his horse to the stands, where he dismounted first, then helped his daughter down. He took the reigns and handed them to a knight, who led the beast away. Patting his daughter on the shoulder, he led her up the side steps of the stands, and towards the front. There was his wife, Lady Rhaena, in light armor done in gray scales with a green tunic and skirt underneath. It did not fit as well as it used too, given the swelling of her belly of late. What Rhaekar noticed most importantly of all was the fire in his wife’s purple eyes, which told him he was about to get a scolding.
“Why did you insist on bringing Laena with you when you addressed your men?” Rhaena asked him.
Rhaekar motioned for his daughter to sit, then stood beside his wife. “Many of those men have children, if not daughters, of their own. If they see their lord has one too, they feel more kinship with him. And kinship with the man you fight for is very important. It is not only
what you fight for, but
who you fight for.”
Rhaena lifted her chin. “At least give her better garments to wear. Give her womanly armor, as the sisters of Aegon the Conqueror wore.”
“
She chose the dress.”
Rhaena lifted her chin and looked away. “You should have told her no.”
Rhaekar shot his wife a glance. “Your daughter is a
Valzyren, not a Targaryen. She wears a dress, not a suit of armor.” Out in the field, the melee had begun. As the weapons clashed against each other, Rhaekar added, “Besides, with her difficulty speaking, I would expect you to be happy she said anything at all.”
“She barely speaks because you spoil her. If you would give a lashing to her a few times, she would speak soon enough.”
Rhaekar raised an eyebrow. “I could do that. And maybe it would make her speak much more.” He tilted his head and shot his wife a glance. “But not
to me.”
After the melee came the time for the jousts. Rhaekar left the stands, went into a tent, and donned his dark armor. As soon as he was mounted on his horse, he rode to the tourney fields, where he prepared for the first lists. Ser Balon Byrch, the brother of the former Lord Monford and a commander of Byrch Hall, was the first to face off against him. Rhaekar shut the visor in his helmet, then took deep breaths. He remembered King’s Landing, and what an embarrassment that had been. He would not repeat that today. He would make certain of it.
As he waited for the signal, he became aware of the sound of his heavy breathing underneath the metal. It heated up the already hot atmosphere underneath his armor. His eyes stared forward, locked on his opponent. He took deeper breaths, and with each one, Rhaekar found his lance becoming lighter and lighter. His fingers curled, and he could hear the faint
clink-clink-clink of each piece of metal rubbing against each other.
The signal was given, and at last the two horsemen began their gallop. Rhaekar felt his horse pick up speed, entering a full gallop in a second. His lance came down. His mind focused on the chest of his opponent, square center. He could see the lance of his opponent wavering. Closer and closer they came to one another. Rhaekar couldn’t hear the gallop of hooves or the cries of the crowd. He could only hear his breathing. He could only see the knight before him.
CRUNCH.
Rhaekar’s lance struck home. He watched Ser Balon topple backward, his legs swinging upward. At once he was on the ground. Rhaekar’s horse slowed from its gallop to a prance, then a trot. At last it stopped, and he suddenly became aware that the crowd was cheering. He lifted up his visor, and the sweat poured down his brows. He turned and looked into the stands. Rhaena stood, and was clapping, a smile on her face. Laena was beside her, clapping merrily and giving cheerful cries. Little Daemon, his baby son, could do little more than stare around and make a worried face at the sudden noise that had surrounded him. Meanwhile, Rhaekar felt like the experience at King’s Landing had been rectified, and with the praise of his family and subjects, felt rejuvenated.
His next opponent was Ser Roger Hollard, the kinsmen of Rolland Hollard. On his shield, Rhaekar saw the familiar symbol of House Hollard: the stripes and banners, topped by three crowns. Each crown was a circular shape, with points rising straight up. Rhaekar pondered it only a moment, as if he had seen it before. He then had to remind himself that, it being the standard of one of his vassals, it was only natural that it should be familiar. Yet something about it seemed to desire to be remembered, and recalled. It sent a shiver up Rhaekar’s spine, though he did not know why.
Under the visor, Rhaekar began to take slow, deep breaths. Once again, all sounds seemed to be drowned out. Nothing entered the helmet, and nothing could be heard inside it, save the flow of warm air in and out of his mouth. Rhaekar suddenly became aware of how dry his lips were, and resolved to have some water shortly after he had knocked Ser Roger on his back. For now, he had to ignore it. He gripped his lance again, and stared across the way. His eyes locked on those three crowns again.
The signal was given. At once, both horses went into a full gallop. The lances dropped, aimed for the chests of each man. Once again, Rhaekar felt his horse pick up speed with great agility. Ser Roger’s mount matched his speed. The men were coming at one another with the distance shortening by the second. They were about to hit. Rhaekar kept his aim steady and true, right for his opponent’s chest. He was determined to send him sprawling to the ground.
Then, at the last minute, something happened. Roger’s lance shifted upwards. It did so just before the two men met.
Rhaekar felt the impact of the lance against his chest. He heard the glide of the wood along the metal as it went upward along his breastplate. He felt his armor tilt back as the lance invaded underneath.
He felt the pain in his throat.
His helmet flew off. He was knocked back. He toppled off his horse. It was like King’s Landing all over again. No, this was different. He knew it. He knew it by the fact that he felt the pain shooting from his neck up into his head. He knew it by the feel of a warm, hot fluid shooting and spreading around his neck, face, and chest. He knew, even before he hit the ground, that something had gone wrong.
Gasps and screams filled the air. One, prolonged scream came from the stands. He knew to whom it belonged. It was the scream of his wife, Rhaena. It was the same scream she had given upon first seeing the Dragon Forest. He heard Andrian crying out to get the children out of sight. The children…? Laena and Daemon. Out of sight? Out of sight of what? He heard people crying out for Albar, and the voice of Albar saying he was here. It sounded close. Why couldn’t he see it? All he could see was the sky above – a sea of blue above him. Strange, hadn’t there been quite a few clouds before?
His eyes stared upwards. He tried to speak, but only gurgles came out. He felt the hot fluid on his neck fill his mouth now. It slid over his cheeks. It was strangely… relaxing. Despite the pain that was throbbing from the shoulders upward, there was a strange calmness within his heart. Thoughts danced across his mind: Rhaena, where was she? Was she okay? Daemon, was he alright? And Laena… Little Lanna… did she still live? Was she alright…?
Did she live…?
He had chosen for her to live…
He had asked the seven persons in the dream to let her live…
Did she… live…?
Did…
…she…
…li…
The blue darkened. It flowed into black.
That was the last thing which Rhaekar, the Unicorn Prince, remembered…
