'I didn't know what a 'bitter pill' was until I met the man.'
-Taken from 'The Travels of Fyrio Fartold'
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Rhaenyra wallowed through the halls; silent, empty, heavy with the scent of sex, like the stench that clings after a dragon ride.
Her brother had left once again. Only this time, she felt she had truly lost him. Gone like a dream you promise to remember and can't grasp upon waking.
The House of the Dragon was hers to command, yet without Rhaenar it felt hollow. No home could ever be as true as the one where he remained.
She was beside herself. What to do? Part of her wished to mount Syrax and give chase, but the storm raged too fiercely. She was not the rider her brother was.
So Rhaenyra wandered the castle like an aimless bird separated from its formation, as though if she simply kept walking, she might find what would make her whole again.
She found nothing. And she could not bring herself to return to the Red Keep. Not while the disappointment still pressed so raw.
How had everything gone so wrong? In such a short span she had lost both Mother and Brother, and for reasons still beyond her understanding.
Never had she walked so many steps as she did that night. Grief drained the last of her tears.
She was on the verge of calling back the servants — ready to bundle in bed — when she caught the glow of a candle inside a darkened chamber.
Curious, she pushed the door open. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a man seated at a desk, reading a scroll.
"Hello?" she said. "I thought everyone left the castle."
"Almost," replied a low, raspy voice.
She looked around and realized it was a laboratory. Bookshelves lined one wall; beakers, cauldrons, and strange instruments filled the other. And at the desk sat a pale figure —bald and sleek-headed, with eyes washed-out and grey as chips of stone.
"I'm afraid my work is too important to the Prince to afford any delay," the man said. "So I remain. I do hope you'll forgive me, Princess."
"If it's of importance to him, then think nothing of it," Rhaenyra said. "Who are you?"
"You may call me Eldric. Now then, what brings you here at such an hour?"
Rhaenyra sighed. "I don't know. I can't sleep."
Eldric laughed through his teeth. "Tss tss. I bet. I could hardly sleep myself with the noise you two were making."
She hadn't the energy to blush, though she managed courtesy. "You heard all that? Apologies..."
"Don't be," Eldric said. "As for sleep, I can brew something to help."
"Nothing better than wine, I suspect."
"Tss tss. Spoken exactly as I'd expect of his Twin."
Rhaenyra welcomed the distraction. "What are you working on?"
"The nature of our agreement stipulates that I cannot divulge any detail to anyone but Prince Rhaenar."
She raised a brow. "Now I really want to know."
"Apologies, Princess. Though in a vague sense, I am researching concoctions of a hallucinatory nature. Something to help ease the post-traumatic stress of his troops, you might say."
"Speaking of which," Rhaenyra said.
A glint on the desk caught her eye: a large, spiked object, strangely beautiful in the candlelight.
"What's that?"
Eldric's smile turned thin and sinister. "That would be a glass candle. A treasured artefact among maesters. This one belonged to Aegon the Conqueror himself. It came from Old Valyria."
"They had these in the Freehold," she said, leaning closer.
"Yes. In the days when magic was more common, many great Houses possessed a glass candle."
"Magic?" Rhaenyra asked. It certainly looked mystical in a grotesque sort of way. "What kind of magic?"
"We use glass candles as a form of communication," Eldric said. "With them we can speak across a great distance in real time, or watch events unfold anywhere in the world. The more gifted warlocks could even enter another's dream. There was all manner of dream-craft in the days when the candles were common. They remain powerful tools, in the right hands."
Rhaenyra's attention sharpened. "You can see things even if you're not there?"
Where had this been her whole life? With a candle she could have watched Rhaenar's campaigns, the marches, the battles against the Mountain Clans.
"Yes," Eldric said.
"And entering dreams. You meant that literally? Could I enter Rhaenar's if I learned how?"
Eldric lifted a hand. "The Prince is a special case."
Of course he was. "How?"
"It's not like no one has tried. We just can't breach his veil. It's as if he has never dreamed at all. Even when we use the candle to follow him, his figure is always distorted. We track those near him instead and make do with the blurred impressions they give."
Rhaenyra drew a breath. She remembered Rhaenar beneath the stars, mentioning he'd been dreamless since birth. She had no idea what that meant in the realm of warlocks and ancient tools, only now that it set him apart.
Eldric watched her closely. "Ah, you know something. No need to say. But I know that look; curiosity burns a hole through you."
There was something off about the man — something that kept Rhaenyra from trusting him — but she had already made up her mind. Even if Rhaenar was an outlier, she could still track him in some fashion. That alone was worth anything.
"Can you teach me to use it? The glass candle."
"Tss tss tss. Bold as your brother." Eldric leaned back. "In theory, yes. But it is no simple task. You would need to study arts long shunned by the Citadel. Fortunately, I know them, and I cannot deny a request from my patron."
Now she understood what Rhaenar had meant. Everything here is yours. All that I own…
"How long would it take?"
"Perhaps a year, if you're diligent."
"Then we'll begin when I return."
"I half expected you to demand we start now."
"It's not that I don't want to," she said. "But I must return home and accept pledges of fealty. It will take the Lords months to gather. After that, I'll return."
"As you command," Eldric cackled. "Imagine me taking a student. I must be getting old."
He turned back to his scrolls, as if the matter were settled. Rhaenyra lingered, eyes drifting to the steaming pot on the table. A sharp, medicinal scent rose from it.
"What's in the pot?"
"You suspect already, no?" Eldric said. "I took the liberty of brewing it after hearing all the… activity… upstairs."
Rhaenyra flushed. Moon Tea was favored by lords who wished to spare their daughters an inconvenient pregnancy.
Eldric seemed to read her mind. "No need to worry, Princess. It's brewed for your body weight. I have an eye for such things, and years of practice. The dose is precise — effective, without risk of sterility. You'll have children in the future. You have my word."
She wasn't sure she liked how competent Rhaenar's companions were, but she couldn't deny the usefulness. The man had anticipated this. And truly, she could not return to King's Landing with a swelling belly. The court would notice at once.
She took a moment to weigh her future. Strange how a single cup of hot tea could alter the course of a life.
Rhaenyra made her choice. "Very well."
She lifted the cup. As the steam touched her face, she prayed it was the right decision.