The Golden Maiden was the victim of a fire. The septons began preaching about the fury of the Seven against debauchery and degeneration. There were no deaths, only injuries from burns. That left room for speculation about who had caused it; it seemed like someone generous who felt guilty about killing innocents.
'Jaehaerys,' Ned thought bitterly. He had spoken to him, and he went and killed Peter Baelish. Peter was a friend of his wife, Catelyn; they had grown up together in Riverrun. Now he was dead, thanks to Jaehaerys.
"Why did you do it?" Ned confronted the man he had raised, though not in the best way.
"He tried to kill my daughter," said the prince. "Actually, my daughter was a mistake. His target was Myrcella or Sansa," he explained to Eddard.
"How can you be sure?" asked the man.
"Baelish confessed in the end." He explained. "He wanted a war, Eddard. In war, small men like him can climb," said the prince.
"Even so, if he was guilty," Ned wasn't entirely sure about that. "He should have been tried," said Ned.
"He was, I judged him myself," the prince said to Ned. "I questioned, judged, condemned, and killed him," he said in a firm voice. "I looked him in the eye as he died. Eddard, you once said, 'If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. … A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.' I looked him in the eye, and I heard him confess. He deserved to die." Jaehaerys remembered those exact words; he had heard them from Ned's lips and on the TV show.
"He deserved a trial," Ned said vaguely, though no longer with much force.
"Just like Joffrey. Where is he now?" he asked rhetorically. "You don't belong in the south. In the south, there is no honor. Duty doesn't matter. All that matters is climbing, no matter the cost," he said.
Ned remained silent, understanding what the prince meant. The intrigues in the south turned his stomach. But that didn't mean he was happy. The right thing was the thing that had to be done. Perhaps the only thing stopping Eddard from accepting that the prince was proper was that Baelish had not confessed publicly, that he had not heard him. If he had, perhaps it would have been Ice who cut off his head.
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"She's asleep, Jae, don't make any noise," Rhaella scolded Jaehaerys when he entered Rhaelle's room. The little baby was healthy, her pale skin looking healthy. The only thing left of that horrible memory was those red marks on her neck, the baby herself had scratched her skin in desperation.
There was a silver necklace around the baby's neck, the same device Jaehaerys used to detect evil emotions and purify poisons. It was that necklace that saved Rhaelle's life.
The necklace had been vibrating since he entered Lannisport, in the Meele, in the streets, always sensing evil emotions. Those who wished to harm him were countless, so he learned to ignore the sensation.
The necklace now seemed weaker than when he first brought it; every day, it seemed as if its "battery" was running low. It was effective around the Weirwoods; their magic kept it working. But here, far from ArgentStone, it was like a tool with limited energy.
The baby opened her eyes, as if sensing her father's presence near her. She smiled, her uneven teeth bringing a smile to the prince's face.
The Queen Mother patted him on the head.
"She wants to be with her father," said Jaehaerys as he lifted the baby into his arms.
"Make sure she gets enough sleep," the queen mother said as she rose. "Tomorrow will be the Imp's trial, if he requests trial by combat. Kill his champion, who will surely be Jaime. Take two sons from Tywin," said Rhaella. Jaehaerys was surprised by the amount of hatred that overflowed with each word.
"Tyrion was not to blame. The culprit is already dead," said Jaehaerys.
"How?" Rhaella asked in surprise.
"A brothel burned down yesterday. Did you hear about it?" said the prince to his mother. "And they will need a master of coin... Tyrell, perhaps?" Having a Rose join the Privy Council would keep the king more stressed.
Of course, Rhaegar would only need to be stressed if he made it out of the Westerlands alive.
"Baelish... why?"
"The things a man does for love... and spite, are wonderful," said the prince. Rhaella seemed to remember something before leaving the room.
"I am glad to hear that."
Jaehaerys hugged his daughter to his chest, and the little girl laughed, as if he had tickled her. He looked around the room and saw a storybook on the nightstand. Rhaella had brought one to read to the baby. The woman who had asked him to deny the little girl was now spoiling her.
Jaehaerys picked up the book as he sat down with the baby on his lap.
He began to read to her, not in the common language. He wanted to teach her High Valyrian. She was his daughter; she had to know it. The baby clapped her hands, as if she understood every word.
"Wah-wah," the little girl pointed to a giant creature. Reptilian and winged. A dragon.
"Zaldrīzes," Jaehaerys said as he pointed to the creature. "It means 'dragon.' You'll get to know them when you live in my castle, there are three there," he told the little girl, who clapped her hands as she listened.
"Grraarrr!" the little girl roared, mimicking the dragon's open mouth.
"Dracarys," Jaehaerys pointed to the fire coming out of the animal's open jaws. "It means 'dragon fire'. We, the Targaryens, use it to let the dragons know that we want them to breathe fire," he explained calmly. "Little Rhaelle. We don't command dragons. We talk to them, and they understand us. Our control over them is not complete. I'll make sure you remember that. A dragon is not a pet," he kissed her head after giving her a little lesson she would forget in the next five seconds.
"Da-da-da," the little girl was about to say her first word, but she stopped.
He continued reading to his daughter until she began to doze off. Jaehaerys wanted to sing her a lullaby, but his voice was so horrible that it would make her cry. Luckily for him, a melodious voice came from the doorway. Sansa was a good singer, and the girl in his arms looked at her mother, her eyes sparkling with excitement before slowly closing them to the melody.
Jaehaerys finally laid her in the crib.
"Thank you," the northern woman whispered.
She hugged him from behind, burying her head in his shoulder blades. It was the first time they had interacted since Rhaelle nearly died. Jaehaerys clenched his teeth. He turned around and hugged Sansa gently. There was no desire or lust. There was the affection and respect he had for his daughter's mother. But, he would be lying if he said he felt nothing for Sansa.
But he loved Daenerys.
Agh!
The Prince of Scrolls was a stupid and bloody man.
—----------
Rhaegar continued writing, the ink staining his hands. He hadn't slept well. He hadn't slept because of the excitement. Jaehaerys was still alive, but his hatred was directed at the Lannisters, not at him. His little brother could prove useful and finish off every one of the lions, starting with the Imp. If Tyrion dies, Joanna will not rest; it will be a matter of time before a cold war, with daggers and poison, begins.
But that wasn't the reason Rhaegar was so happy. No.
It was because of Melissandre.
"Soon. I saw it in the fire. You will have your dragons soon," she said, her voice bewitching.
Rhaegar looked into the flames. First, he saw black. Then he saw three eggs break. One black with red markings, another green with bronze markings, and a third cream-colored with gold markings. Rhaegar initially had only two dragon eggs; the third came from his bastard brother, Aegon.
'If only Jaehaerys were so helpful.'
"The king works harder than anyone," he heard in the shadows.
"Who's there?" Rhaegar had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice when he entered the room. "Jaehaerys," he said fearfully. The pen in his hands slipped from his sweaty grasp.
"I just wanted to stop by and say hello," said the prince. "I brought something to help you get that bitter taste out of your mouth. A fine wine, and it has a special touch," the prince took a flask from his clothes. Then he poured it into a worn golden cup. Jaehaerys felt the magic in the object.
"A special ingredient, you say?" Rhaegar looked at the wine suspiciously.
"Yes... It's called... give me a second to remember," the prince looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. "Ah! Yes! It was the strangler," he said with a smile.
Rhaegar looked at the liquid. Then he emptied the cup in one gulp.