The King of Winters

Chapter 32

Rhaegar

Balerion brought them to the port of King's Landing at first light. Only when Bezzaro finished his prayer did the king stepped down from the war galley.  There was already a good party of escort waiting for him. Aegon was at their head, dressed in black and grey, the colors of both his parents. He had not thought to see his son here. Aegon was always aware of his duty and what was needed of him. And he was needed at the Red Keep in his absence. If he was here then he must have reasons to be here. 

The men all went to one knee when he stepped onto the ground and the sight was almost pleasing. When people fear you it is the most intoxicating sensation a man can possess. He had learned that long ago. A move of his fingers had them all on their feet again. 

"Aegon," Rhaegar said walking to his son. He pulled him in for a tight embrace. He had missed his son. He still remembered the day he had put him over his dragon for the first time. He missed the old times. 

"Father," Aegon greeted him back with a melancholic smile. The boy had got his brooding, melancholic face from him. 

"My prince," Bezzaro followed him. 

Aegon greeted him with a simple word. His son never liked the red priest much. He shouted some orders to prepare for their ride back to the Red Keep on Aegon's Hill. A boy brought two horses for him and Bezzaro. Rhaegar mounted his ride and the column fell in behind him after his kingsguard. Aegon rode to his left while Bezzaro stayed in his right flanked by the three remaining Kingsguard.

They rode from the port at once accompanied by a dozen citywatch guards in their gold cloaks and gold enameled halfhelms. As they passed beneath the river gate, his son came beside him. Looking at him Rhaegar could say that something was troubling him. "Father," he called, "What happened in Braavos?"

Rhaegar grew hesitant. "Its nothing to worry about," he managed himself to say. "Someone has paid to see me dead. But no worries, the killer lays dead in the gutter."  

"But who was that?" Aegon asked. "Who wants you dead? You should've tried to catch him alive. We could've got the answer from him." 

That is if I had managed to catch him in the first place. The bastard had slipped through his hands, escaping by using the canals. Rhaegar prayed to the gods to keep him alive just so he could take his filthy life away from him. 

"You don't have to worry over it. It would've been either one of Stark's friend." But he knew that was not the truth. Robert would never send an assassin to do the work for him. Jon Arryn, too honorable to do it. He would put his money on Tywin Lannister. When he heard of Viserys' death Rhaegar had been so sure that it was not the work of Tywin but now with the thing happened to him he doubted no one more. But the lion was a cunning one. Tywin wouldn't have allowed Jaime to accompany if he had already planned this. 

"You don't have to trouble over it son. I'm planning to deal with them soon." Rhaegar put his heels into his horse and trotted away, leaving the gold cloaks to follow as best they could. 

He had intended to take the measure of the city when he was in Braavos. Rhaegar Targaryen was not pleased by much of what he saw. The streets of King's Landing had always been teeming and raucous and noisy, but now they reeked of danger in a way that he did not recall from past visits. The streets were filled with poor fellows eying them covetously with pale eyes and hollow cheeks. Watchmen were much in evidence, moving in pairs through the alleys in their gold cloaks and shirts of black ringmail, iron cudgels never far from their hands. The markets were crowded with ragged men selling their household goods for any price they could get... and conspicuously empty of farmers selling food. What little produce he did see was three times as costly as it had been a year ago. One peddler was hawking rats roasted on a skewer. "Fresh rats," he cried loudly, "fresh rats." Doubtless fresh rats were to be preferred to old stale rotten rats. The frightening thing was, the rats looked more appetizing than most of what the butchers were selling. On the Street of Flour, Tyrion saw guards at every other shop door. When times grew lean, even bakers found sellswords cheaper than bread, he reflected.