Chapter 3 — A Day in the Red Keep
The sun rose pale and gold over the walls of the Red Keep, casting long shadows across its towers and battlements. In the royal apartments, the day began with the clatter of servants setting out trays of figs, bread still warm from the ovens, and honeyed wine watered for the children. King Viserys liked his mornings unhurried, savoring soft-boiled eggs and sweet rolls beside Queen Aemma, who preferred porridge with berries. The twins sat opposite, Rhaenyra bright-eyed and talkative, Rhaegar quieter, watching more than speaking. Daemon arrived late, as ever, in half-fastened tunic and smelling faintly of wine, dropping into his seat with a wolfish grin that earned him a scolding look from his brother and a giggle from Rhaenyra.
When the meal ended, the King rose for his council, while Aemma lingered with the children, brushing Rhaenyra's hair until it shone like spun silver. Rhaegar endured the same with stoic patience until his mother kissed his brow and sent them both off to their lessons.
By midmorning, the twins sat in the solar with Maester Runciter, the old man droning on about the histories of Aegon's Conquest. Rhaenyra's hand darted up with eager questions, challenging details about Harrenhal and Storm's End. Rhaegar, though, scribbled in silence, eyes sharp with a maturity far beyond his years, offering answers that sometimes startled the Maester with their insight. Wooden swords followed parchments, for Ser Harrold Westerling took them to the yard, where sweat and laughter replaced ink-stained fingers. The clang of timber echoed as Rhaegar parried his sister's strikes, until Daemon appeared in the gallery above, leaning on the rail. He called down praise that was half mockery, then disappeared, only to return with gifts later—tiny daggers of silver and steel, their hilts wrapped in dragonbone, far finer than playthings.
At midday, the small council gathered in the King's solar. The air was thick with parchment and wax, and the lords spoke of coin, ships, and restless bannermen. Ser Otto Hightower pressed for caution and careful spending, while Lord Corlys Velaryon demanded strength upon the seas. Viserys smiled, nodding, though oft his gaze drifted to the windows, where the cries of his children at play reached faintly across the yard. He was not blind to the squabbles of his lords, yet the King's heart was soft that day, full of family, and he let their arguments trail without final word.
The afternoon brought gentler hours. Queen Aemma walked the gardens with her daughter, plucking blossoms for her chamber. Rhaegar trailed behind, hands clasped, listening more than speaking. Rhaenyra pressed her mother with dreams of dragonrides and glory, while Aemma smiled, warning softly of dangers. In another part of the Keep, Daemon entertained himself at his whoring, yet by evening he reappeared all charm, spinning tales to his niece and nephew of places they had yet to see.
As dusk fell, torches burned in the Great Hall. Supper was laid with roasted boar, honeyed carrots, and loaves heavy with butter. The royal family sat upon the dais, the lords and ladies of court arrayed below. Alicent Hightower lingered near the twins, speaking softly, her courtesy warm as she tried to draw smiles from the prince and princess alike. Rhaenyra took to her readily, but Rhaegar only nodded, polite yet guarded, his eyes sliding often to his father at the head of the table.
When the feast ended, music lingered in the air, and courtiers slipped away by twos and threes. The King and Queen retired to their chambers, their laughter soft through the stone walls. The twins were guided to their rooms by servants carrying lamps, the flames flickering against the tapestries. Rhaenyra curled into bed with her dragon egg beside her pillow, while Rhaegar lay awake longer, staring at the carved ceiling, thoughts far from boyhood.
So ended another day in the Red Keep: dawn to dusk, a rhythm of meals and lessons, love and quarrels, politics and play. A family bound by fire, and shadows already gathering beyond their walls.