Was there anything easier in this world than sending a beautiful, busty cook to Robert Baratheon's bed?
The young prince, using his bedtime request for warm milk as an excuse, specifically requested the attractive young cook from House Frey who had waited on him earlier that day, after the banquet.
Noble families were well aware of what happened when guests summoned cooks to their rooms late at night. They clearly had a somewhat presumptuous understanding of Viserys as well. They thought that since he was over eight years old, it wasn't unreasonable for a boy his age to be curious about plump women. Just like Old Frey's eldest grandson, Lyman Frey, who was frequenting Riverlands brothels at the age of nine.
The cook, thinking she had struck it rich, pushed forward her ample bosom, revealing a cleavage that even a layer of lace couldn't hide. Her eyes were hazy in the candlelight, and her fingers weren't so rough anymore. After eagerly pouring a cup of milk for Viserys, she asked, "Prince, do you want to know where the milk comes from?"
Actually, she had indeed struck it rich. Viserys generously took out a shiny silver stag and placed it in her hand, telling her that the black-haired, blue-eyed guest in the other luxurious guest room would very much like to know the answer—"Come now, take this pot of warm milk and deliver it as a bedtime drink. And, you know, when you two are discussing this question, yell as loud as you can."
The cook understood, and swayed her hips as she went to deliver the milk. Sure enough, Robert behaved as expected—the commotion they made that night allowed Viserys, who could hear it from the door of his own suite, to feel both proud and disgusted.
He also saw, without surprise, that Ned, in the adjacent suite on the same floor, had been disturbed. He stood at the castle window, breathing in the air, his brows furrowed.
Viserys casually walked over, and casually asked, "If Robert has a bastard, would he bring it back to the Stormlands to raise?"
Ned couldn't answer. The next day, the rain and snow made travel undesirable, so he invited Robert to a long talk in the suite's bedroom, in front of the fireplace.
Viserys, now acting as a personal attendant, was outside, meticulously wiping down armor and a hammer with vinegar, focusing especially on the joints of the hammer's handle. He perked up his ears, hearing Robert say that chasing women for warmth wasn't a big deal, even inviting Ned to join in. He said marriage couldn't be compared to those "bitches." He would naturally love Lyanna — a perfect example of a noble heir who considered love and sex completely separate.
Ned knew his recently betrothed older brother wasn't exactly a man who abstained before marriage. But — he understood his sister Lyanna's personality and wanted her to be happy in her marriage. He said politely but coldly, "We're about to enter the North. I hope you can restrain yourself."
Robert chuckled, then changed the subject, probing to see if Ned, who was younger, had any experience with women.
"Don't be so strict with yourself, Ned. No woman wants to sleep with Saint Baelor! Besides, getting to know women before marriage will make your wife happier in bed! Otherwise, just saying, don't follow the example of the Crown Prince. When he was young, they also called him Saint Baelor, and he looked so boring."
Viserys clenched his teeth and scrubbed his weapons harder.
Unbelievable, outrageous!! Saint Baelor?! Baelor, a king from the Targaryen family, who was so religious he was fanatical! The amazing king who didn't touch his sister-wife! His brother, Rhaegar?? His brother did love to read when he was young, and Aerys's knights would laugh and say Saint Baelor was back. But Viserys strongly disagreed with this comparison! That king who built the Great Sept and couldn't be killed by a viper was an ascetic, fasting, and fanatically religious person. How could he be compared to his intelligent and calm brother?!
Although his brother was twenty years old, being clean and seeing desire as a sin were completely different things! Viserys thought of the plot and was full of confidence in his brother's ability — he could get a woman like Princess Elia pregnant twice, and could get Lyanna to give birth so quickly. His brother was clearly amazing!
If he could become a Kingsguard, responsible for guarding the king's chambers... probably suffocating with jealousy, Viserys thought, his teeth and mouth sour, everything sour. He'd hear everything that happened inside. But... Robert loved the wild, little kitchen maid type, so the screams would be loud and earth-shattering. Brother, his brother... Viserys imagined his brother's body, as pure and clean as a god, muscles firm, flawless ivory white. He wouldn't play those base games like Robert.
He blushed slightly, excited. Then, thinking again, he felt something was off...
Maybe it was because the queen on his brother's bed was a blur in his mind. He hadn't even seen Lyanna's face yet... Was her figure petite and delicate, or did she have healthy, long legs? Regardless, his brother would surely be... gentle and strong, considerate and athletic, leaving them harmoniously satisfied, unwilling to get out of bed for three days and three nights.
The object of Viserys's rosy-hued fantasies, the Crown Prince Rhaegar, was also on his way south, returning to King's Landing. He had arrived at Harrenhal. The master of the castle, Lord of House Hoare, had a younger brother who was one of the seven Kingsguard under the king, Oswell Whent.
The Lord was among the spectators at Riverrun for the jousting duel between the Crown Prince and Gregor. Having witnessed the heir to the throne's extraordinary demeanor firsthand, he was indeed both scholarly and martial, just as his brother had said. He was filled with confidence in the future of the Targaryen dynasty.
The Lord hosted the Crown Prince in this historic ancient castle, and the Crown Prince observed it with great interest.
Even though House Hoare currently only used two-thirds of the castle, the renovated areas were three times larger than the Red Keep. The stables could accommodate a thousand horses, and the hemispherical-roofed kitchen was no less impressive than the Queen Mother's ballroom. There was also a vast weirwood grove—Rhaegar loved this secluded, undisturbed forest. It reminded him of the past when he often went to the ruins of Summerhall alone, carrying his harp, breathing in the fragrance of the plants and trees, lying on the stone ruins, and playing his sorrows. But, Rhaegar curved his lips into a smile. He was no longer alone. Viserys always accompanied him, his soft long hair trailing through his fingers as he listened to him play and sing, how wonderful! He further thought that Summerhall must be thoroughly repaired. This summer palace would welcome a new master, his most beloved brother, the new Prince of Summerhall.
The Crown Prince ordered his attendants to stay outside, and he went deep into the weirwood grove, where the branches were covered in snow. A stream in the forest babbled with ice shards, guiding him to the Weirwood. The Weirwood in King's Landing was a large oak tree, but here was a giant thousand-year-old weirwood. Rhaegar looked up, gazing at the crimson leaves, like blood, that the snowflakes couldn't conceal, and sighed, it truly resembled a pair of hands struggling before death.
Harrenhal, where Aegon the Conqueror turned the towers into a giant oven. Dragonflame consumed King Harren and his family. The Targaryens' reign was built on iron and blood, fire and war.
Rhaegar reached out, touching the gray-white branches of the Weirwood, feeling the tortured, twisted faces carved into it. He sighed. Healing wounds required time and, more importantly, just rule.
Thirteen scratches were etched prominently on the Weirwood. It was said that Prince Daemon had made them before the final battle of the Dance of the Dragons. The Prince was married, yet he loved another... Rhaegar thought. That girl's name was Rhea. The Prince had sent his beloved away before the battle, knowing it was a farewell.
Only the bards sang of Prince Daemon's survival after the Battle of the Gods Eye, how he eventually found Rhea and spent his remaining days with her. Rhaegar still remembered a few verses: My beloved, pure as winter snow, radiant as the sun, moonlight on her hair…
Only in the romantic melodies of the musicians did they come together, defying all odds. My beloved… The moonlight fell on his silver hair, but how could even molten silver compare?
Rhaegar's gaze grew more melancholy and heavy.
In the old gods' faith, no one could lie before the Weirwood. The Crown Prince gazed at the thirteen scratches, murmuring to himself, "I know the responsibilities I bear, I know there will be a marriage. But... is a marriage without the one you love a sin? The one I love... has not yet grown. The one I love... will I never be able to declare their true name?"
The Weirwood rustled, its crimson leaves like struggling figures, as snowflakes fell, eventually falling silent.
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After passing The Twins, the party preparing for the betrothal arrived at the Neck, the northernmost part of the Riverlands. This was also the boundary between the Riverlands and the great kingdom of the North. The Kingsroad was flanked by swamps. Ned said that if the weather was warm, they could see lush trees, huge flowers, and colorful mushrooms that were definitely not to be touched.
The borderlands were vast and sparsely populated, and the wind and snow were even greater, stinging their faces. "Where will we spend the night?" Viserys asked curiously.
Since Robert had slept with the cook at The Twins, he'd become more restrained. Of course, it might also be because the Crannogmen of the swampy area didn't appeal to him. The blizzard and howling wind also made him look hopefully at the guide, "I hope there's a warm bed—"
Ned led them onto the causeway through the swamps, to a deserted castle of the North, Moat Cailin. Outside the causeway, the mud reached their waists. Viserys also saw Crocodile-Lions, of course. "This... I think we have to be careful tonight," he muttered. "We have to check everything inside and out first."
The castle was covered inside and out with snow and moss, and three towers had been preserved by the ravages of time, one of which was called the Children of the Forest Tower.
They hadn't expected to find anyone inside. But when the Stormlands' attendants were setting up camp and searching for Crocodile-Lions in the ruined tower, they dragged a person out of a dark corner. A woman. But undoubtedly the kind Robert would kill with one stroke if he saw her in bed.
Short, with sparse hair, and skin that was bumpy and impossible to guess her age, she reminded everyone of a fat toad.
Her eyes were fixed on others, her pupils golden. In a husky voice, she said she was from the Westerlands, here to catch hibernating Crannogmen creatures.
Robert turned away, not wanting to look any further. Ned, however, told her that the snowstorm outside was heavy, and she could stay the night. He would share his food with her.
"Thank you." The woman stared at Ned and suddenly asked, "Honorable and kind sir, may I have a drop of your blood? I want to see your future. It seems... very strange. Your future... is changing."
Viserys was excited! Could this be the Witch who made prophecies for Cersei?! He couldn't miss this!
Ned clearly regarded her as a common, wandering woman trying to make a living, and shook his head in refusal, but threw her some money.
The Witch smacked her lips and pocketed the money. She then looked at Robert, who threatened to kill her if she spoke.
At this moment, Viserys walked over, "A drop of blood, you say? I want to see!" With that, he quickly pricked his finger with a pin, squeezed out a bright red drop of blood, and held his finger out to the Witch.
"Hey! What kind of prophecy is this! You believe in it?" Robert shouted, "She's just a con artist!"
The witch, however, had carefully dipped the drop of blood and stuffed her finger back into her mouth, sucking frantically.
Robert made a disgusted face. Viserys held his breath, concentrating intently.
As if scalded, the witch's throat convulsed, and her whole body began to tremble! She stammered out her first words: "You... you... are not ordinary..."
"Of course." Viserys raised his head. "My name is Targaryen."
"No, your fate... was not supposed to be like this..." the witch cried, "It wasn't supposed to be like this! You all weren't supposed to be like this!!"
Viserys raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
She gasped for breath, her chin trembling. "You were supposed to be insignificant, a stray dog, dying in molten gold----He----!" Her filthy finger pointed at Robert and Ned, "He died by trickery, gored by a boar. He died by beheading, disgraced----That's what you were supposed to be! You were all supposed to be like that!!"
Robert roared in anger, shouting, "Shut your mouth!! If you speak nonsense again, I'll throw you into the swamp immediately!!"
The Witch suddenly pointed at Viserys again: "Are you prepared for the price of twisting so many destinies? The gods will favor you, and they will punish you! The gods will punish you! Those who love you will never have you!"
"How interesting. I plan to be a Kingsguard, never marrying," Viserys said proudly and disdainfully, with the resolve to never marry anyone in his life, and retorted.
"And those you love... their fates will change... he will... wear a crown... end the chaos... Westeros will never be the same... not the same."
Viserys was overjoyed. This prophecy was very auspicious!