Chapter 49: The Name of the Silver Prince
King Jaehaerys II Targaryen added an even more glorious interlude to the marriage amidst the clinking of countless wine glasses.
The guests paused, no longer looking at the golden wine.
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen stood up and faced everyone. The prince's silver-gold hair shimmered, and though his face still held childish innocence, he appeared striking even at such a young age. He looked around with ease, his gaze calm and steady.
Rhaegar wanted a short haircut, but children of noble birth were not permitted such liberties. He had no choice but to let his hair grow long, though he still preferred it short and easy to manage.
The blood of Old Valyria was already famed for beauty, and Rhaegar bore it strongly. When I grow up, I will bring even greater change to the world.
All the guests in the hall looked at the prince, marveling at the presence of a true dragonlord's heir.
Rhaegar appeared about six or seven years of age, already taller and sturdier than most children. Nobles, well-fed and well-cared for, often grew faster than common folk, yet even among them Rhaegar stood out.
Some quietly mused that the Old King would need to be cautious. Great lords often married young—Lord Tywin Lannister had wed at nineteen, already considered late. The prince's future would surely attract too much attention. King Viserys II himself had been wed young, as history proved.
Prince Rhaegar bowed politely to the crowd and offered a practiced smile. He already understood ceremony. Today's lords and wealthy merchants were pillars of the realm, and royal favor was a form of rule in itself.
"My king, this gift is far too precious; I dare not accept it," Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna Lannister said at once, returning the bow. For a royal child to perform publicly was itself an immense honor.
"There is no need for formality," King Jaehaerys II said warmly. "Think of it as a child's amusement. If he errs, you may forgive him."
"This is a great honor for your servant," Lord Tywin replied solemnly.
The assembled lords understood well—this gesture bound Tywin ever closer to the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace, you never told me the prince would perform," Lord Monford Velaryon muttered with mock complaint. Lady Velaryon promptly silenced him.
Rhaegar stepped forward as attendants brought forth a harp.
It was an ancient silver-stringed harp of Valyrian style, carved with a three-headed dragon.
Without hesitation, Rhaegar began to play.
The hall stilled.
Bloodline, authority, discipline, and training—these were the foundations of confidence.
The musicians fell silent, knowing better than to intrude.
They expected courtesy; they did not expect mastery.
Rhaegar's fingers moved with ease across the strings. He had a natural affinity for the harp.
Firelight danced across his dark velvet attire, the three-headed dragon worked in gems seeming almost alive.
For a moment, the Throne Room seemed to behold a silver dragon given human shape.
The melody was bright and celebratory, light as summer wind. Rhaegar played without strain, fully composed.
Many noblewomen glanced toward Lady Cassana Baratheon, knowing full well what such a prince might one day mean for House Baratheon.
The music spoke of renewal. Of joy after loss.
Summerhall was past. A new chapter would be written.
Even the seasoned musicians listened in awe. This was no child's pastime—this was true talent.
When the final note faded, Rhaegar bowed once more.
The applause erupted like thunder.
Prince Aerys Targaryen clapped stiffly, while Princess Rhaella Targaryen watched in silence.
"This is truly a priceless gift," Lord Tywin said as he lifted Rhaegar briefly in approval. "Our Silver Prince!"
"Our Silver Prince!"
"Silver Prince Rhaegar!"
Prince Aerys, Lord Steffon Baratheon, and their households stepped forward in turn. Princess Lorenza Nymeros Martell of Dorne, attending Lady Joanna, inclined her head in acknowledgment.
The name stirred something faintly ironic in Rhaegar's thoughts, though he kept his composure.
"True Dragon Prince!"
The hall answered as one.
The harp, the music, and the moment sealed it.
The name Silver Prince echoed through the Throne Room.
Call me Silver Prince, Rhaegar thought calmly. Destiny placed me here—but the future will be mine to choose.
Born at Summerhall. Prince of Dragonstone's heir. Silver Prince.
The feast ended in triumph. Song and splendor marked the deepening bond between House Targaryen, House Lannister, and House Baratheon.
"What is the name of the piece, my prince?" a lord asked boldly.
Rhaegar answered simply,
"Let it be called A Night at the Red Keep."
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