The Gardens

The gardens of the Red Keep were quieter than usual at this hour. Most courtiers preferred the halls, where whispers carried further and vanity had an audience. But here, away from the weight of courtly eyes, the world moved at its own pace. The wind stirred the leaves, carrying the scent of fresh blooms, and the sky above was a canvas of soft gold and deepening blue.

Rhaegar had not sought company. He had only wanted a moment of solitude before he was pulled back into the machinations of trade routes and docking stations.

But fate, as it often did, had other plans.

His grandmother was already there.

Alysanne Targaryen stood among the hedgerows, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as she inspected a row of flowering vines.

Rhaegar considered turning back—nothing suspicious, just a quiet retreat before she noticed him. But his hesitation was enough.

"If you think to flee, I suggest moving faster," Alysanne said without turning.

Rhaegar sighed, stepping forward. "I was merely deciding if I wished to intrude grandmother."

She glanced at him, a brow arched in amusement. "Since when has a Targaryen been concerned with intrusion?"

"Fair point."

She chuckled softly and turned fully to him. "Come, walk with me."

Rhaegar fell into step beside her as they strolled through the winding paths. The garden was well-kept, each bloom carefully tended despite the fact that few ever truly appreciated them.

"I hear you've been keeping yourself busy," Alysanne mused.

Rhaegar tilted his head. "You mean to say that half the court hasn't yet come whining to you about it?"

"Oh, they have," she replied chuckling.

"I do enjoy giving them something to complain about."

Alysanne smiled knowingly. "It is good to see a Targaryen making the lords uncomfortable again. We've been too agreeable as of late."

Rhaegar laughed. "Father says the same. Though he usually follows it with 'Try not to cause a riot, son.'"

Alysanne chuckled. "Baelon was always the more restless one, though I suspect you are worse. At least he has the decency to warn people before he does something reckless."

Rhaegar looked at her, the most innocent expression on his face. "That depends on your definition of reckless."

She gave him a pointed look. "Starting a venture that will alter the balance of power in Westerosi trade before you even see your first decade? Some might call that reckless."

"And what do you call it?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "Bold. Though I imagine your grandfather prefers 'necessary.'"

Rhaegar exhaled. "It is. The Free Cities have had free rein for far too long."

She looked at him curious. "And you think Westeros should take control?"

"I think House Targaryen should."

Alysanne looked at him then, truly looked, and Rhaegar met her gaze.

Alysanne had seen many men come and go—lords, schemers, warriors. She had shaped the realm with Jaehaerys, guided his rule, and brokered peace where others only saw war.

And yet, here was her grandson, speaking with the certainty of a man thrice his age.

"You are young for such thoughts," she said finally.

"I have no interest in waiting for the world to change," Rhaegar replied rather smugly.

Alysanne chuckled softly. "Then I pity the world."

They continued walking, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—the latest antics of his younger brothers, the dull affairs of court, the endless grievances of noble houses who believed their struggles were grander than they truly were.

But then, as they neared a marble bench beneath a great weeping willow, Alysanne spoke again, her tone shifting slightly.

"I hear Aemon has given his blessing to your venture."

Rhaegar exhaled, looking toward the sky. "He has."

"And?"

He looked at her puzzled. "And what?"

Alysanne tilted her head. "You sound… relieved."

Rhaegar hesitated for only a fraction of a moment. "It is always good to have the support of family."

She hummed softly looking straight through him. "You worry for him."

Rhaegar clenched his jaw. "My uncle is a good man."

She nodded with a smile. "That he is."

The weight in his chest tightened slightly. Seeing his grandmother, and the damage it would do to her should his uncle die made him stiff.

Rhaegar inhaled slowly, forcing the away tension from his body. He had spent months sending subtle messages, nudging where he could, trying to shift what should not be set in stone.

But it was not enough. 

Alysanne watched him carefully. "There is something you are not saying."

Rhaegar turned to her with a faint practiced smirk. "It's been a constant complaint from my siblings and cousin that I am always saying something. So, I don't know what you're referring to grandmother. "

She rolled her eyes. "And a master at always avoiding something, too."

He answered sighing, a bit annoyed at his grandmother's perceptiveness. "I only wish to see my family live long and prosperous lives, Grandmother. Is that so strange?"

Alysanne studied him for a long moment before sighing. "No, Rhaegar. It is not strange at all."

They continued walking, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—the latest court feuds, the gossip of lords who had too much time and too little power.

Eventually, as they reached a quiet alcove, Alysanne turned to him fully. "Whatever troubles you, child, be careful to never get lost in them."

She pulled his cheek briefly. "Remember there is always a choice to everything. But those with great minds often refuse to see it."

He held her gaze for a moment before sighing. "I will take your wisdom under advisement."

She smirked. "You will take it and then promptly ignore it."

Rhaegar grinned wide. "You know me too well, Grandmother."

She sighed shaking her head. "That is the burden of old age."

As they neared the entrance, Alysanne exhaled softly. "Whatever you are planning, whatever thoughts you are entertaining… be careful, Rhaegar."

He looked at her. "Always."

She studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Good."

And with that, she turned and walked inside the castle, leaving Rhaegar standing beneath the fading sky, his mind restless.

Rhaegar watched her retreating figure, though his mind remained elsewhere.

His grandmother did not need to know of the weight he carried. The things he knew.

She had suffered enough losses.

And if he could prevent the grief that awaited her—the sorrow she had endured in another life—then he would.

He looked to the skies and sighed.

He had decisions to make.

And time was running out.