A Son's Request

The corridors of the Red Keep stretched long and silent at this hour, the usual hum of courtiers and petitioners dulled by the lateness of the evening. Rhaegar walked steadily, his steps measured but purposeful, the flickering torchlight casting shifting shadows across his face.

He walked until he reached his intended destination. His father's Solar.

Baelon Targaryen sat at his table, a half-empty goblet of wine in his hand, his silver hair falling loose over his shoulders. Scrolls and ledgers were spread across his desk.

"You're out late," Baelon noted as he looked at his son, taking a sip from his goblet.

Rhaegar only nodded in response.

"You look as if you have something on your mind."

Rhaegar answered his father, stepping forward. "I do."

Baelon gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit, then."

Rhaegar did, though his back remained straight. He had come here for a purpose, and he could not afford to fail.

His gaze did not waver as he spoke. "Uncle is leaving to fight the Myrish invaders, I heard. In Tarth."

Baelon exhaled through his nose, nodding. "I know."

He took another sip of his wine before setting the goblet aside and continued. "And? I doubt you came here this late just to say that."

Rhaegar shook his head. "No. I came here because I need your help."

Baelon leaned back in his chair, watching him carefully. "With?"

Rhaegar was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke carefully. "I want Ser Ryon to go to Tarth."

Baelon frowned slightly. "Why?"

"To my uncle," Rhaegar clarified.

Baelon furrowed his brows. "You want to send your knight to Aemon."

Rhaegar nodded.

Baelon's expression did not shift immediately, but his gaze softened. "Rhaegar. Your uncle already has knights sworn to him. Capable men, loyal men."

"I know."

Baelon tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. "Then why do you ask this?"

Rhaegar inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

Because I cannot risk his death. Because if I do nothing, I will have to watch my grandmother grieve a son, you grieve a brother, and myself grieve a man who could prevent a lot of future problems.

But those were not the words he could say.

Instead...

"I do not doubt my uncle's men, father," Rhaegar said. "But he is leaving for war."

Baelon looked at his son. "You are worried."

Rhaegar met his father's gaze. "I am."

Baelon exhaled. "Wars have been fought before. Your uncle is no stranger to battle."

Rhaegar answered him in a serious tone. "That does not make him invincible, father."

Baelon's fingers curled slightly against the wood of his chair. Rhaegar had learned enough of his father to recognize when he was unsettled when something beneath his skin had been touched.

Now was the time to push.

Rhaegar put on the most concerned, emotional and pleading face he could muster. "Please Father, the Red Keep has other guards, I will be fine if Ser Ryon is not with me for some time. But I am sure Uncle Aemon can use all the help he gets."

There was a heavy pause.

To suggest that Aemon was anything other than strong, anything other than capable—his Father would reject it on instinct.

But Rhaegar did not need to paint his uncle as weak.

He only needed his father to see that there was no harm in extra protection.

Rhaegar leaned forward slightly, his expression schooled in utmost sincerity. "Father, I do not ask this because I doubt him. I ask this because I love him."

Baelon looked at his son then, and Rhaegar held his gaze.

There were few things in the world that could shake Baelon Targaryen, few things that could pierce through his stubborn nature.

And family was one of them.

Baelon sighed rubbing his temples and let out a slow breath. "You truly wish this?"

"Yes," Rhaegar replied without hesitation.

Baelon was silent for a long moment. Then, finally—

"What do you need?"

Rhaegar straightened. "Your recommendation."

Baelon raised a brow.

Rhaegar continued, "Your recommendation that Ser Ryon will be placed among his guards, close enough that he can protect him should the need arise."

Baelon studied him for a long moment. "And Ryon? He has agreed to this?"

"He has," Rhaegar said without hesitation.

Another pause.

Baelon exhaled through his nose. "Fine. Aemon will not reject another sword at his side."

Rhaegar nodded once.

Baelon drummed his fingers against the wood of his chair, thoughtful. "I will see it done."

Rhaegar allowed himself a small exhale and stood, smiling wide. "Thank you, Father. You're the best."

Baelon only huffed and gestured for him to get out with his hands.

Rhaegar walked back to his room looking quite pleased, having accomplished his goal tonight.