The Song of Ice and Fire

Arryk, desperate to save his brother, did not keep the king waiting.

In just over ten minutes, he led a large group of people to the main tent.

Viserys reassured the anxious Maesters and healers, then ordered them to examine Rhaegar.

A full examination from head to toe—not a single hair was to be overlooked.

The Maesters who knew Rhaegar were familiar with the process.

Some of them would occasionally help the Grand Maester examine the frail prince.

Once they had prepared the necessary equipment, the Maesters took the lead and got to work.

The examination was simple and crude.

First, they drew blood to observe its color and viscosity.

They even let a leech taste it to see whether it contained any toxins.

As for the rest, they came up with all sorts of methods.

They pressed and rubbed his entire body, examining his skin, teeth, and hair roots...

There was nothing this group of aspiring healers wouldn't do.

One gaunt old man even suggested taking off Rhaegar's trousers and spreading his cheeks to inspect his anus.

As his father, Viserys tacitly approved.

Rhaegar was horrified, regretting his rash decision to let them examine him.

Fortunately, when Rhaegar began to vehemently resist,

Illyric stepped in.

He broke the gaunt old man's nose with a punch, then pleaded with the king not to let them traumatize the prince.

"Even if you have me hanged, you mustn't let the prince be humiliated!"

Rhaegar nearly wet himself. He cowered behind Illyric, trembling.

Viserys did not reprimand Illyric for taking matters into his own hands. He waved away the less capable healers.

He kept only a few Maesters who seemed competent and had them report on Rhaegar's health.

A Maester assigned to the royal family spoke first, unable to hide his astonishment. "Your Grace, the prince's health has indeed improved greatly. His blood is far more active than usual."

The other Maesters chimed in as well.

"The prince suffers from difficulty breathing, but his deep-breathing test was entirely normal. There were no abnormal sounds in his chest."

"His urine is a normal pale yellow, not cloudy, and slightly musky in scent. His kidneys are recovering quickly..."

"..."

After hearing their uniformly positive reports, Viserys was left dumbfounded.

He ordered the guards to escort the Maesters out and rewarded them all with gold coins.

Soon, only Viserys, his sons, and the Cagell brothers remained in the tent.

Rhaegar spoke first. "As the Maesters said, I'm cured. I have Ser Illyric to thank for helping me."

"He helped you, so I'll be lenient with him."

Viserys was genuinely happy for his eldest son. He sighed. "I'm glad you're healthy. When I see your mother in the afterlife, I won't have to face her with nothing to say."

"Father, I can't speak for Mother and offer you words of comfort. I only hope you'll look to the future."

At the mention of his mother, who had died in childbirth, Rhaegar felt a pang of sorrow.

Rumors were like the bitter winds of midwinter.

Not only did they cut like knives, they could find their way through any crack.

They always reached the ears of those they were meant to hurt.

Viserys felt guilty for forcing his wife to bear children year after year, until it cost her life.

And as the newborn whose birth had been so difficult, Rhaegar had also been partly responsible for his mother's death.

As a young child, he had heard those embellished rumors and carried a quiet guilt of his own.

Seeing the melancholy on his eldest son's face, Viserys felt a pang in his heart. He knew he had stirred up Rhaegar's sorrow.

"Arryk, I want to speak with my son. Take your brother outside and don't let anyone near the tent."

Viserys ordered the Cagell brothers out.

"Of course, Your Grace!"

Arryk looked solemn as he led his brother outside to stand guard by the tent.

With no one else to disturb them, Viserys rose and came to Rhaegar's side, gently stroking the top of his head.

"That frightened you, didn't it?"

"What?"

Rhaegar looked bewildered.

Viserys grinned. "Doctor Borros. The old man who wanted to pull down your trousers."

Rhaegar's face turned green. "I'll remember that name."

"Heh. Those in power must be magnanimous, especially toward the healers who prepare their medicines for them."

Viserys offered the lesson half seriously, half in jest.

"That's the kind of scheming grown-ups do. I just want to smash his head in."

Rhaegar had no intention of heeding this talk of magnanimity.

That was easy to say when the king himself wasn't being held down and stripped.

"Let's assume the White Hart story is true. Did you really recover because you ate a miraculous fruit?"

Viserys changed the subject, remembering the fruit his eldest son had mentioned.

He had been cut by the Iron Throne, and no matter what he tried, the wounds never healed.

Over the past ten years, his body had become covered in scars, with many wounds festering and rotting.

The pain constantly needled his nerves.

If...

If the White Hart truly had such a miraculous fruit, perhaps it could heal him.

Rhaegar knew why his father was asking.

"I wasn't lying. The White Hart let me approach and gave me a fruit that restored my health."

Viserys's face lit up. "Can you find the White Hart again?"

Rhaegar answered bluntly. "That miraculous fruit was extraordinary. It's unlikely there's another one. Even if we find the White Hart, it won't help."

"How can you know unless you try?"

Viserys couldn't bear to give up hope of being healed.

Rhaegar didn't want to betray his friend, so he insisted, "The White Hart is an auspicious creature. Those it befriends receive its blessing."

"Those who dare harm it, on the other hand, will be cursed."

Viserys watched Rhaegar closely, trying to spot any hint of a lie in his expression.

Rhaegar remained calm, meeting his gaze without a flicker.

After a long while, Viserys gave up.

He sighed. "You're right. I went hunting for the White Hart yesterday and didn't see so much as a glimpse of it."

Rhaegar was astonished. He hadn't known about that.

Viserys stroked the top of his head. "You're luckier than I am, to have won the White Hart's friendship."

Rhaegar said nothing.

He didn't know what to say.

The White Hart was his friend. He couldn't betray it.

Besides, the fruit had been a reward from the Explorer, not something the White Hart owned.

Even if he helped his father capture it, there wouldn't be another fruit to cure him.

Viserys's eyes held warmth, but there was something else he kept to himself.

The White Hart was a symbol of royal power, yet he, the king, had never had the chance to see it.

Rhaegar had. That was more than mere luck.

Though a thousand thoughts filled Viserys's mind, he reminded himself:

His son had come upon an extraordinary opportunity. That was a rare and wonderful thing!

As he pondered this, an idea took shape in Viserys's mind.

He took Rhaegar's hand and led him to the brazier inside the tent.

As Rhaegar watched in confusion, Viserys drew the Dragon Horn Dagger from his belt and held its blade in the fire.

When the Valyrian steel blade had heated until it glowed red, he gripped the Dragon Horn handle and pulled it free.

He held it in front of Rhaegar.

"Look closely. What do you see?"

Viserys prompted him encouragingly.

Looking at the glowing dagger, Rhaegar saw countless tiny words emerge beneath the flames.

"Is it in Valyrian?"

With his proficiency in Valyrian, he quickly made out their meaning.

Remembering that he had not yet learned Valyrian, Rhaegar was careful not to reveal too much.

He read haltingly, "Prophecy... bloodline, a song of ice and fire..."

After that, Rhaegar pretended to stumble over the words and looked helplessly at Viserys.

Viserys was not surprised. On the contrary, he was delighted that Rhaegar could recognize some Valyrian.

It seemed the reports he had heard were true. Rhaegar really was a boy who loved to read.