Chapter 272: Unknown Curse

Facing Saera's cold attitude, Rhaegar smiled noncommittally, his hesitation vanishing. Her curt words confirmed the rumors from Westeros: his aunt indeed harbored little affection for her family.

Without feeling awkward, Rhaegar said calmly, "As the only surviving heir of our great-grandfather, it's my duty to visit you."

Regardless of her demeanor, Saera was still his aunt. Knowing she was in Volantis, he felt compelled to meet her.

"What do I have worth seeing? A disgrace that brings shame to the family," Saera retorted, her face alternating between green and white as she suddenly coughed heavily.

One of the male slaves kneeling beside her bed quickly stood up, fetched a bottle of wine from the bedside table, and poured it, presenting it respectfully.

"Get out."

Saera took the wine, downed a mouthful, and waved the slaves away in disgust. Rhaegar watched impassively, stepping aside to clear the doorway.

Geddel, Saera's son, whispered, "Mother is getting old; her health isn't what it used to be."

Rhaegar remained indifferent. At 54, Saera was indeed aging.

With a sigh, Rhaegar stepped forward, pulled a chair, and sat down. He voiced the question in his mind, "Aunt, why didn't you return to Westeros?"

Saera had many chances to go back, but she chose not to.

"I've made a life here in Volantis," Saera said, forcing herself to stop coughing. "King's Landing is a cesspool of rats; the thought of returning there gives me nightmares."

Rhaegar frowned, sensing an underlying bitterness. Deliberately, he added, "Great-grandfather cursed you, but he always longed for you."

"My stepmother, Alicent Hightower, tended to him in his final days," Rhaegar continued. "He chose her because he often mistook her for you."

He watched as Saera's expression shifted. "When he was dying, he held Alicent's hand, calling out your name, believing you had returned to see him one last time."

Rhaegar wasn't lying; it was documented in the family history. Alicent had shared these stories during his childhood. He spoke with such sincerity that even a hardened heart might be moved.

As expected, Saera's face softened, and her breathing grew labored.

Rhaegar pressed on, "You are the oldest surviving Targaryen. Don't you want to return to the family?"

"Don't talk nonsense. If I wanted to go back, I would have done so long ago," Saera replied, her voice low, eyes wrinkling deeper with nostalgia. "Out of all my siblings, only the most insufferable two outlived Father."

"Great-grandfather was known as a wise and benevolent king, ruling during a time of peace," Rhaegar said, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness.

When considering the continents of Westeros and Essos, it's evident that life expectancy wasn't particularly high. His great-grandfather's 69-year life span had spanned two generations.

Saera glanced at Rhaegar and murmured, "Kid, don't you think it's strange?"

Rhaegar's curiosity was piqued, and his eyes showed a hint of intrigue. It was clear that Saera's earlier words concealed a hidden truth.

Saera looked despondent, her voice distant. "Targaryens originate from flames, and Westeros is too cold."

"Auntie, can you be more specific?" Rhaegar asked, trying to piece together her cryptic statement.

"Stupid!" Saera snapped, her frustration evident. "The land of Westeros does not welcome Targaryens. It's full of lurking predators."

Rhaegar was taken aback by her bluntness, his eyes widening. "Do you mean to say someone murdered great-grandfather's children?"

His great-grandfather had thirteen children. Most of them died prematurely or under mysterious circumstances, leaving room for speculation.

Saera shook her head, her voice dry. "I don't know for sure. There's no solid proof, just suspicion."

"Then why did you..." Rhaegar trailed off, thinking of her years of indulgence in Lys and Volantis.

"I simply didn't want to be under my father's control. He was too overbearing, never valuing me as a daughter," Saera admitted, her resentment clear. "King's Landing is a nest of rats, unfit for a true dragon."

Rhaegar remained silent, absorbing her words.

With her defenses lowered, Saera continued, her voice laced with bitterness. "My sisters died in childbirth, fell from horses, drowned themselves..."

She listed off their fates, each one a grim tale. "And then there were Aemon and Baelon, father's favored heirs, both great dragon riders."

"And what happened to them? They all died, none of them ever sitting on the Iron Throne."

Rhaegar listened intently, his mind racing. Saera's words revealed that, despite her distance, she had kept close tabs on the family.

Rhaegar's grandmother, Alyssa, died in childbirth, and his great-aunt Daella succumbed to puerperal fever. His other great-aunt Maegelle contracted greyscale while caring for infected children.

Another great-aunt, Viserra, died after trying to seduce their grandfather Baelon to become queen, but Baelon sent the drunk girl away when he arrived, not long after the incident with Baelon, as arrangements were being made for Viserra's departure to White Harbor, Viserra traded clothes with one of her maids and escaped her guards.

She slipped from the Red Keep for "one last night of laughter" with her companions, at the foot of Aegon's High Hill, Viserra's palfrey collided with the mare of one of her companions. Viserra was thrown from her saddle into a wall, and she died of a broken neck at the age of fifteen.

There's also the youngest, Princess Gael Targaryen was the thirteenth and last child of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen, Gael had been seduced and impregnated by a traveling singer, right after that, Gael had given birth to a stillborn son, and overwhelmed by her grief, she had walked into Blackwater Bay and drowned.

Saera's recounting left Rhaegar with a chilling realization. His great-grandfather's children had met untimely ends: Aemon assassinated, Baelon suspected of being poisoned, and three more dying in infancy. Only Saera and Vaegon, "the Dragonless," survived.

Rhaegar shuddered, understanding the weight of Saera's words: "the most repulsive" had outlived their great-grandfather. If there was indeed a conspiracy, Saera had been safer far from Westeros.

Vaegon, a renowned maester who distanced himself from the family, died of natural causes a year after their great-grandfather. Saera continued to mutter, "My brother, a cold-hearted man who disliked his sister and dragons, had to become a maester."

Rhaegar sat in silence, his mind racing with the implications of Saera's revelations.

Vaegon Targaryen, the only surviving male heir of his great-grandfather.

He had refused to marry his sister Daella, who was intended for him, and disliked Saera, who was closer in age, ultimately leaving for the Citadel.

"He died about a decade ago, I think. I haven't kept up with Westeros for a while," Saera muttered, scratching her silver hair irritably. She started coughing again but continued, "We exchanged letters after the 101st Assembly. He was bedridden at the time, his health was poor."

"Don't waste time on me. Go to the Citadel and check out Vaegon's research," she added, her voice strained.

Rhaegar blinked, doubt creeping into his mind. "Go to the Citadel..."

Vaegon, known as the Dragonless, had earned bachelor's chains of various materials during his lifetime and was indeed very knowledgeable.

Saera coughed violently, struggling for breath. "Vaegon said the Citadel's maesters are a bunch of self-important fools. He didn't fit in," she gasped.

Rhaegar twiddled his fingers under his gray robes and said seriously, "I will go to the Citadel."

Saera wouldn't have mentioned Vaegon without reason. There had to be something significant that even she didn't fully understand.

Thinking about Saera's earlier comment about Targaryens not being suited for Westeros, Rhaegar decided to visit the Citadel after returning.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Saera's coughing grew worse, and even after taking two gulps of wine, she lay on the bed, pounding her chest, her face flushed with discomfort.

Seeing this, Rhaegar felt a pang of worry for his aunt's health.

Geddel, Saera's son, said softly, "Mother's old illness is acting up. Let me arrange a room for you to rest."

Rhaegar shook his head. "No, you take care of aunt."

With that, he planned to leave. He had met his grandmother's blood relative and uncovered some little-known secrets. It wasn't a wasted trip.

As Rhaegar walked out of the room, Geddel and Daella followed him.

"It's late outside. I'll find you some pretty girls to spend the night comfortably," Geddel offered curtly.

Rhaegar's face turned cold, and he glanced at Daella without speaking. The thought of her being reduced to prostitution infuriated him, even though she was a bastard.

Geddel  quickly explained, "Daella's mother was a whore, and after her death, she was kept in a brothel. But only two days ago, she was purchased at a high price by a Lysene merchant."

Rhaegar looked at Daella inquiringly.

Daella bowed her head and nodded. "I didn't want to be a whore, but that Lysene merchant gave my grandmother a lot of gold."

She was making it clear that she had been forced into prostitution.

Rhaegar, still displeased, said coldly, "She was sold like cattle, attribute it to your greed."

Geddel was speechless, unable to defend himself. The price the Lysene merchant had paid was indeed too high.

Ignoring him, Rhaegar headed for the door.

Daella took two quick steps, tugged at his black robe, and whispered, "I have a sister. Can you take her with you?"

Rhaegar stopped and looked back at Geddel.

Geddel, panicked, quickly explained, "Layla is still young and just works in the kitchen of the brothel."

Rhaegar took out a bag of gold coins and tossed it to Daella. "Go and take your sister away, and any other Targaryen bastards too."

There were plenty of bastards on Dragonstone. It would be easy to resettle them there.

"No, mother only has two bastards. The other is married," Geddel interjected, fearful of further misunderstanding.

Daella nodded and hurried off to find her sister.

Once she was gone, the corridor was left with only the sounds of the rooms on either side.

After a moment of silence, Rhaegar asked, "You have two more bastard brothers?"

Geddel, surprised by Rhaegar's question, replied, "Yes, the eldest brother is a merchant, and the youngest has a Triarch father. Both left the brothel."

Rhaegar's eyes flashed, thinking of the two consuls of the Elephant Party.

(Word count: 1,698)