Not long after, a message arrived from the Citadel in the south.
Ravens carried the announcement across the realm:
The plague had finally ended, and the Seven Kingdoms had officially entered summer.
Yet peace did not follow the suppression of the rebellions.
Instead, a new enemy appeared.
Dorne had begun attacking from the south.
The kings of Westeros carried a long list of titles:
Lord of Dragonstone,
King of All Westeros and Shield of Its People,
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,
Protector of the Realm.
But Dorne had never been conquered.
It still considered itself an independent kingdom, and the Dornish deeply resented the king's use of the titles "Seven Kingdoms" and "Rhoynar," which they believed did not rightfully belong to him.
The Dornish themselves had suffered greatly in recent years.
At the southernmost edge of Westeros lay their harsh homeland, surrounded by mountains and plagued by drought. Much of the land was barren desert or salt flats.
The long winter had nearly destroyed the small farmlands carved along the rivers.
After enduring both winter and plague, restoring food production in the desert proved extremely difficult.
Driven by desperation, a group of Dornish refugees gathered under a leader known as the Vulture King.
They chose to march north into the Stormlands, raiding for survival.
The Dornish king and his nobles were not directly involved in this campaign.
What truly caused alarm was something else:
A traitor named Borys Baratheon had joined the Dornish forces.
Borys had fled to Dorne after losing a succession struggle for the title of Lord of the Stormlands.
He was the uncle of Boremund and Jocelyn Baratheon.
Familiar with every road and fortress in the Stormlands, Borys guided the Dornish raiders as they plundered freely across the region.
He even proclaimed that he would seize Storm's End.
Upon hearing this, the aging Lord Rogar Baratheon, already gravely ill, traveled to the Red Keep to plead with King Jaehaerys.
He confessed that he was dying and had little time left.
But before death claimed him, he wished to devote his remaining strength to destroying Borys and ending the Dornish threat.
Jaehaerys granted him permission.
More than that.
Standing in the great hall of the Red Keep before assembled nobles, the king declared:
"You shall have not only the king's leave, but the king's sword."
Those words spread quickly across the Seven Kingdoms.
The young king himself would ride his dragon, Vermithor the Bronze Fury, leading the royal host alongside the Stormlanders to campaign against Dorne.
With war breaking out between Dorne and the Stormlands, and the king marching personally to battle, the four children- Boremund, Jocelyn, Aemon, and Baelon, remained in Harrenhal for safety.
Grover Tully, conveniently, used this as an excuse to continue lingering there as well.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar, now six years old, saw the end of his carefree childhood.
The era of serious study had begun.
In this world, knowledge belonged almost entirely to the Citadel in Oldtown.
Students who studied there and passed examinations in a specific discipline forged a metal link representing that field.
Once they mastered six disciplines, they were awarded the title of maester, wearing a chain composed of those metal links.
Noble houses could write to the Citadel requesting a maester.
Once assigned, the maester served as advisor to the lord, maintained ravens for communication, and educated the lord's children in reading, writing, and basic knowledge of the realm.
The abandoned library of Harrenhal had been cleaned and converted into a classroom.
Several small wooden desks sat by the windows.
Maester Naelyn held up a heavy book so the five children could see its contents.
"We've just finished discussing House Hoggs," he said. "Next we shall examine the sigil and words of House Darklyn of Duskendale."
He placed the book down and absentmindedly wiped a hand across his bald head before turning the page with fingers slick with hair oil.
His eyesight was poor, so he leaned forward until his face nearly touched the parchment.
"I heard he lost all his hair before thirty," Rhaegar muttered quietly while staring out the window, twisting a lock of hair hanging before his mouth.
"I must never become a maester."
To become a maester meant swearing an oath:
To abandon one's family name.
To take no wife.
To father no children.
To devote one's life entirely to service.
Rhaegar immediately rejected that future.
The massive book had been brought by the maester himself.
Bound in tough brown leather, its pages were as long as a forearm and nearly as thick as a fist.
Holding it up required effort.
"House Darklyn's sigil," Maester Naelyn continued, "shows a large field of black and gold diamonds on the right, and five small white shields on the left. What do those symbols represent?"
He squinted over the book and pointed.
"You-yes, you. Stop staring outside. Answer the question!"
Boremund pointed at himself.
Among the five children he was both the oldest and the largest, so the maester always chose him.
At moments like this, the others immediately tried to become invisible.
Rhaegar and Aemon both straightened in their seats.
Jocelyn quietly crushed the folded paper flower she had been playing with in her hand.
Baelon stuffed the food he had secretly been eating entirely into his mouth.
Despite their noble birth, the children still feared the maester.
They had once tried to rebel against studying, but the maester had quickly shamed them into silence with a few sharp words.
Rhaegar, however, truly focused on learning.
His greatest advantage over this world was his knowledge and perspective.
But knowledge meant nothing if he could not read or understand the culture.
So he started from the beginning.
After exhausting lessons in reading and history, they still had to study music.
Recently they had begun learning the harp.
Finally the morning lessons ended.
Before Maester Naelyn even finished closing his book, the children had already vanished from the room.
Society in Westeros was rigidly hierarchical.
Knights, often rewarded for military service, formed the lowest rank of nobility. Their entire lives were devoted to training as professional warriors.
Lords and counts who possessed lands oversaw agricultural, mining, and craft production.
Common farmers were considered property of their lord. During peace they worked the land and paid taxes; during war they were conscripted as soldiers, often sent to die with crude weapons.
Above them all were the great lords and the royal family.
Across a continent the size of South America, there were only seven great regions, each ruled by a powerful house.
These lords divided their lands among lesser nobles and lived comfortably from taxes alone.
Freefolk, merchants, and mercenaries survived by attaching themselves to these noble powers.
Because the Citadel controlled both knowledge and the raven communication network, sending letters required the help of a maester.
Since maesters were assigned only to noble households, commoners rarely learned to read.
The only skills they passed down were farming and hunting.
Knights were expected to master six arts:
Swordsmanship
Horsemanship
Swimming
Hunting (bows, hounds, javelins)
The arts
Literacy
Learning the basics was easy.
Mastering them was difficult.
Except for swimming, each could become a livelihood.
Swordsmanship and hunting required training from knights.
Arts and literacy required instruction from maesters.
Horsemanship required horses.
Education for high nobility demanded enormous investment.
After lunch, Rhaegar grabbed a pair of shorts from his room and hurried down the hall.
But the moment he stepped outside, Rhaena grabbed his arm.
"Where are you going during rest hour, Hard-Rod?"
Rhaegar looked up.
"To swim in the Gods Eye."
"Did you inform the Kingsguard to accompany you?"
Rhaena already knew he wasn't going alone.
"They'll follow Aemon," Rhaegar replied.
The two Kingsguard were practically glued to Aemon and Baelon at all times anyway.
Rhaena glanced around to make sure no one was watching.
Then she pulled a crisp pear from behind her back and pressed it into Rhaegar's hand.
"Take it. Eat it quickly."
"Thanks!"
Rhaegar bit into it as he ran down the stairs.
Lord Maegor Towers of Harrenhal was desperately poor.
Rhaena herself lived only on a modest royal stipend.
In earlier years that had been enough to support her household servants and her dragon while still allowing luxuries.
But the winter and plague had devastated the population.
Agricultural production collapsed, causing prices to skyrocket.
Goods were scarce.
Even if one had money, it was often impossible to buy anything.
Most regions had redirected every available worker toward growing food.
Transport systems had nearly collapsed.
The four visiting children were supported by the royal treasury.
Rhaena, however, lived only on her fixed allowance.
Proud as she was, she refused to ask her royal brother for more.
Rhaena loved pears.
Once, her chambers had always contained a bowl of them, which she gladly shared with guests.
Now she could only sneak them to Rhaegar.
The pears she used to give him had been large and sweet.
Now they were crooked and slightly sour.
Rhaegar had once secretly peeked into the waste basket in her chambers.
It seemed she had not eaten a pear herself for a very long time.
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