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Rhaegar always spoke about the importance of family, the importance of blood, the Dragon has three heads, and whatnot. However, sitting hunched at the dinner table, Jon thought that was absolute bullshit. What was supposed to be a family dinner felt like eating while held at gunpoint. The tension was suffocating, and Jon found himself gritting his teeth at the wailing of Jenny of Oldstones in the background.
To Jon’s left, Rhaenys huffed in frustration, her leg jittering against the table. She had made it clear she wanted to be anywhere but here, though their father had insisted the whole family attend dinner—no exceptions. Now it seemed her only goal was to get under his skin. Rhaenys never openly defied him, but Jon knew that when she wanted something, she would push as far as she could to get it.
Aegon, on the other hand, was the family’s biggest rebel. To Jon’s right, he lounged with a bored look, thumbing through his phone as if none of this mattered. Carefree was the norm for him, and their father’s threats had never changed that. And yet, here he was. Usually, Aegon spent his nights partying with his pack of prat friends until dawn, barely showing up for dinner, if at all, back home. Whatever their father had said to drag him here, it had to be serious. Jon wasn’t eager to learn what.
Rhaegar cleared his throat, catching the attention of Jon and his siblings. “I have been far too lenient about the lack of care within this family.” He stood from his seat with his arms crossed and glared at his children. “From now on, we’ll be having dinner twice a week to change that.”
Protests broke out from Rhaenys and Aegon simultaneously, shouting this was ridiculous, and what the hell.
Jon just bowed his head in resignation. He knew it was useless to express his opinions. Rhaegar didn’t listen; he never did.
Rhaegar slammed his fist on the table, causing some silverware to fall to the floor. His amethyst eyes blazed with a rare anger that Jon had seen only a few times before. “Enough! Why can’t you two be like Jaehaerys? He never complains—" A wry laugh cut him off sharply.
“Of course, your precious Jaehaerys can do no wrong,” Aegon said. He sneered at Jon. “Tell us, Jae, how does one become Daddy’s favorite?”
“Fuck off, Egg,” said Jon, clenching his teeth. His blunted nails dug into his palm as he tried to hold back his annoyance.
Aegon always picked at him; this was nothing new. However, the jokes and teasing had gotten more antagonistic lately. Jon didn’t know what he did to cause such anger. Even more, he wanted to rise to the bait. The hostility hung heavy, ready to explode, and Jon was tired of waiting for Aegon to speak.
Despite that, Jon knew this was the wrong time to entertain Aegon. It would only lead to yet another fistfight and would piss off Rhaegar more.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Rhaenys shake her head with disappointment at them. That took the wind out of his sails. Between his two siblings, Jon had a better relationship with Rhaenys, and he hated to let her down.
Jon flared his nostrils at Aegon before bowing his head. The best thing for him was to shut up and let Rhaenys do the talking.
As she watched Jon retreat into himself, Rhaenys nudged her foot against Jon in comfort and turned her attention to Rhaegar. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Father, surely you don’t think this will make us better at communicating? We have a lot more problems than a lack of care.”
Despite her jittering earlier, Rhaenys’ posture held her usual confidence. Relief raced through Jon because if Rhaenys wasn’t worried, he didn’t have to worry either. Not only that, but Jon also knew Rhaenys was right. He didn’t see the point of these dinners either. It wasn't going to change the fact that none of them wanted to be here; that the Targaryen family was fucked up beyond repair.
As Jon glanced back at his father, Rhaegar’s anger had disappeared as fast as it came. He had slumped back into his seat at Rhaenys’ words, but that Targaryen stubbornness did not leave.
“I know I messed up,” Rhaegar said, grimacing. “I’m trying to fix it, fix us, and this is a good starting point. My therapist said so.”
At that, Jon perked up. Therapist? Jon was convinced the dinner was another petty attempt to force them to spend time together. But if Rhaegar was seeing a therapist, he must be serious about fixing things. Jon couldn’t believe it.
Apparently, neither did Aegon, as he scoffed and shoved his chair from the table. “And what did the therapist say about you cheating on your wife with his whore of a mother?” he roared, pointing at Jon.
Jon couldn’t recall what happened in those next seconds. A fog had settled over him, phasing out everything around him. When he came to, Aegon was on the ground with a bloody mouth, grinning smugly, and then Rhaenys was shoving Jon away, begging him to calm down.
Jon glanced at his bruised knuckles, then took in the chaos. Despite the burning pain, he felt a deep satisfaction at Aegon on the floor.
As he left behind the sounds of Rhaegar and Rhaenys’ pleading and Aegon’s mocking laughter in the dining room, Jon trudged down the hall to his room. He flopped onto his bed, not bothering to close the door. He stared blankly at the ceiling, resting his injured hand on his chest. Minutes passed before a soft knock broke his brooding. Jon kept quiet, thinking it was Rhaenys coming to make excuses for Aegon again. To his surprise, it was Rhaegar, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Jon didn’t move. He had nothing to say.
After a moment, Jon heard Rhaegar shuffle further into the room before feeling the right side of the bed sink. He tensed impulsively, waiting for the routine lecture, the half-assed apologies.
“Do you all hate me so much?”
Unable to control himself, Jon’s eyes snapped to the dejected man beside him. Rhaegar’s pale hair, usually healthy and luscious, lay limp and stringy as he looked over Jon. His earlier grimace had turned into an exact copy of brooding that Jon knew was on his own face. His entire body was as stiff as a bow, and Jon could see he was very uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Rhaegar didn’t stop.
“Have I failed so much as a father that my own children hate to even have a simple dinner with me?” he asked, balling his fists into Jon’s comforter.
Jon pursed his lips and maintained his silence.
Rhaegar caught his expression and let out a dry laugh. His eyes roamed over Jon for a moment before he stood. “I know there are no apologies that I can make that will ever fix the damage that I have done,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “But if you and your siblings will let me, I hope to start making amends.”
Rhaegar walked to the door and paused. “I’ll see you at dinner next week?”
Jon had expected him to leave without wanting an answer, but once again, Rhaegar surprised him by waiting. Jon hesitated; he had planned to forgo all the dinners Rhaegar had planned for them. But to see him waiting, to see him do what looks like trying, it gave Jon the smallest of optimism. He grunted slightly, hoping Rhaegar would take that as a response.
He did. With one last look, Rhaegar left quietly, shutting the door behind him.
Left with his thoughts again, Jon stared back at the ceiling. The familiar feeling of hope budded in his chest, but he was scared to hold onto it. Rhaegar had lied to him before, had failed him before. What made this different? Rhaegar’s earnest? His sadness? His admission that he was seeing a therapist?
Jon grumbled and shoved his face into his pillow. He was getting a headache thinking about this; best to leave it for tomorrow’s problems. As he closed his eyes, that small glimmer of hope lingered.
Maybe, just maybe, this dinner would lead to the first of many.