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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 side, Rhaenys huffed in frustration, and her leg jittered in place, shaking the table. She had made it clear beforehand that she wanted to be anywhere but here. However, Rhaegar had demanded that the whole family be at dinner tonight, no exceptions. So, her next best hope was to get on their father's nerves. Rhaenys was not one to disobey the head of the family, but when she wanted something, she did everything in her power to achieve it.
Aegon, on the other hand, was the number one rebel in the family. He sat to Jon's right with a bored look on his face, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Carefree was his personality 24/7, and no amount of threatening from their father did anything. And yet, he was sitting at the table. Usually, Aegon spent his nights partying with the rest of his prat friends until dawn. He never makes it to dinner, if at all, back home. Whatever Rhaegar said to him had to be serious; Jon wasn’t excited to find out 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.” Rhaegar 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. Jon wanted to rise to the bait this time, though. The hostility between him and Aegon had grown significantly in the last two weeks, and it threatened to blow up in all of their faces.
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 and said, “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. What was left was a somber defeat. 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.