act i . chapter ii

THE DRAGON PRINCE
----

♛♛♛

RHAEGAR CAUGHT THE TARGARYEN soldier coming out of the Throne room in a nervous sweat. "My Prince!" he said, startled by Rhaegar's presence. "Your father, the king," he started to explain, vexed and afraid. "He wants me to take some men and interrogate Archmaester Ebrose. He wants him arrested if Aemon Targaryen-"

"Marcus," Rhaegar interrupted, keeping his voice low. He put a calming hand on the soldier's shoulder. "Don't."

Marcus's eyebrows came together in confusion. The fact that the Prince knew his name surprised him. The order shocked him. "Don't?" he asked.

"Your prince is ordering you to take four men south of Oldtown and see the sea. Come back and report to me. I will report to Aerys."

The young man almost immediately calmed. The King's orders were always placed above the Prince's, but this man was a simple soldier. No studied knight. He would do as he was bid without question. "Your Grace, I thank you," he said, bowing with thankfulness. "Thank you."

Rhaegar forced a solemn smile and patted the young soldier on the arm. "Good man," he praised, sending him off. He looked around the empty room, admiring the high ceiling and intricate red dragon patterns that his ancestors had carved. If his father wasn't stopped they would soon lose their splendor and beauty and be not but a reminder of the once powerful House Targaryen.

Rhaegar sighed to himself as he entered the long, intimidating Throne Room that he had to call home. His boots padded the pale red tile, each with a three-headed dragon engraved, as he made his way to meet his King father. The great ceiling arches that held the fossilizing skulls of the ancestral Targaryen dragons glared down at him like threats from Aegon the Conqueror himself.

The Great Hall was so vast that it could seat a thousand during a feast. Not that the fact was of use anymore. King Aerys's paranoia had shut the doors to any more than the royal family and the court. The court was even dwindling down. It was not that Rhaegar enjoyed the feasts. In fact, he preferred solitude. It was that the lack of festivities was a constant reminder of the King's dwindling state of mind.

Aerys wouldn't even be present at Rhaegar's wedding to Elia Martell of Dorne in fear of an assassination attempt. He had even kept his young brother Viserys from attending. Rhaegar remembered that being the moment that he decided to no longer live here at King's Landing. He and Elia took up residence in the Targaryen holdfast, Dragonstone, right off the coast.

Elia Martell. How doomed was their marriage to be? His father had to have done it on purpose, knowing the fragile state of the princess. Elia was the only Martell daughter. She was rich in beauty, but poor in health. The woman of 28 was a frail as thin glass. Rhaegar refrained from touching her in fear she might shatter.

Their relationship as a married couple was not ideal. The princess was a rounded ten years older than Rhaegar. Her health was their main barrier. He knew that if only they could know each other, they would learn to love. With all the traveling he did as Crown Prince, he was afraid she would catch some sort of illness that her immune system would not be able to fight. With that thought in his head-it had even happened at one point-he tried to stay away from her in hopes she would grow stronger.

She still must produce him an heir. She was already almost thirty, and sickly. Aerys had done well in his attempt to stunt Rhaegar's claim to the throne. But they had managed a daughter: Rhaenys. The pregnancy had Elia bedridden for half a year after, gods bless her soul.

Rhaenys was a year old and looked far too Dornish for Aerys's liking. The young girl possessed the dark hair, sandy skin, and amber eyes of the Dornish, yet she had a sliver of Rhaegar's silver Targaryen mane tucked behind her ear. Rhaegar liked to call it her "Dragon's Lock." It was even one of the words she had mastered in speech.

Though Aerys hated the beautiful child, "Rhaeny", as he liked to call her, was the light of Rhaegar's dark, love-lacking life.

No matter how much he loved his daughter and how bad a condition Elia was in, he still required a son. The maesters said that she wouldn't last one more pregnancy. He learned this only after the conception of their second child. Doomed, he was sure.

Rhaegar stopped before the Iron Throne. A great mound of swords that sat like a heap of metallic quills, waiting to prick. The swords were from the hands of Aegon the Conqueror's enemies and smelted together by the fiery breath of his dragon, Balerion the Dread. To the vast discomfort of the throne, Aegon had replied: "A King should never sit easy." Rhaegar agreed.

He looked up at the long-dead dragon's head that hung about the stupefying Iron Throne. It was the largest of them all. The one who had seen all the glory. His teeth were a long and as pointed as swords, and he could swallow an aurochs whole. Balerion was a legend.

Rhaegar would never admit, but the enormous fossil had always been the monster of his nightmares.

Then he looked to the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, Ser Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name.

The Mad King.

It baffled Rhaegar how such a shriveled, sickly, ill-equipped man was sitting on that gargantuan, looming, minacious chair that the entire kingdom either worships, abhors, or seeks. Rhaegar knew he had once loved the man, but seeing the menacing hatred on his face, the rotting teeth, and the stringy, unhealthy, silver hair that was far overgrown had only strengthened Rhaegar's conclusions of his father. He looked worse than ever.

"Father," Rhaegar greeted in his deep, yet soft voice. Rhaegar was a young man of 18. He had the Targaryen look about him. His silver, white hair reached his shoulders in loose waves. He was tall too. Almost six and a half feet, but not quite. A beautiful man. Perhaps the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms. Many women would most definitely say so. He had these deep, purple eyes of Valyria. They were unlike any of the Targaryens. If one looked long enough, they'd get lost in the miserable despair. Or maybe the unending depths of wisdom and knowledge.

He possessed the worst curses of all: the knowledge of a tragic million books and the responsibility of a million doomed lives.

His eyes had a complex understanding of them. Almost as if one look from them will tell it its whole story. His eyelashes were black and long and his brows were somehow shaped by natural perfection. His rounded nose came to a point and his frowning lips, though full, beautiful, and a light shade of pink, begged for a smile which was never realized for the longest time.

He had a shaped jaw that was never covered by a single thread of the dark whiskers that threatened to grow. He had big, strong, white teeth that were rarely seen. His mother, Rhaella had said that he was ponderous and sullen since before he took his first life's breath.

He was a muscled man with long arms and fingers that were dexterous to an extreme. While he was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, he was just as skilled in the arts and even preferred the latter. His deep, soft voice sung the women of the court to tears.

"Son," Aerys returned in his aging, hoarse voice. "What an honor it is to graced by your faultless presence," he spat, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "What do you want!"

"My king, I have traveled from Dragonstone to-"

The king scoffed, interrupting the Prince. "Dragonstone," he mumbled, his veiny hands shaking violently as he raised them from
the hilts of two swords acting as armrests. "The place you and your Dornish bitch ran off to in order to get away from me."

"No," Rhaegar promised. "I told you. Elia is not well." The king scoffed again.

"The lies you feed me, Rhaegar," he grated. "Now tell me why in seven hells you've come. I know it's not to tell your father you love him."

Rhaegar would have argued that he did love Aerys, but he had never been a liar. "I have news," he revealed in light contrast..

Aerys looked down at the young man who seemed to be too dim to be carrying good news. "Spit it out then," he snarled.

Rhaegar frowned. "Elia is with child. The maesters say that by the way she is carrying, it seems it will be a boy," Rhaegar announced without emotion. Nothing about the situation was joyous. Aerys was only adding to the suffering.

"You don't seem too joyous. Is this son of Elia's going to be another Dornish bastard?" Aerys barked. The creases on his forehead and mouth twisted with every word he said.

Rhaegar's anger grew. "Rhaenys is no bastard, father. She is my true-born seed."

Aerys waved him off. "Sure, sure," he said with distance. "If you have anything else, get on with it. I've got things to see to, you weak green boy."

"I'm off to the Lord Whent's tournament at Harrenhal with the Daynes and Martells. We'll meet Lannister on the Kingsroad."

"Young Cersei and their bannermen?" asked Aerys, his voice low and guttural. He leaned back on the Iron Throne, fiddling with a point of the sword. There was a certain smugness about him. The conversation dispirited Rhaegar. In Aerys's youth, Lord Lannister had been his closest friend. A great ally. Yet here he was burning more bridges than ever. "Tywin won't show his face. The Lion of Lannister cowers behind his Rock of pride."

"Yes," Rhaegar confirmed, grim and unwilling. "Cersei is going for her brother's induction."

Aerys nodded. "Tywin's being such a woman about Jaime. Being a member of the Kingsguard is a great honor. Tywin should be proud."

"Young Jaime is," Rhaegar said with a hint of pride. "The young cub stopped me in the garden. He is happy with your decision. I applaud you."

He didn't applaud him. Jaime was the heir to Casterly Rock and Tywin had no others suitable. Jaime would be a brilliant whitecloak, but his father needed him elsewhere. And they needed his father. It could be the difference between winning and losing a war.

"Oh don't you kiss my ass, boy. Leave me be. Go play your child's games at Harrenhal. I want peace," the King growled, sending his own heir away with a shaky wave.

"Will you be attending the tournament at Harrenhal?" Rhaegar asked his father one last question.

Aerys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, releasing the tension in his head. "No, Rhaegar. I can't bear a trip out of the capital. Everyone wants me dead. They want you dead. Your brother. You'd do yourself well not to go. You'll be dead within a fortnight."

Rhaegar turned, relieved beyond measure. Without Aerys there, it will be all the much easier to gather a Great Council and see to his madness. "Unlike you, father, I welcome my death," he said walking out of the vast throne room. "Think of it as a release."

And with those final words, Rhaegar left Aerys to ponder them, not realizing the paranoia would help him draw the conclusion that his own heir was the one out to get him.

⥤⥢

"The boy is against me, Varys," the king said in a low sort of growl that his spymaster was completely used to. Aerys reclined against the arms of his chair at the head of the Great Council table. Even though the kind addressed his spymaster, Varys, otherwise known as the Master of Whisperers, the entire King's council was present.

Varys was a short, plump, bald man adorned with long, silken robes and soft greasy hands. One could smell his perfumed skin on him from miles away. But as soft as he may be, Varys earned both his rank and his nickname, the Spider. Whether it happened in King's Landing, the North, or the eastern continent, Essos, the strange man will know anything. When people asked him how, he returned, "My little birds always have whispers to give."

While he was one of the kings most trusted adversaries, the rest of the kingdom thought little of the Spider. It was a common talking point through the court that the strange, all-knowing man was... not so much a man, seeing that his "parts" were taken from him through blood magic many years prior. Perhaps it was his wild animosity towards magic that was the motive behind his internal desire to unseat the Targaryens once and for all...

"My King," he began to speak, his voice spilling out like whisps of clouds. "My little birds have given me the inclination to assume Prince Rhaegar's motivations to attend and fund this 'Great Tourney' are of ill intentions."

Aerys jaw clenched in anger and fear. "And what are your little birds chirping about my glorious son?"

Varys eyed the floor in apprehension. "Prince Rhaegar has planned in accordance. You decided you did not want to go, falling into his trap. He has called all the Great Lords to Harrenhal so that he can arrange a Great Council in hopes of unseating you, my King."

Aery began to breath hard, not saying anything for a while. His hands shook with madness. "Varys you are such a loyal subject. One of the last to hold my trust," he said, breathless.

"Your Grace!" Lord Quarlton Chestled inserted. He was a tall man, with a strong body from past wars. He served the council as Master of Coin and had a reputation to be quite against the King's eldest son. "I suggest you forbid the tournament! Rhaegar is obviously wading in treacherous waters, and I say we give him no water to swim in."

Aerys's eyes moved slowly to his Master of coin. "My son is Prince Rhaegar to you. Treacherous waters or not, he is my son and as prince, he will so as he likes until he stands before me soaking wet."

Lord Symond Staunton, master of laws gave Lord Quarlton a look that begged him to stand down and not respond. And he stayed quiet.

"I agree, my king," Maester Pycelle said in his old, shriveled, kiss-ass voice. "The boy is no traitor until he had participated in a treacherous action."

Lucerys Velaryon, master of ships, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower of the kingsguard stayed quiet.

Aerys rose abruptly. "Darry!" he screamed, hoarse and strident. A kingsguard entered from outside and bowed.

"Your Grace," he greeted in a somber tone.

"Go inform Rhaegar that I will be joining the party north to Harrenhal," he barked. Ser Darry bowed and took his leave.

Varys stood up and placed his moist hand on Aerys bony, shaking hands. "My King," he began. King Aerys grimaced at the fact the eunuch had touched him. "Are you sure this is the right idea? If your son wants you unseated, then this tournament will bring forth more threats than before."

"I am a king, Lord Varys," the decaying man said, striding to the door. "A king is not afraid of danger."

"Of course, my king," Varys agreed, having manipulated the Mad King with perfection.

⥤⥢

"Ser Arthur!" Rhaegar called from across the center court of the Red Keep. The Sword of the Morning looked up from where he was honing his legendary blade, Dawn. A quick smile washed over the kingsguard's rugged, young face as he made no sudden move to stop what he was doing and bow to his prince. They were both better than that.

"Rhaegar," he said, holding his gloved hand out to shake. The air around Arthur was warm and familiar.

"Here I am, again, apologizing that my dear father re-stationed you at King's Landing, rather than with me at Dragonstone."

Ser Arthur wiped a fake tear away. He was a rugged and handsome man. With the sun beating his face all day and the constant smiling he did, the young man nearing thirty already had prominent wrinkles around his nose and eyes. He had dark, close-cut hair, big ears, and a perfect smile. "Three whole months apart! Has your wife been happy that the Crown Prince's mistress has been moved away?"

Rhaegar couldn't help but curve his lips a bit. "I have no mistress. It is not a topic that I can jest about. Too dangerous. The Spider's birds are flapping their wings all over the Red Keep. I swear he's against me as much as my father."

"Yet Aerys trusts him so," Arthur's deep, strong voice sung. Rhaegar's lips came together in a straight line. "He is of unsound mind, as you well know. I can do nothing of it."

"How is Elia though?" Arthur asked, now serious. He stood up from the terraces and rested his legendary sword on his steel toe boot. "Last time I saw her she was well... somewhat."

Ser Arthur Dayne belonged to an old and honorable Dornish house. Their ancestral blade, Dawn, is only passed to the most worthy of warriors in the family and Arthur is the most deserving of that honor. The enormous greatsword sat on his back, forged from a dying star. The metal had an eerie glow to it. Some even said it had otherworldly powers. The people knew the Sword of the Morning for being one the most fatal fighters in the Seven Kingdoms. Besides his greatsword, he wields two swords and moves like lightening. The only men Rhaegar would think would be able to beat him would be Arthur. It was likely his cousin, the brute, Robert Baratheon stood a chance too. And when young Jaime grew up a bit...

But never mind his fighting skills. Arthur was Rhaegar's most trusted and closest friend. He was the joking type who seldom took anything with seriousness, but like the old saying goes: "opposites attract". Rhaegar needed some relaxation in his life and Arthur needed some structure.

"Elia is expecting a child," Rhaegar announced, sadness laden in his words. "But she's been out of bed. The sail from Dragonstone did her a slight."

Arthur threw a mirthless smile and gripped Rhaegar's arm. The amiable touch of a long-unseen friend was a heartening thing. The warm hand of the Dornish guard sent waves of healing through Rhaegar's downtrodden soul. He missed the quiet encouragement of the sole person who provided it. His mother was often there for him, but she knew not what to say, nor did she like to see her children face the truth. She would make sure the conversations stayed away from the negatives, even if they were necessary. Rhaegar liked it not. "What did the maesters say?"

"By the way she's carrying, it looks like a son," he noted. Arthur nodded, his violet eyes shining. The Daynes were the only other house from Targaryen in Westeros to have the purple eye pigmentation.

"Good. A Dornish Targaryen. "Going to be the quickest boy you've ever seen. The Prince Who Was Promised, as I read in your letters."

"Be that as it may," Rhaegar said, dipping his head. His silver hair fell from behind his ear. "Elia isn't going to survive the pregnancy. Likely the child won't either."

Arthur didn't know how to react. The news stunned him silent for a few moments but spoke anyway. The Daynes were sworn bannermen to the Martells since the beginning. The Martells and Daynes were close as children even. Rhaegar grew up with them. The idea of Elia's deaths was sure to upset Arthur and Rhaegar. But he was strong for Rhaegar who had to be strong for both of them. Arthur was a kingsguard. Not only should they guard the bodies of their ruling family, but their heart too. That was how Ser Arthur saw it. "How does she feel about that? Is she alright?"

Rhaegar sighed, doing his best to pull himself together. "I haven't told her yet. She's sleeping right now. I don't want anymore stress on her mind. She's too weak as it is. I should never have given her my seed."

Arthur shook his head. "You need a son. She is your wife. I love Elia as much as you do. But she knows her duty, same as you."

"I can't help but feel responsible."

"Neither of you knew that this could hurt her this bad. It takes two to do the dance of love, my friend."

"It's not a dance," Rhaegar told him. "Not with Elia. She was my mother's handmaiden. She helped raise you and I, if you remember. It's like procreating with my sister."

"Ironic," Arthur said, prodding at the countless sister wives in the past Targaryen dynasty. Rhaella was Aerys's young sister. But Rhaegar had never liked that idea, and he was thankful that no sister had been born to him in time for marriage.

"Incest is the reason father is the way he is."

Arthur frowned, understanding. He needed to change the subject. "I take it we are riding together to Harrenhal. The Daynes and Martells should arrive tomorrow."

"Lannisters are meeting us in the Reach, " Rhaegar added, switching over to their duties.

"Yes," smiled Ser Arthur. "I can't wait to see the face of the Lion of Lannister when his strapping young lad is inducted into a life of not having a life."

"Oh, come now, Arthur. After all the good times we've spent, you tell me you have no life?" Rhaegar asked in mocking exclamation.

Arthur leaned on the hilt of Dawn and scratched his day's stubble, shrugging. "I cannot express all the love I carry for you, good prince, but the life of a kingsguard is to stand by the Royal family in empty rooms to 'protect' them."

Rhaegar scoffed, and they stood in a momentary silence until Rhaegar spoke again. "I have the awful feeling that it's about to get all the more interesting."

Arthur nodded, solemn. "I agree, Prince. And I'll be here."

Rhaegar took that to the heart, knowing that Arthur meant it with all his soul. The air was growing cooler with the crisp spring air and the thin red silks under his black jerkin were losing its heat, and he was growing cold. Targaryens may be heat-resistant by nature, but the cold always seemed to get to Rhaegar. He was thankful the Winter was over. "Lord Tywin isn't coming because of the induction," Rhaegar noted, this time him changing the subject.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that all the better? The Lion is off with his tail between his legs at Casterly Rock, unable to show his face to the public," he said. But then he shook his head. "Poor young Jaime. To have an honor like this besmirched. He'll be the youngest there's ever been and there he'll be: a pawn in your father and his father's quarrels."

"Nothing can take it back," Rhaegar said quietly, looking down at his callused hands, remembering back to a time when his father wasn't known as the Mad King.

"But something can keep it from happening again," Ser Arthur led up with an apprehensive expectation of how Rhaegar would react. The young crown prince sighed the weight on his shoulders pulling him even farther down. Chill bumps arose like dragon scales all over him. He wasn't sure if it was the cold or the fear...

"Aerys is not going to Harrenhal," he revealed. Arthur let out a deep breath he was holding. "All the Great Lords have accepted the invitation except Lord of Lannister."

"Can it be done without him?"

Rhaegar nodded. "It will have to be," he said, his voice grim. "Targaryen, Martell, Tyrell, Arryn, Baratheon, Tully... even Stark. Along with the smaller houses. It should be plenty," he thought for a few moments. "It will be."

Ser Arthur smiled slyly. "I can't help but notice that there's no Greyjoy in that list."

Rhaegar sighed. "They should have their ranks stripped," he said. "No Great Lord should pillage coastal villages for fun. They don't have enough military power to matter. A fleet would do nicely. Lord Balon's brother and eldest son are attending, but without Balon, Greyjoy can't hold a seat."

Arthur nodded, fear washing over him as well. "This isn't going to end well, my friend. The maesters say spring is here, but I still feel winter in the air."

Rhaegar wore his mask of deceit, making sure his friend only saw a false smile rather than true tears. A half smile was all he could bear. But it was so hard to lie to such a special friend as Arthur. He couldn't look him in the eye. "The Stark's words are truer than any other. Winter is coming. Such an absolute. Winter always comes. Dragons die in the snow."

"Rhaegar," Ser Arthur said sternly, slipping Dawn in his back scabbard and approaching the prince. Rhaegar looked up. "You need to stop blaming yourself for the crimes of your father. Stop praying for your downfall. You know the Starks will stand behind you. The most peace the realm had ever seen was when a Stark sat the North and a Targaryen, the Iron Throne. Once the Starks support, all the northmen, the Stormlands, the Vale, and Riverlands will come flocking."

Rhaegar did not react. How could he not blame himself? It was his fault for not acting against him. His fault that the people are suffering.

Almost as if the knight could read Rhaegar's mind, he said, "The common people have had the best years of their lives under your silent rule. No king has ever been so intimate with his subjects as you are. You are barely a man grown. How could you have done something? Now that you can, you are. Don't beat yourself up. Now, go see your mother," he ordered. "I nearly forgot her orders. 'As soon as he lands his royal feet on this blasted land he'll go right to you. But on your daft head, you will send my first boy straight to me.'"

Rhaegar finally smiled a bit, still not showing teeth. "Looks like your head will be on a pike by daybreak."

"Not if you lie for me," he came back. "Now go. Rhaella misses you!"

A quiet smiled pushed across Prince's handsome face as he turned to find his mother in the King's Chambers of Red Keep. He missed his queen mother, Rhaella. He missed her sweet stories of triumph and words of ignorant encouragement. As a boy, he loved those stories. That was until he began to read more. People joked that Rhaella must have boiled down books and eaten them during her pregnancy, for Rheagar was a regular reader just before he turned three.

Sword and shield had Never exactly drawn him in. He played the harp. Wrote poetry and sang to the court. He read book after book. He always told his mother that he wanted to be a maester. He told her he'd have the heaviest chain of them all, for each link was a credit of mastering an art, skill, trade, or wisdom such as magic, medicine and healing, histories, and such.

His mother always told him in the sweetest was possible to read about kings. That he would never be what he dreamed of. He was born into his profession and would not be able to choose. She gave him books of the best and worst kings in Westeros from the first Kings of Winter Starkmen to the 300 years of Targaryen reign in all Westeros.

The seven-year-old boy discovered that he must fit the role of a king, so he set out to befit such standards.

Since his young revelations, he's devoted himself to the role fate meant for him to play. That very day, he sat down his books and approached the horsemaster and Master-at-Arms separately and asked them of their assistance to train him in horse and sword. It surprised the men that the Book Prince should ask them to do so, as he's shied away from the idea entirely in the past. They were even pleased with what respect and dominance he had asked. That he had come without the Queen or King accompanying him. The Book Prince was not called the Book Prince for very long after.

Rhaegar Targaryen was a mature man at heart and soul before the age of ten. Rhaella was proud that her son finally accepted his role. Though Rhaegar turned out to be more than gifted at sword and horse, he thought of it as only a chore. A necessity of the role that he never wanted to have. At the time, he was sure that his mother would never give father another son in time to give the throne to so that Rhaegar could pursue what he wanted to.

And he was right. Viserys was only five... and Aerys's rule was at an end.

Rhaegar's improved mood disappeared in an instant as he rounded the pale red brick corridor. He halted where he stood and didn't move, listening. Rhaegar knew it was his mother's cries from this far away. He knew it was. He broke into a run. As he got closer, he could he the protests and cries of Viserys.

"Aerys!" his mother cried, pained and embarrassed. "Aerys you're hurting me!"

"No," Rhaegar cursed to himself, now in a full run. Two kingsguards stood stationed outside the door.

"Not now! Viserys! Viserys is here!" her voice came again. She sounded strained and struggling.

Rhaegar's face twisted in shock and agony. "You there!" he called out to the whitecloaks. "Do you not hear her cries? Aren't you to protect the Queen?"

The kingsguard that was closest looked at Rhaegar in horror. "Yes, my Prince. I am sorry. He made us stand here. The king. No hands are to be put on the king."

Rhaegar was fuming for only seconds until he head a loud slap and a shriek come for within the room followed by, "not him, brother!" That was when Rhaegar pushed the kingsguard's aside and busted into the room where his mother was struggling against his father and his six-year-old brother was unconscious against the red-tinted wall, bleeding from his nose.

"Prince Rhaegar, if you attempt to harm the king, we must take up arms against you!" the knights called after Rhaegar with warning and despair.

"Get out of here, you weak son of a whore!" Aerys screamed at his son, throwing a shoe at him. "None of this is any business of yours! Get the seven hells away!"

"You struck Viserys, father!" Rhaegar raised at him. "You're taking my mother by force! You're hurting her!"

The Mad King's hands started to tremble. "I am the King! The boy was in the way of my woman!"

Rhaegar took a step forward and halfway unsheathed his sword. That was when Rhaella jumped off the bed and put her soft hand on her son's. She gave him a look that he understood. Rhaegar couldn't interfere and become a traitor. He is the kingdom's last hope.

"Welcome home dear," she said in a calm, strong voice. She took him by the ear and pulled his head down for her to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I've missed you since the day you left. However, Mother's busy. Can you be a dear and take Viserys?"

The anger the was raging in Rhaegar's head boiled down and converted into intense sadness in his throat. "Anything for you, sweet mother," he whispered, pressing his hand to her smudged face, then turning to pick up the small child and carry him away.

The blow had knocked Viserys unconscious, but Rhaegar knew the boy was fine. Rhaegar stopped at his room and opened the redwood door with the three-headed dragon engraved. Looking in, he saw his wife, Elia, as thin as she was, crying and dry gagging into a chamber pot, sweat pooled around the neck of her nightdress.

He tried his best not to let Elia see him, backing out quickly and closing the door, but she saw him.

"Rhaegar," she called out, seizing her crying and wiping away her tears. "I'm sorry. The pregnancy," she said, trying to explain. "I'm just... not well."

He frowned darkly. "You never are."

She began to cry again. "It's not fair," she moaned, busting into a fit of coughs.

Rhaegar could feel the tears nagging at the corners of his eyes. "No, dear princess," he agreed. "It never is."

"You've been so good to me," she said in almost a whisper. "I'm sorry I haven't been a better wife."

"Don't ever say that," Rhaegar told her, disconsolately, stepping inside and approaching her bedside. "You are Elia Martell. The best wife I've ever had."

She sniffled. "I'm the only wife you've ever had," she laughed.

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and pushed Viserys higher up onto his shoulders. "Only as far as you know, my dear."

Elia smiled. She had such a nice, happy smile that Rhaegar loved to see. He loved that smile. He loved her giggle. He loved the fierce sort of love that she shows everyone. He loved to see the tiny, copper-skinned, dark-haired beauty coming his way. He loved Elia. But he still hasn't been able to find himself in love with her. She's like a close, immortal friend that he would never want to see leave from his life, but he would have never chosen to marry her on his own accord.

Then lightheartedly she said, "Not for long though. Soon I'll be dead and haven't given you proper son. You'll remarry someone more fit to bare your heir."

"Don't dare say such a cursed thing, my wife," he scolded. "You'll have my son. And his mother will be there for him. Aegon will be his mother's son."

She smiled sadly at him, knowing that it wasn't true.

"Rhaenys is in the cot if you want to take her. I see that your opening up a service. If you can't, call in a wet nurse. I just can't," as she finished, she doubled over to throw up, but nothing came up.

"You should eat something, Lia," he told her. She only looked up at him sadly before going to dry heave again. He sighed at the sight. "I will take the children. Do you want one of your handmaids in here?"

Elia shook her head as she stared down at the floor. "What about Grand Maester Pycelle?" She shook her head again.

He didn't know how else to help, so he took Rhaenys and Viserys and went to Viserys's room. That was how life left him every time. With that single question. How else was he supposed to help?

He laid his happy daughter on the bed of red and black spun silks and moved Viserys to the wash basin, where he cleaned the blood from his nose. The little boy was a sweet, shielded thing, Rhaegar knew. He had the Targaryen look about him, for sure. His hair gathered around his head in silver-white ringlets. His purple eyes opened as the cold water pressed against his young face.

"Rhaegar?" he grunted groggily, after seeing his brother. He wrapped his arms around the neck of his older brother and prince. "Where's Mother? Father was hurting her? Did you save her?

Rhaegar's heart shattered, angry tears biting at his eyes. "Shh, Viserys," he told him, running his fingers through the boy's white hair. "You were sleepwalking and fell down some steps. You were having a frightening dream, brother."

Viserys raised his little hands into fists and began rubbing at his eyes. "Where is Mother?"

Rhaegar smiled, trying his best to make the boy feel better. "She's at court, brother. Late night. Lady Ashara and Lord Oberyn are coming. We are all going to Harrenhal at dawn."

Viserys giggled. "Lord Oberyn is funny," he pointed out. "Can I come to court? Mother lets me come."

Rhaegar gave him a look. "No, I don't think so. It is very late. A strong dragon such as yourself should get some sleep," he told his little brother, standing up and pulling him into his arms.

"I am Balerion the Dread!" he growled, trying to jump out of Rhaegar's arms onto his bed. Rhaegar held him tightly and his arms wrapped around the child's chest and waist with care.

"Careful, Balerion," Rhaegar scolded, putting the hyper six-year-old on the hard floor. He picked up his daughter who had just woken up and was sitting up in the bed, waving her dark, chubby arms around in the air, babbling away. Rhaenys was in her early toddler stages and was the sweetest girl he knew.

Rhaegar wrapped one of his large hands around her three-headed dragon sigil adorned chest and supported her behind with his other hand. Rhaenys giggled excited and reached back for her father, oblivious to their depressing situation of her frail mother, abused grandmother, shielded uncle, and evil grandfather, her king.

"Is this Rhaenys? My niece?" Viserys asked, now holding his hands to his body, nervous around a baby. Rhaegar nodded, tickling his daughter's bare feet, causing her to giggle ferociously.

"She doesn't look like a dragon," Viserys said, pointing out her sandy skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Rhaegar only smiled and reach carefully behind her ear and showed Viserys her "dragon's lock". The sweet girl already had such long hair for her age. Viserys squinted at the silver hairs in Rhaegar's pale hand.

"She is a Dornish dragon. My wife is Elia Martell, brother. It is only fair that the daughter should favor her mother." He held Rhaenys up to his face. "Show your uncle your Dragon's Lock, Rhaeny. Dragon's lock."

Rhaenys gave her father a bit toothy smiled and grabbed eagerly at the platinum streak of hair behind her ear. "Dragon's Lock!" she yipped excitedly, bouncing in Rhaegar's arms. Viserys smiled big.

"Only fair," Viserys repeated with a nod of agreement. "You will have a son with the strong look of a dragon."

Rhaegar nodded, agreeing with him. Viserys ran to a wall and grabbed a wooden sword that he'd been training with. "Spar!" he suggested with excitement.

Rhaegar shook his head as he put his daughter on his shoulder and strode across the room to take the sword away from Viserys. "You need a rest, little brother," Rhaegar convinced him. "Come now. Get into bed."

"Rhaegar, you have to tell me stories," he said surely. "Stories about the Dragon must be told by a Dragon. Not his nurse."

Viserys was already a brilliant young boy, Rhaegar knew. But he was definitely spoiled. "Does Rhaella tell you stories of dragons and past kings?"

He wanted to be here for his poor mother. He didn't want to hand Viserys off to the wet nurse. Rhaegar would take care of the boy the way his mother did.

"All types of stories!" he cried happily.

Rhaegar sighed sitting on the chair at the side of Viserys's bed as his little brother snuggled into the thick sheets. "As you know, there is a tournament at Harrenhal that we will all be attending."

Viserys nodded. "I'm not sure I will be going, though," he said unsurely.

"Well, I do hope you do, and I hope you haven't heard the tale of the cursed castle of Harrenhal," Rhaegar introduced.

Viserys smiled, shaking his head. So Rhaegar began, his brother listening intensely. "Nearly 300 years ago when Aegon the Conqueror landed in Westeros, he had to bring all the King's of Westeros to his side. By force or friendship. Harrenhal was the grandest fortress there was.

"To build this great keep, King Harren Hoare of the Riverlands-and the Iron Islands- used forty years of his kingship and thousands of captives, who died in the quarries and chained to sleds or working on the five enormous towers. Slaves froze solid by winter and suffered heat stroke in the summer.

"He held the Riverlands and the Iron Islands?" Viserys asked, intrigued. Rhaegar nodded, his dark purple eyes growing sleepy. He could feel the drool seeping through the silks of his shoulder. Rhaenys was fast asleep, the dear thing. "King Harren sounded like a strong king."

Rhaegar yawned, shaking his head. "I believe that many of the things were done of his personal interest and not in the best interest of his people."

"But to be a good king, you must be cruel... sometimes?" Viserys suggested.

"You must be stern, yes. But never cruel. Some think fear is the best way to rule. Some think it is respect. But, brother, let me share my young wisdom with you. To rule, it takes fear and respect. Never should you use cruelty or personal motivations."

Viserys's mouth hung agape, trying to take in everything his brother said. Viserys listened with intent to his brother, who he never sees, who he idolized. Rhaegar was indeed an idealistic figure. "What more of Harrenhal?"

"The northern worshipped weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down to provide rafters and beams. It was as if the castle itself was laced in northern magic. Some prefer to say it was cursed, for the weirwoods are sacred. Harren beggared the Riverlands and the Iron Islands both to carry out his vision to utmost perfection.

"When it was finished, King Harren boasted that his new castle was impregnable. Untouchable. The greatest ever constructed. While it may not have been untouchable or impregnable, it was the greatest keep of all Westeros. Maybe even to this day if it were still standing the way it did.

"And the day King Harren finally sits his Royal haunches on his throne, our great ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror landed right here in King's Landing. Aegon, while building his Empire, asked Hoare to bend the knee. He refused and called his banners. They all blockaded in the 'untouchable' fortress, for Harren knew that no siege tactics would work. Aegon knew this too, but he had Balerion. The largest dragon to ever live. Harren said that no dragon could burn his stone and that he would never bow to a foreign king. He promised riches and daughters to anyone who killed Balerion. Aegon promised that all of Harren's line would die that night.

"Alone, Aegon traveled aback the great beast and flew overhead until the night grew dark, keeping true to his word. That night he set Harrenhal ablaze. The great towers became melted and deformed. King Harren and the entirety of his house burned with it, leaving the castle crippled and deformed.

"Once ruined, the swords of the riverman and ironborn were taken to King's Landing and with Balerion's furnace, the swords of Aegon's enemies were smelted together to forge the Irone Throne that our father sits upon to this day. Where I will soon sit. While Harrenhal is still the largest and more envious castles of the Seven Kingdoms sheltering House Whent very generously, it is said to be cursed."

"Dragonfire burned the weirwood supports, northern and southern magic colliding. They say the place is cursed. That visiting the place is to bring doom to all who find glory. It is said the in the Wailing Tower- the one the Hoares were burned alive in- is still filled with the fretful moans of Harren and his sons."

Rhaegar looked to see that his brother was a bit frightened. "What is it, brother?"

"We are going to Harrenhal. Are we to be cursed?" he asked. Rhaegar looked upon his brother and thought. He didn't want to frighten him. He wasn't going to lie either.

"Magic is real brother. It is a real threat and a real beauty. It is more real than any of the songs or histories. History is nothing but the exaggerated tales of the men who win the glory. It is never the whole truth. Song points out the beauty in life while in truth, life is pure unfairness. Magic, however... that is something entirely mysterious, yet always a constant. Travel north and you'll begin to find the ancient trees of thousands of years with the bleeding faces of the Old Gods. Go to the Great Hall and on the walls, the heads of dragons are hung. In the city of Asshai, there are prophecies, dragons, a Red God, and more. Blood magic is a true threat. All these gods. The Holy Seven. The Old Gods. The Drowned God. The Red God. Which are we to believe? Perhaps they are all the same. But there is a greater force. And it is all possible with magic."

The story had entranced Viserys.

"So yes, there is some confusing energy at the Keep of Harrenhal. A place where southern magic scorched northern. Is it a curse? A blessing? That is one of the more mysterious aspects, brother. All we can do is forget to fear and embrace the surrounding magic. Death is always imminent. Pain is always waiting. But so is glory and love and happiness. The strange combination is what we call life."

He left his six-year-old brother's jaw hanging, unsure of how to take the information. Unsure if he even understood it. But somehow he no longer felt afraid. "I'm not tired yet, Rhaegar," he confessed, scooting to the end of the bed. Rhaegar sighed and repositioned Rhaenys to his other shoulder and did the only thing he had left to do. He sang to his little brother.

It was a happy song. Not melancholic like the ones Rhaegar had become accustomed to writing. It was slow and sweet and inspired sleep. Like a lullaby. But Rhaegar wouldn't quite list it as such. He'd sing it to court without hesitation.

Viserys finally began to drift off to the awing, dulcet, yet deeply despondent sound emanating from the Dragon Prince's throat. As he grew more tired, the words turned into a melodic hum that vibrated deep in his chest and somehow, the sleeping daughter knew he was singing and wrapped a strong fist around his collar and nuzzled deeper into her father's neck.

With them both growing so comfortable, Rhaegar finally began to drift off. That was until there was a knock at the door, jolting the young man awake. His sudden movement woke Rhaenys. She jerked her little head up and her sleepy eyes scanned the room for light. Rhaegar smiled at the soft tendencies of his daughter. Quietly babbling after she found none, she let her head collapse back onto her father's silken shoulders and fell back asleep.

"My Prince?" a whispered voice drifted for outside. It was Darry.

"Enter," Rhaegar ordered, his voice thick with exhaustion. The kingsguard stepped in. "I am sorry to bother you Prince Rhaegar, but it was the King's orders. He wanted you to know that he was leaving for Harrenhal with you on the morn."

Rhaegar's mouth fell agape, forming a perfect "o". The Spider. Somehow he had found out and told the decaying king. "Leave me be, Darry," he said ponderously. As soon as Darry left, Rhaegar let the sorrows that had been building up with him through the day swell up inside and force the silent tears out of his deep, indigo eyes.

He was responsible for the suffering of the kingdom. He had the chance to save his people, and lost it. The Mad King would continue his reign of terror and there was nothing that Rhaegar could do.

A condemning certitude the silver prince would have to bear for years until his death.

Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King who split the seven Kingdoms and his son Rhaegar who did nothing to stop him.