act ii . chapter xxxvi

AEGON, SIXTH OF HIS NAME
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THE AIR WAS STALE AND USED. The hall was silent and stiff. Lyanna's small fingers clumsily traced the lines of stitching on the arm of Rhaegar's doublet. Her head was resting on his shoulder and she propped her feet up on the bench with the rest of her. Her dark, rich hair was loose and falling over her porcelain white face as her pale eyes fluttered into as shallow sleep.

Rhaegar's own eyes begged for relief, but the prince would not permit it. His silver hair had grew past his shoulders in lengths. The day's dark stubble had grown in on his jaw, but he had not retired to cut it. The lacing on his jerkin unraveled at the neck and down his chest. His head rested on the stone wall behind him, exhausted. His left arm wrapped around his wife and rested on her hip as she slept. He could feel her warmth... her heartbeat. It calmed his nerves and he was thankful for her.

On his right arm and lap, Rhaenys slept without a sound, her hand halfway into her mouth and her hair just as strewn as her stepmother's. Rhaegar was thankful that the toddler had finally fallen asleep. Early, she was running around and trying to get into the room they were waiting outside of. Giggling and screaming and trying to enjoy herself. She didn't understand why they were all waiting here, not moving but an inch, speaking not a word.

It had been hours. Through the night and on into the next day. Arthur sat on the bench across from the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone. With silence, held his sword, Dawn across his lap with his legs propped up on the seat. Arron was still angry. He ventured into the hall every hour or so to check on the progress, but he never stayed for more that an exchange of words and never once did he ever speak or look at Rhaegar.

All Rhaegar could see in his mind was the bed of blood and roses. He knew it was Elia or Lyanna. The birth of Aegon.

Now and then, he would convince himself that Elia would live and so would his son. But then he would hear her muffled cries and strangled screams. Then all the convincing that he did to himself was gone.

But gods was he tired. And so comfortable. The light of the second day was fading and Lyanna and Rhaenys were so warm. He could just... rest his eyes... yes. He shouldn't worry. Fate is fate. He would die someday too.

Just... just... sleep...

And with that, his heavy eyelids closed his eyes to the cruel world and his mind started to recharged.

Then the oaken door unbolted and swung open, startling Rhaegar out of his seconds of sleep. The sudden jerk of his body woke Lyanna too, but not Rhaenys. Lyanna lifted her head off Rhaegar's shoulder and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Rhaegar shifted in his seat doing the same. The Maester, gray clad and holding up a heavy chain around his neck.

There was blood on the belly of his gray cloak and on the cuffs, up to his elbows. He was wiping his bloodstained hands with a wet cloth, and he was looking at Rhaegar with an expression that was impossible to read. Rhaegar's own blood dropped to his feet, and he started to stand, forgetting that Rhaenys was in his lap. As soon as he realized, he pulled her closer to his chest and protected her little head in the crook of his neck. He then stood up to go speak to the maester, but Lyanna grabbed his hand.

"Give her to me, dear," Lyanna told him in a sleepy, quiet voice holding out her hands. The Prince father handed his daughter to his wife as gingerly as he could, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. He smiled down at Lyanna as she let Rhaeny nestle into her arms. Some feeling of happiness and belonging washed over Rhaegar as he looked upon two of some of his favorite people.

He loved the way Lyanna's small, white fingers brushed over Rhaenys's dark hair and skin. The way his daughter's arms wrapped around Lyanna's hands with gentleness and pressed her sleeping face into Lyanna's breast. He reached over and placed his hand lovingly on the tussled head of hair that belonged to Lyanna and caressed down to her face. Lyanna looked up at him with those mysterious gray eyes and smiled.

"Go hear the news, my love. We are fine here." she prodded. Rhaegar curled the corner of his lips upwards and nodded, not truly smiling for she reminded him the fear of the moment.

As he turned to walk toward the maester, he feet seemed to grow to heavy to carry and his hands began to shake. Look at all the blood, his mind taunted. It was more than when Rhaenys was born. Longer too. Elia is dead.

"Maester Crole," he greeted in a voice that caught deep in his throat and exited his mouth in almost a choke. He tried to ask about his child, about Elia, but when he opened his mouth, no words would come out.

"My Prince," he started with a bow. "She has finished. Princess Elia has lived and you now have a son... though, not without cost, your Grace. Your son's mother has lost much blood. Perhaps too much. Whether or not she will live, the slumber she has fell within will determine it."

Not saying a word, for the gods knew that he couldn't, he glanced over at the door where he knew his family was behind, bleeding and dying. And here he was, whether he was in there or not, he could do nothing to save them. Not his sword, for it was not battle. Not his words, for it was not politics. What use were any of his skills if he couldn't use them against fate?

"Once we clean up the sheets and your persons of interest, you'll be allowed in," Maester Crole told him. Rhaegar dazed off toward the door, all those terrible thoughts tumbling through his head. Then the maester put a hand on Rhaegar's shoulder, snapping him back to conversation. The maester nodded at his prince for assurance that Rhaegar understood him.

Rhaegar gave him a nod and slipped away from his touch and walked back over to sit next to Lyanna. Immediately, he propped his elbows in his knees and buried his face in his hands. He felt Lyanna fun her hand over his head and down his back. Chills erupted all over his body and he felt better. After a while, he relaxed. He leaned back and rested his head on Lyanna's shoulder as she held Rhaenys.

Rhaegar wasn't able to fight the sleep that came to him this time. And it was a perfect reflection. Just as Rhaegar held and protected his girls as they sleep, Lyanna held him and loved him and his daughter. He felt better now. But gods if only Elia would live.

Rhaegar's sleep was dreamless for the most part. He wouldn't remember any of the flashes and feelings that flickered and danced across his mind, but after a while-an amount of time that he wouldn't know- Lyanna awoke him by patting his chest with care.

"The maester has come, Rhaegar," she whispered to him. Rhaegar sat up and stretched out, his back and toes snapping from the tense sleeping position.

"What?" he asked groggily, looking around the room, seeing nothing but a dark blur. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned, looking over at Lyanna. The dark haired beauty nodded to Rhaegar's right. He followed her eyes and saw the maester standing too, clean and smiling. Smiling? Rhaegar's eyes grew wide, and he looked back to Lyanna for her thoughts.

She only raised her eyebrows with a small smile. "Go on then."

Rhaegar looked to Arthur for his input, but he was asleep, Dawn propped up in his chest down to his knee. His arms crossed over the sword as he slept. He sighed, stood up, and approached the maester.

"So?" he asked.

Maester Crole smiled and shook his head. "Your wi-Elia is healthy and awake, awaiting your presence."

Happiness erupted in Rhaegar. "And the child?"

"Living and healthy, my lord. But he is a bastard by law. Either Viserys or Rhaenys will still be you heir no matter the birth of this son."

"He was conceived in wedlock," Rhaegar argued. "I assure you."

"And born out of it," he added.

Rhaegar's brows came together in confusion, disappointment, and guilt. "A bastard, eh?" he said to himself. He never though he'd ever father a bastard. Of course, this was not the situation that many fathers of bastards found themselves in.

"It matters not. They'll be back at the Capital posing as my legal family. The world will find out when it's ready."

"Of course, your grace," the maester said with a bow. "Allow me to show you in."

Rhaegar agreed, following after the elder scholar. Maester Crole opened the door and let Rhaegar in, then left him in there alone. The room smelled of blood and sweat and fruit. Everything was quiet and still. Before him, Elia laid in that grand bed, her body tired and ravaged. Her gown was open, and she held a bundle to her brown nipple.

Elia's black curls sat, bunned to the back of her head and the circles under her eyes were darker than usual. Her brown skin was pale. It seemed gray now.

Neither of them said a word to the other. Rhaegar just took a few light steps over to the side of the bed and peered over his former-princess's full breast to the precious little thing attached to it. His son.

The teensy babe's eyes were still swollen and closed. His little hands clenched into fists and grabbed at Elia. His lips clasped to her, and he ate with haste, breathing hard through his little nose. His skin was dark like his mother's, but on the top of his head rested a clump of thick, silver wisps of hair.

"Has he opened his eyes yet?" Rhaegar whispered, moving his eyes to Elia. She smiled, nodding her head.

"He's like you, Rhaegar," she said, her voice hoarse. She chuckled. "His eyes are dark and... they're indigo. Just like you. Like his father." She was a bit faint. Probably the milk of the poppy.

Rhaegar smiled and straightened. "I'm glad. It was what Viserys predicted. He said you'd have your Rhaenys and that you'd have a son that have the 'strong look of the dragon'."

She let out a half laugh. "Does our son have a name?"

Rhaegar looked around the room deep in thought. He did not want to tell Elia that her son was a bastard. It was a fact that not even he wanted to know. But he didn't want to keep the truth from her. She'd find out anyway. But Rhaegar didn't want to talk about it. He knew that Elia wouldn't like to either. He would play it by ear.

"Aegon," he said, looking upon his son. "What better name for a king?" Or a bastard.

Elia smiled. "Will you make a song for him?" she asked in her medicinal daze.

Rhaegar sighed. "He has a song," he replied. We all do, he added in his mind. But this is the one who lived. He and Lyanna's son may ride the dragon and fight the Long Night, but Aegon was born under the bleeding comet. It was at this point where Rhaegar wasn't sure who the Prince Who Was Promised actually was. Was it Aegon? Or was it the son he would have with Lyanna. Did it matter that Lyanna's son would be the one to ride a dragon, if it wasn't he who would lead the people against the darkness? He decided he would leave Elia with hope. "He is the Prince Who Was Promised. His is the Song of Ice and Fire."

But deep down he knew that Lyanna was ice, and he was fire. Only... the bed of blood and roses... it's Lyanna. He looked to the door. Behind that door was his Lady Lyanna. "There must be one more," he told Elia, staring at the door. "The dragon has three heads," he said.

He looks back over to his son and Elia. The sight of them struck deep, melancholy chord in his heart. Slowly he strode to the window and picked up a harp from the dresser. Not his harp, but it would do. His ran his fingers across the strings and a calming, sweet sadness filled the room.

The dragon has three heads.

A/N: Hey y'all. Hope you like this one. It's a bit of fluff and a bit of angst. Thought I'm using a new way of proofreading, so I bet you won't find any errors ;). If you do, let me know. I'm working through the earlier chapters and fixing the inconsistencies and grammar/spelling errors. I saw that I put that Ser Oswal Whent was Lord Commander and that Elbert Arryn was like 30. IN THE SAME JAIME II CHAPTER!!!! It's fixed. If you're confused, then it's Gerold Hightower that is Lord Commander and Elbert is 16 :'D