Inheritance (AsoIaF fanfic)

[RagingSmurfOO7]

"Kings are made for honour, not for long life." - Magnus Barefoot, last king of Norway to die in combat overseas. (1073-1103)





The Wall, 281AC.



"Gods, curse this weather." Rhaegar hissed under his breath, keeping a tight grip on the reins of his horse as he and Arthur made their way to the imposing construct that was the Wall. Constructed by Bran the Builder, if the Maesters and old accounts were to be believed, it seemed to scrape the very sky as Rhaegar almost had to crane his neck to see the very top of it, shrouded by a misty gray cloud that lazily hovered. The size of it boggled the minds of many, defying all preconceptions about construction, material stability, and that men so primitive as the First Men could have built this.

But just as his own ancestors had worked wonders, so had the First Men done so with magic.

And yet with all that wondrous magic, there was nothing to stop himself or Arthur from collectively freezing their balls off in this frozen land that existed on the periphery of the Seven Kingdoms. What he, the Crown Prince, would have done for a way to keep himself warm with no issue.

"I sincerely hope that we did not come all this way for nothing." Arthur said a short distance from him, letting out a dry cough as the Dornishman visibly shivered at the harsh cold and covered his face more. The kingsguard looked haggard from the journey, being ill-suited for this weather. His hair and clothes were also unkempt in contrast to his usual cleanliness to more easily hide the fact that he was a knight of the peerlessly illustrious kingsguard.

"My uncle assured me that it was not for nothing, Arthur." Rhaegar replied, scowling as he felt his hair brush against the side of his face. He'd dyed his hair to cover up the noticeable golden-silver locks, and it felt like he had run lard through it from the texture of the dye. "The letter was urgent and I do not intend to ignore it."

Originally, Rhaegar had planned to travel north, not far from Harrenhal, and take Lyanna with him to protect her. He had no idea how, but his father, mad and cruel man he had become, discovered that Lyanna was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He would have never known that if not for Varys, who had met him in person before his departure from King's Landing with Arthur, Oswell, and his retinue of friends and close allies. Agents had evidently been sent to murder Lyanna or as it was known that she would be heading south to Riverrun with her brother in preparation for his wedding to Lord Hoster's daughter.


That caused a rather hasty race to Harrenhal where they dispatched with four different assassins that were meant to kill Lyanna, and because of the letter from his uncle to the North, his plan to travel to Harrenhal with Arthur and Ser Oswell was already restructured before to reduce the conspicuous nature of their mission, with his and Arthur's departure occurring from Harrenhal while Ser Oswell and the rest of his small host stayed in the area and informed Lyanna that there was a change of plans.

That change in plan was his uncle Aemon requesting he travel north to the Wall in secret, that the matter was so urgent that it would determine the fate of the realm and even the prophecy that the two Targaryen men had discussed at length through their letters. The aged maester had expressed skepticism throughout most of their correspondence, but something had changed since the previous exchange. The tone of the letter was different, more to the point and sharp. A direct request to come north, with a simple final addition eluding him in meaning.

'Your inheritance awaits.'

After moving briskly along the road used by countless wagons and horses leading to the Wall, the two men finally reached the vicinity of the Wall where the men of the Night's Watch on sentry duty could see them, and Rhaegar brought his mount to a halt. Arthur followed suit and the two men waited for the inevitable greeting.

"Approach until they greet us, I wager." Arthur shrugged, flicking the reins to get his horse to enter a soft trot.

Rhaegar matched the gesture and both prince and knight continued onward. Icy cold winds continued to buffet them and Rhaegar thanked his forethought once again that he decided to wear a wool cloak and wool lined gambeson underneath his mail shirt. This weather was wretched, and he was praying he would never be forced to suffer this weather again. Gods could only know how Lyanna or any of the Northmen dealt with this on a regular basis.

The crown prince's musings about the northernmost part of his father's realm drew to a close as they closed the distance, coming within visual sight of Castle Black and the purple eyes of the Silver Prince traced along the buildings, absorbing the details of what had been for countless ages the main shield against wildling incursions into the North.

It had no walls or serious fortifications on the east, west, or south sides. Hells, there weren't even the most haphazard of palisades made or ditches dug. The towers looked pathetic compared to the displays of robust stone and masonry in King's Landing shown by the Red Keep, and it was rather jarring to him that the institution that had stood as long as the Wall had this as their main capital for conducting their duties.

Hopefully it looked worse than the order itself's condition.

Rhaegar lightly hit his heels against his horse to move a little faster and he reached just outside the southern entrance into the small village-like enclosure that was Castle Black. He then came to a halt, sighting around a half dozen men approaching him on horse as well.

It took only a short minute for the men to reach him and the front man held up his left arm to signal his men to come to a halt around 50 yards away from him. He then moved forward to Rhaegar and Arthur, allowing Rhaegar to get a better look at him.

He was a Salty Dornishman by the complexion he kept despite years in the North, with graying hair at the temples and his short beard streaked with gray as well. A dark gambeson covered his chest and he wore a shaggy black cloak to ward off the cold and to denote him as a Night's Watch member. But it was his eyes that Rhaegar took note of the most, dark and glittering with intelligence.

"I am Lord Commander Qorgyle." The man stated, glancing between the two men, before staring directly at their eyes. "Which of you is the prince?" He asked in a more hushed tone.

"I am." Rhaegar replied easily. "I wish to keep this as discreet as possible and to see my grand-uncle at once."

Aemon was technically his grand grand uncle, but it was simply easier to keep to one usage of the word.

"Aye, your Grace, Aemon said you would be to the point." Qorgyle let out a short laugh. "I wager we should not keep the old man waiting on seeing family."

With that, he turned around and whistled at his escort to return back and gestured to Rhaegar and Arthur to follow him. A flicking of the reins from both men had them catching up as their horses dug into the harsh and cold ground to reach Qorgyle and the three men entered Castle Black.

As the prince strode through the entrance of Castle Black, his expression remained stoic, betraying none of the disappointment he felt at the sight before him. His eyes quickly assessed the construction of the buildings, noting the crumbling stones and patched-up repairs that spoke of neglect and decay.

He observed the members of the Night's Watch as they went about their duties, but he could not help but notice the lack of discipline among their ranks. The movements of many were sluggish, their uniforms unkempt, and their demeanor lacked the rigidity and precision that he expected from soldiers sworn to defend the realm. Arthur too had been looking at the men, his disappointment only being noticeable to Rhaegar from knowing him for years now.

As he continued his impromptu inspection while reaching the Rookery, Rhaegar found himself growing increasingly disillusioned with Castle Black and its inhabitants. He had hoped to find a bastion of strength and resilience, a symbol of the realm's determination to hold back the threats of the far North. Instead, what he found was a shadow of its former glory, a fortress on the brink of collapse manned by men who seem ill-prepared for the challenges that lie ahead.

Despite his disappointment, he kept his mouth shut and maintained a facade of polite indifference as he reached the quarters his grand-uncle resided in. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Castle Black and the Night's Watch would not withstand a dedicated Wildling attack... Or something worse.

Far worse, if his greatest fears for what lay in the Lands of Always Winter were true, and he doubted not a single shred of his concerns. They were there, waiting.

The tower that stood just over the stout, wooden keep that was the Maester's quarters didn't quite loom over him as he dismounted and tied the reins to a post, but it did cast somewhat of a shadow that had it not been overcast and cold anyway, would have made it seem even more dreary than what it was.

But Rhaegar paid little mind to that as Arthur and Qorgyle tied up their horses too and Rhaegar walked up to the door, looking over his shoulder at Qorgyle in question.

At the man's nod, Rhaegar steeled himself somewhat in anticipation at meeting his uncle in the flesh for the first time and opened the door.

At first glance, it was a simple yet functional layout for a maester. Compared to the grand halls of his own castle, it had appeared humble and unassuming, lacking in the opulence to which he was accustomed.

He observed the stone walls adorned with maps and charts, noting the practicality of the decorations in aiding his uncle's duties, had his sight still been available. The shelves filled with scrolls and books had caught his eye for a moment, though he could not hide a hint of disdain for the cluttered appearance of the room. Whoever was assisting his uncle after his sight had faded needed to do a better job at cleaning up.

The hearth burning brightly in the corner had offered a small comfort, but even its warmth could not dispel the sense of austerity that had pervaded the room.

"Lord Commander, has he arrived?" An aged voice said from near the fireplace, where there was a chair facing it.

After days of trekking up North while under disguise and suffering the cold, Rhaegar could not help himself.

"Ask him yourself." Rhaegar said, a smile already forming on his face.

There was a moment of silence, before the chair shifted and a man stood up, gripping the chair for guidance and Rhaegar gazed upon his uncle for the first time.

He was one of the oldest men he'd ever seen, almost 90 years of age, his skin wrinkled and his hair was bone white; not like Targaryen light silver, but white that all old men had. He looked… so little like him from age wearing him down, but Rhaegar cared not. His clothing was also unlike what a prince of House Targaryen would wear, it was a simple, dark woolen tunic and robe over it that would not have been out of place among the smallfolk.

"Rhaegar." Aemon smiled, staying where he was but holding out his arms in welcome. "The gods truly bless me this day."

Rhaegar didn't reply at first and instead walked across the room to his uncle and pulled him into an embrace, mindful of his age and was thus more gentle.

"I am thankful to meet you, uncle." He said quietly, before letting go and keeping a hand on the man's shoulder, "Sit down if you need to. Do not stand just for me."

"I am not in the grave just yet." Aemon stated, his tone flattening. "Now, would you indulge an old man and let me see you?"

Rhaegar understood what he meant by that, having known of the term used for a blind person touching someone's face to have an understanding of how they looked.

"Yes, go ahead, uncle."

Two weathered hands then pressed against Rhaegar's face, tracing across his brow and forehead, then around his eyes and cheekbones, before finally stopping at his chin and lower jaw.

"Hmmm." His uncle smiled, his sightless eyes looking vaguely at Rhaegar. "You have Egg's cheekbones, high and sturdy. I… I feel as if I see a glimpse of my brother once again, thank you." The last part came out in a small whisper and he could see the misty look in Aemon's eyes that didn't come from blindness. He then pulled his hands away, the two men still standing in the same position.

Rhaegar had been complimented without end about his hair and Valyrian features by many a lovestruck maiden and lords who had once wished to be his goodfather and their daughters a princess, but that statement right there felt like a spark ran through him that filled him with a pleasant warmth. His father had obviously never brought up things about his grandfather, and his mother had refrained from it more often than not.

The oldest Targaryen in recorded history and his uncle saying that gave him a tangible link to his ancestry that had been ripped from him on the day of his birth.

"It gladdens me to bring happiness to your life here, uncle." Rhaegar replied truthfully. Just a conversation with his uncle for the next few hours would be more than worth the trip, even more so since he had already been traveling north. "But I will not lie and say that I came only here to see you in the flesh. What was this urgent message about?"

A shadow passed over Aemon's face at that, the fires of the hearth casting shadows across his face while the light struck his eyes, getting passed the misty white denoting blindness and revealing, for a fraction of a second, a faded amethyst purple that Rhaegar himself saw when looking upon his parents, his own reflection, and the eyes of his son.

"This will be a lengthy conversation." The old man warned, his head turning towards the fire and drowning for a moment before pointing to his right. "If you have an escort with you waiting outside, I would recommend he get an additional cloak. There is one in the right corner that I use, he may borrow it if you wish to give it to him."

Rhaegar's eyes followed where his uncle was pointing and sure enough, he spotted a thick, black cloak made of wool by the looks of it, hanging from a small rack.

"I will." The crown prince said. Arthur was not a man to complain about many things, being a stoic at heart. But he was a Dornishman and whatever gods there were had not intended for his race of men to be subjected to Northern weather for extended periods.

Rhaegar walked over to the rack and pulled the cloak from it, before briskly turning and walking towards where he had entered the quarters. He quickly opened the door, spotted Arthur, and offered the cloak to him as he reached him.

"Courtesy of my uncle." He said shortly, offering a small smile to his friend as the man almost snatched it from his grasp.

"My thanks to both of you." He said, his eyes closing in relief as the cloak that had been warmed by the interior heat of the maesters quarter wrapped over him comfortably.

With that charity given to his friend and guard, Rhaegar turned back and entered the quarters. He wasted no time and walked back to his uncle, who had sat back in his chair by the fire.

"If you are ready, we may speak now." Aemon said, his sightless eyes gazing at the fire as if trying to see what secrets lay within. "Business first and then you can tell me all about these wonderful children of yours in person."

"Aye, I am ready." He replied, adjusting where he stood so his left side faced the fire and he was facing his uncle as they began their conversation.


xRSxxRSxxRSx

A shrill scream of agony echoed over the storm of steel, death cries, and torrential blood that had consumed the stretch of land around the Trident when Rhaegar's blade cleaved through mail, flesh, and bone of a Riverman like it were wheat before a well made scythe and the man's entire arm and a chunk of his shoulder and chest fell to the ground as he too collapsed with a final spurt of blood staining the crown prince's sabaton and the underbelly of his horse.

His warhorse, flanked by his personal guard, continued to rip a path of death and destruction through the rebel lines that carried great risk, but festooned in plate armor and wielding the smoky gray, spell crafted sword of his ancestors transformed him from a mere mounted threat into a whirlwind of death as if he were the Stranger himself.

His left hand gripping the reins with an ironclad grip and darting forward in a triangle shaped formation with himself at the front, Rhaegar brought Dark Sister down once again and parted another rebel's head from his shoulders, his steel-clad steed carrying him forward and knocking aside the enemy as if they were children's toys.

"Forward!" Rhaegar roared, beckoning his men to continue along with him through the lines of Tully men. He had led from the front of his retinue of heavy cavalry from the very beginning of the fighting to act as the tip of the spear with the spell forged blade of his ancestors gifted to him, and now that gift was to his great advantage as he saw the Dornish line begin to strain.

"Wheel right! Wheel right!" Rhaegar roared, jerking his reins to guide his horse to turn and then driving his heels into its sides to send it galloping forward. His several dozen strong retinue followed right behind.

If he could stabilize his left flank and breach the rebel line here, where the different kingdom's forces met, it would draw out the Baratheon lord as the flank turned to hit the center and he could take him in single combat. He had heard word of the man's prowess, but even the strongest plate armor could not hold up to Valyrian steel and a formidable warrior such as himself.

It was his destiny.

Rhaegar urged his steed forward, the hooves of his destrier thundered against the earth, and the ground shook as over fifty mounted knights surged behind him in a relentless wave of steel and fury. The Dornish line was faltering, their banners barely holding, and the Rivermen pressed the attack, sensing an imminent break. But Rhaegar would not allow it.

Rhaegar's destrier collided with the rebel line like a battering ram, the sheer force of the impact scattering men and shields in all directions. The steel-clad warhorse barreled through, splintering their formation as though it were glass shattering under a hammer's blow. Armor clanged, and the rebels were thrown aside, some knocked to the ground, others driven back by the unstoppable momentum. In an instant, the tightly packed line was broken, split into fragments as Rhaegar and his knights tore through, leaving chaos in their wake.

His assault had just salvaged the Dornish line that had been at risk of giving and now they rallied to him. They let out a loud cry, with one shouting, "To the prince!"

A hastily fortified line of rebel footmen gave way to his onslaught and his own forces rushed forward, another furious clang of metal and bodies ramming into each other echoing behind him as Dark Sister drank once again with a downward slash that tore through another man's hauberk.

The scent of blood, shit, piss, and the wails of men and horses nearly overwhelmed the sounds of steel meeting steel, but something deep and primal reared up within him; victory was within reach despite the terrible ford crossing. His blood thundered in his ears and his face split into a wide grin as the line of rebels bearing the sigils of the rebel lords began to panic beneath his terrible onslaught.

But the sight of a white clad knight at the front of the Dornish line being struck by a blow to his off arm to his right and collapsing forward onto his horse and barely holding on to pull away set his mind abuzz with alarm, pulling him from the haze of thrill. It was Prince Lewyn Martell, his wife's uncle, and a sense of urgency overtook Rhaegar as he kicked at his horse and let out a shout of defiance.

His men took a moment to ready themselves and their mounts to follow him and trailed behind him, but the prince had no time for it. The ebony clad scion of Old Valyria shot forward, straight and true like an arrow towards the man who had struck the blow to the old Kingsguard. With a roar, Dark Sister was brought down with a lethal intent as potent as dragonfire.

The rebel knight's own blade came up to parry the strike as his horse pivoted to the side and a sound unlike any Rhaegar had heard in his entire life rang out across the battlefield. It was half song and half scream that sent a shudder throughout his entire body and his horse sped forward, before Rhaegar wheeled it around and shot back at Prince Lewyn's almost killer.

The Kingsguard seemed still capable of fighting and in his peripheral vision, Rhaegar saw him poised to clash once more after his own rush forward.

Rhaegar's vision tunneled then for a few precious seconds and he leaned forward and up high on his horse, diagonally slashing down at who he now saw wielded a Valyrian steel blade as well.

The shrieking song played once again, followed by another note to form a chorus as Rhaegar dueled with his opponent until Lewyn rushed back in with his blade flashing in the sun as it came down, striking the armour of the knight's helm as he avoided the hit to his throat. The opening allowed Rhaegar's blade to sneak forward and around the other Valyrian steel blade, coming down and biting through the pauldron with a loud screech that drowned out the shout of pain from the man as he was sent reeling away. Suddenly, another dozen knights from both sides charged in and the two were forced to separate to prevent being unhorsed.

Lewyn would be able to press now, and the Dornish line had rallied completely as Rhaegar rushed towards the center, a crossbow bolt tinging off his chest plate as he shouted for his retinue to follow him and once more fed on the blood of rebels with his blade.

He thundered across the grassy and slick ground towards the center, continuing to clash with any infantry foolish enough to show an opening in their line to be exploited by the tip of the spear that was his disciplined retinue. Rhaegar and his men finally reached the center and he processed what he could as fast as possible.

The situation looked deadlocked from his first glance, with infantry on both sides bringing axes, spears, and warhammers down upon one another in bloody brawl. He saw who he believed to be Ser Barristan at the front of the loyalist line, his white armour and cloak nearly drowning in a sea of rebels as he seemed to be a rock holding back an entire onrushing river that threatened to shatter the center line.

"To the Kingsguard! To the Kingsguard!" Rhaegar shouted as he came riding in with around the 40 knights that had acted as his personal force flanking him and it was in that moment that he knew they would reach Barristan, who narrowly deflected a lance to his face in an impressive display with his shield angling the full strike safely aside and then shifted in his saddle and turned his horse, surging forward as the rider shot past him and the Kingsguard's blade whirled around to strike the back of the man's head, who fell forward completely senseless. Barristan then slashed around himself to ward off the infantry attempting to bring him down.

The royalist line had already started to fragment when Rhaegar and his retinue came crashing in, taking hundreds of rebels by surprise as a fresh wave of screams, steel striking steel, and the hoofs of warhorses cut through the air.

Rhaegar spurred his destrier faster as his knights closed in beside him. As their crash into the rebel ranks continued, it was as if a wave had slammed into a crumbling cliffside, scattering men in all directions. The line of spears and axes of the rebels faltered under the overwhelming force of armored knights, bodies thrown aside by the sheer weight of the charge. In moments, the deadlocked line was torn apart, the once-solid formation collapsing into disarray as Rhaegar and his knights carved a path straight toward Barristan.

More men fell to his horse striking them and tossing them aside like errant toys with the same mercy a blacksmith would give a piece of steel than to his blade, but the result was the same and the route was halted, the breaches being hastily reformed and the rebels pulled back as Rhaegar's steed raced across Barristan's view and the legendary knight bowed his head for but a moment to him in acknowledgement before barking out orders to his men.

As Rhaegar raised his sword for another charge to press the advantage, a voice boomed out across the battlefield and he turned his head.

"RHAEGAR!"

Rhaegar could scarce believe his eyes as a man in gleaming silver-gray plate and with a yellow surcoat came racing towards him from the center to his right. In the span of only a couple seconds, he saw the details of the great helm bearing two golden stag horns upon it and that he was wielding the largest warhammer the prince had ever seen singlehandedly.

Casually, the hammer was swung by the powerfully built man and a Targaryen bannerman who had attempted to intercept Robert Baratheon had his head ripped from his body in a shower of crimson and the Storm Lord brought it back and around to strike another man's horse and killing it instantly, sending him sprawling into the blood-soaked ground to be stabbed to death by the rebel line behind the Stag Lord, rushing forward to stabilize the route of the rebels in this section.

A surge of purpose, palpable and burning, filled him as he saw the greatest threat to his entire dynasty race towards him with a murderous rage burning in his eyes.

Rhaegar said naught a word. He struck out with his heels into the sides of his horse and barreled forward, sword flashing in the light as the crown prince clashed with the Lord of Storm's End.

xRSxxRSxxRSx

Die! Probably the hundredth stupid fool to get within reach of him had his head smashed clean open in an explosion of brains, blood, and bone and tooth fragments that splashed all over his legs and his horse.

Robert was unstoppable. None could match him and his own few knights could not keep up with him as his hammer and his strong right arm crushed everything into a twisted pile of meat and metal without pity or remorse.

Another bellow of orders for the line to push forward blasted out from his lips and he kicked his horse to dash forward again, a Dornish knight by the looks of his armour stabbing at his throat with a spear as he reached him. Robert jerked the reins up with his left arm to turn, took the hit at a harmless, glancing angle off his gorget and landed a hit so brutal on the Dornish cunt that it ripped his arm clean off at the shoulder and sent him screaming into the dirt as his horse shrieked in terror and bolted away.

It was just him, not his men, friends, or personal guards. He alone was ripping a bloody swathe through the loyalist lines as far as his arm could reach, leaving screaming or dead men in his wake. The air stank of sweat and blood, sweat rolled off his face and he could taste blood that was not his own on his lips…

And he loved every… fucking… moment of it. He would not stop, could not stop, until he buried his hammer deep into the rapist's fucking skull or his heart.

Another vicious roar of pure fury rang out as he rode forth into another cluster of Dornish cavalry, twirling his hammer to build momentum to strike 4 men and laid them all along. His horse did the rest to have them fleeing from him and to escape the relentless fury of his hammer.

The forces of the rebels that had begun to pull back after they failed to dislodge the Royalist cunts rallied to him, buoyed by his almost single-handed turning of a cavalry charge back on itself.

Robert's eyes burned with battle madness and he felt more god than man, hundreds of men retreating and reforming just to get away from him. Just as he turned to allow his knights to finally catch up so he could charge the line once again, the gods themselves seemed to grant him what was rightfully his.

The head of the Silver Prince.

He saw the crimson cape first, then the glint of black armour, the sun caught on the rubys upon his chest plate, and the smoky steel clasped in his hand as the prince prepared to charge at another knight.

All plans to wait died at that moment. Rage as fierce as the storms that rocked his homeland welled up in him and a guttural, inhuman roar was torn from his throat like the patched and ruined rags from a beggar.

"RHAEGAR!" He hardly recognized that he killed 2 men in one movement of his arm, had not reacted when blood sprayed all over him to soak him even further, and he didn't even remember his own name at that moment. He simply sallied forth like an unrelenting storm, hammer cocked back to slam down like a thunderbolt.

The dragon and stag, steel against steel, man against man, struck out at one another with a loud crack as nearly 50 pounds of steel glanced against Valyrian steel and the Targaryen prince evaded the hit, wheeling around and reengaging. Sword flashing in the afternoon sun, he pointed it straight at Robert and pulled his arm back abruptly, slashing at him.

The slash missed Robert's fingers and struck the handle of his hammer, gouging out a chunk of the metal as the stag lord failed to hit his target.

Through gritted teeth, Robert growled as he circled back for another attack, his opponent giving him a wide berth and pulling back for a moment.

Coward! Robert gave chase, the cracking boom of his hammer meeting its mark echoed when another mounted knight tried to intercept him and received a punishing blow to the shoulder. He fell from his horse like the rest of them.

They had first clashed where there was scant open water where a ford had tapered, but now it was closer to shin deep as they met once again, his hammer missing Rhaegar's temple by only a few millimeters and chipping a decorative wing off his helmet while the Valyrian steel blade he wielded screeched across his breast plate as it missed the weaker armour just under his arm.

He was closer that time. One more clash and he could land a hit, maybe even strike the horse and angle so the sword couldn't strike his shoulder or any gaps.

Kicking his horse forward for what was hopefully the last time, Robert came at him with a fury that gave no question on his bloodline and house. The fury was his, the howling winds his voice, and the crack of his hammer the thunder.

His shoulder shifted so his arm could cock back and he brought his hammer down, Rhaegar's arm shifting to glance the hammer away once again with his blade and avoiding a direct hit. The distance between them was little more than arm's reach and Robert choked up his grip on the hammer to block a backswing from Rhaegar as their horses circled one another, another set of blows being exchanged before Robert saw the opening.

Robert's arm came up and the momentum was on his side as he brought it down and to his left, knocking aside Rhaegar's sword and leaving the fucker's entire right side open to a backswing. Robert could see it in his mind in that fraction of a second. He had done this so many times before and not a single man had stopped it before. Survived? Yes, and barely at that. But the victory was his and Rhaegar would die.


But Rhaegar did something to interrupt it just before he could land the lethal blow. His feet came free of his stirrups and he dove at him off his horse as their mounts were close enough to bite at each other and they did with a savage ferocity.

Robert could only let out a grunt of surprise as around 250 pounds of man and metal he wasn't expecting struck him and dragged the both of them toppling into the waters of the ford, his face going under the surface of the waters as he fell on his face.

xRSxxRSxxRSx

Rhaegar, hastily disentangled himself from Robert as the man roared in fury and nearly struck him across the temple with a blind punch as the man rose from the water and lashed out at him.

He pivoted to face Robert once again and stabbed forward with Dark Sister in a two handed grip to open up the Baratheon lord's throat and end the fight.

It was to no avail. The hammer came up with incredible speed and the handle deflected the attack to pass harmlessly over Baratheon's left shoulder.

Robert's grip on it now was with both hands and the defensive parry transitioned into a weaker, but still dangerous, diagonal strike aimed at Rhaegar's left shoulder.

Instinct and training had him pulling his sword back into position and his right hand clasped around the front of the blade so as to block and redirect the strike and shift it aside. He could redirect, step into it, and bring his blade's tip forward into a jab at his enemy's face or throat.

The hammer's head barely missed him as Dark Sister caught the neck of the weapon near the hilt, but even that diminished strike jarred both his shoulders painfully. Rhaegar muscled through and stepped into Robert's guard, bringing Dark Sister's point forward and driving it towards his throat.

Robert had to lean back almost awkwardly and shove his left arm forward with the butt of his hammer to knock aside the nearly fatal hit, the steel capped handle striking Rhaegar's temple with just enough force that it had him seeing stars and stepping back.

That didn't work at all.

Rhaegar recovered quickly and backed away to reassess, water having completely soaked everything underneath his armour and blade now clean of blood. Had that been a cleaner hit, it would have knocked him into the water and been certain death.

The fighting still went on around them, but he paid no mind to it. Robert was standing in front of him still, blue eyes almost shining behind his visor.

His armoured fists gripped around Dark Sister's hilt once again and he met the terrifying roar of Robert Baratheon, rushing forward. The hammer strike missed as he made to feint an attack, backing away as the hammer swished past him and he lunged forward, mindful of the backswing.

Dark Sister merely skimmed across the side of Robert's chest, tearing the tabard underneath his arm. Quick as a flash, Rhaegar stepped back and felt the hammer miss him by inches.

Robert was now on the offensive, letting momentum carry his hammer with such speed that it took all of Rhaegar's will to not begin to let fear overwhelm him as the hammer nearly tore his head off and the metallic ting of part of the decorative wings on his helmet getting clipped off again by the force sent a chill through him.

Rhaegar continued to give ground as Robert pressed the attack, his heart pounding with each narrowly avoided strike. With lightning reflexes, he dodged, sidestepped, and parried, using Dark Sister to deflect the crushing blows of Robert's hammer. Each swing came perilously close, the force of the strikes sending shockwaves through the air.

With every step backward, Rhaegar searched for an opening, a moment of weakness in Robert's relentless assault. He knew that meeting the hammer head-on would spell certain doom, so he focused on evasion and redirection, hoping to tire out his opponent and find an opportunity to strike.

As Robert's hammer whistled through the air, Rhaegar danced away, the ground beneath his feet waterlogged and the weight of the shin deep water pulling on him. He could feel the heat of battle coursing through his veins, his senses heightened as he remained locked in this deadly dance with the rebel lord.

Despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs, Rhaegar remained focused, his movements precise and calculated. He knew that one false move could cost him everything, and so he continued to evade and deflect, biding his time for the moment when he could turn the tide of battle in his favor.

The moment came when Rhaegar managed to deflect aside the first half of a figure 8 movement by Robert and the hammer's head struck the water, diminishing the built up momentum enough for the silver haired prince to step forward and stab with a two handed grip towards Robert.

He heard a loud, metallic creak and his blade found purchase, opening up the cuisse on Robert's right leg.

Dread filled Rhaegar immediately as he saw that he'd missed the center of his leg for a crippling hit and Robert, in the throes of a depthless fury, didn't react to the superficial wound and swung downward.

Rhaegar in haste, his breath catching in his throat, nearly dove back to evade the hammer, which missed his fingers by mere inches and struck the hilt of Dark Sister with enough force to nearly drive it from his grip. Instead of trying to strike him with the backhand blow that would have taken time to land and something Rhaegar could have evaded, Robert lurched forward and rammed his shoulder into Rhaegar's chest while his sword was out of position. The impact drove the air from Rhaegar's lungs, lifted him a few inches off the ground, and sent him crashing into the water and scrambling to rise back up.

His mind flitted through a dozen things in an instant; the giggling laugh and bright eyes of his daughter, scooping up Aegon from Elia's arms as his Dornish bride laughed at their son playing with his hair as he swished him around as if he were a fearsome dragon, Elia thanking him for giving her a family and for being a good man and husband, Lyanna happily cradling her stomach as it swelled with their child…


A shield from a slain Northman to his left, his eyes flicking from it to Robert.

Everything snapped back into focus and for the first time in the entire battle, a terror possessed him and nearly blinded him to everything around him. Robert strode towards him, arm swinging up on his right side and downward to deliver a crushing blow to his head that had killed many others.

It was in that moment of all moments that Rhaegar realized that the fighting around them had ceased. Loyalist and rebel alike stood and watched as the fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

He would not die here. His life had far greater purpose than to be struck down before he could ever be crowned king. Death would not have him until he delivered Westeros from the great evil that awaited them.

With a will to win and a disregard for running from pain and injury, Rhaegar's fingers wrapped around the shield and he raised it up, lunging from his kneeling position with Dark Sister aimed at Robert's right shoulder.

Both their attacks made contact, spellforged Valyrian steel sinking into castle forged steel and flesh as the great and terrible warhammer struck Rhaegar's arm and shield, his entire left arm exploded into agony as he let out a sharp cry of pain that was drowned out by Robert's own bellow of agony that carried like a crack of thunder.

His borrowed shield completely disintegrated into crumbled splinters and he felt his arm snap along with his armour denting horribly as the cracking of his forearm vibrated up into his shoulder and even seemed to rattle his teeth. Rhaegar was bodily slammed into the watery ground from the impact, while Robert stumbled to the right several steps as his weapon fell from his grasp. Dark Sister though barely managed to be kept in Rhaegar's now one handed grip.

A collective shout of alarm from the men spectating was all Rhaegar heard other than his own ragged breathing and his blood rushing in his ears. The pain nearly made him vomit and made his head spin, but he could not give up yet.

Using his good arm to push himself up, Rhaegar rose shakily and approached Robert, who had fished his hammer out of the ford and was now holding it in his left hand, albeit with less steadiness.

"Fucking die!" Robert snarled, not even taking a moment to gather himself as he swung his hammer horizontally while his dominant arm hung limply to the side.

Rhaegar avoided the hit, not as easily as he could have even with the attack coming more slowly. His vision was beginning to blur and he was moving slower, so this was no less treacherous of a fight even with Robert's right arm crippled.

The dragon and stag, both wounded and bloodied, locked horns once again and continued to fight as men throughout the Trident bled, screamed, and died to determine the trajectory of the entirety of Westeros.

xRSxxRSxxRSx


Ser Alliser Thorne had killed men before this day. He had seen fighting, seen men far better than he fight and show themselves as stellar knights and warriors.

But this display by the chief rebel lord and his prince was something he would never forget for the rest of his days. They seemed to move as if the natural limits the gods put upon mortal men held no sway over them. They moved like bolts of lightning streaking across the sky, the hammer of Robert Baratheon carrying the thunder. The Silver Prince's sword was untraceable to his eyes, seeming to vanish and reappear.

So many other men stood spellbound by the titanic struggle, and he was not the only one to let out a cry of shock as both men traded grievous injuries and were sent tumbling into the waters of the ford.

The clash of steel, the roar of the combatants, and the cries of the wounded and dying continued to fill the air, creating a cacophony of chaos that seemed to drown out all other sound. But Ser Alliser could not draw his attention from what was before him and could hardly believe what he was witnessing, the ferocity and skill displayed by both men defying belief.

As Robert and Rhaegar exchanged blows with a ferocity that bordered on madness, Ser Alliser could only watch in awe and dread, knowing that the outcome of this duel would shape the course of history for years to come. And, amidst the chaos of battle, there hung a weight in the air around the two men. It was as if the very fabric of destiny itself was being decided on this very day, guiding their actions with unseen hands.

Ser Alliser dared not speak of it, for fear that even a whisper of its existence might cause it to vanish like mist in the morning sun. But deep down, he could sense it, a silent witness to the momentous clash unfolding before him.

As the battle raged on, Ser Alliser found himself still rooted to the spot just as so many others were. And as the echoes of steel and thundering roars reverberated through the air, he knew that whatever the outcome, the world would never be the same again.

Prince Rhaegar scored another glancing hit on Baratheon, the blade sinking slightly into the thinner section of steel along the hip and waist before he pulled away with such speed that Thorne still struggled to see.

Blood steadily poured down from the serious injury to the rebel's shoulder and the Baratheon lord's movements were beginning to slow, but the prince bled too from his own injury. Crimson lifeblood dripped from their fingers and spilled into the ford, swirling together as the air seemed to thicken once again and the hammer came whistling towards the prince.

Thorne didn't even see exactly what happened, and to his dying day he could never describe how it may have happened. But the hammer missed its target, and the crown prince was in Robert's guard, the nearly deafening crunch of steel getting torn through echoing out as the Valyrian steel blade tore into Robert's armour and his chest.

The titanic warrior's hammer slipped from his fingers and staggered a step before falling to his knees before the prince who still gripped his blade with an unwavering strength.

The force of the much taller man falling had the prince himself staggering and taking a knee, the two men facing one another eye to eye for a bare moment in a sight that Thorne marveled at. Then the prince rose, a dragon standing as the stag knelt in supplication.

Then the blade was pulled free and Rhaegar still stared at his defeated foe. A desperate attempt to stand once more by the stag was brutally put to a stop by the black clad prince flipping his blade around to grip the point and bring the hilt down in a murder stroke to strike the downed Storm Lord in the head.

Robert Baratheon went completely limp in the middle of his attempt to rise and crumpled bonelessly to the ground. A silence permeated the surrounding area of the ford, lasting for several heartbeats. Then, as if possessed by a spirit of despair and fear, the rebels fled like the Stranger himself was upon them.

Thorne was the first to rush to the aid of his prince when the rebels ran at the sight of their fallen commander, the triumphant dragon's arm cradled to his chest from his injury.

xRSxxRSxxRSx

He had won. The impotent, burning rage that had Robert Baratheon's eyes practically glowing with a cerulean fire dimmed as the man pitched forward and collapsed into the water on his side.

As the man struck the ground, all the pain he was in and fatigue seemed to hit him so that he stumbled heavily, barely stopping himself from falling.

The rebels fled and many loyal soldiers chased after them, but a single loyalist knight immediately rushed towards him to give aid.

"Form a line! Protect the prince!" He shouted, rousing many of the men from indecision and they ran into the ford, turning and forming a circle of steel around their victorious but injured prince.

The loyal knight stopped right beside the prince, his bloodied blade pointed to the side as he assessed the most pressing injury he had. "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them picking up once more. "You are injured."

Rhaegar nodded wearily, his breath coming in ragged gasps as each beat of his heart sent another wave of pain through the limb. "My arm," he murmured, his voice strained with pain. "It is broken." He then whistled shrilly to capture the attention of his horse that had still been circling the ford while his struggle with Robert was going on.

The horse trotted to him, waiting patiently as its master sheathed Dark Sister to free his good arm.

Without hesitation, the knight helped Rhaegar and steadied him, supporting him as they made their way to the prince's horse. Together, they reached the horse, and Rhaegar leaned heavily against its side, his breath labored.

"Strap my arm." He said through gritted teeth, knowing the fight wasn't over.

The rebel line had pulled back and kept away from the ford after Baratheon fell, but they had not broken and fled. He was still needed in the fight.

"My prince?"

"My arm, gods dammit!" Rhaegar demanded, his patience gone as the entire limb throbbed with each pulse of his heart. "Grab something and strap my arm to my chest."

The knight nodded quickly and looked around, spotting a torn banner on the ground with the spear and sun of House Martell upon it.

The waterlogged cloth was wrapped around his chest and shoulder, securing his arm and then it was suddenly tightened, drawing a low growl from Rhaegar as the jolting nearly made him vomit and took his breath away.

"Help me up," Rhaegar requested, his voice barely above a whisper from the sudden pain as his free hand gripped the saddle of his horse.

With practiced efficiency, the knight assisted Rhaegar into the saddle, steadying him as he settled into place. "What about Baratheon?" the knight asked, his gaze flicking towards the fallen rebel commander.

Rhaegar's expression hardened. "Secure him," he instructed, his voice firm despite the pain. "The battle is not over yet."

The knight nodded and barked out some commands to the nearest men-at-arms to guard the fallen Baratheon alongside him.

Rhaegar, with his arm tucked securely to his chest while clutching the reins with his good arm, called out as loud as he could manage so the men nearest, a mixture of Dornishmen and men from the Crownlands, could hear him.

"Spread the word! Robert Baratheon is defeated!"

A momentus cheer went up and Rhaegar trotted forward at a sedate pace, watching as his retinue that had been fighting near his and Robert's battle came riding in.

Drawing his blade once more, he steered his mount with his legs and he ordered his men forward to rush back into the fight. He had avoided catastrophe only barely and he crashed against a fragmented line of rebels and his cavalry forced the gap further open, over 200 men getting separated from the main line only to be surrounded and cut down furiously by the resurgent assault by the forces behind Rhaegar.

This cycle of attack, tearing into weak points of the line, and withdrawal carried on until Rhaegar could barely feel the tips of his fingers, his eyes scanning everywhere as the men and knights of the Vale made a far too orderly withdrawal for his liking.

And the flank manned by the Northmen had not budged at all. They kept holding firm like nothing had changed in the battle, until now as they made an equally as orderly retreat while the Rivermen beat a more hasty retreat.

It was no decisive victory, for the Northmen continued to make their fighting retreat with a ferocity that warded off any attempts at a breakthrough and avoided a rout.

Rhaegar refused to stay clear of the actual fighting and kept making isolated charges in different sections of the retreating rebel forces, continuing to slay scores of men with Dark Sister and his armour protected him from nearly every attack against him aside from a handful of bludgeoning hits to his legs that he shrugged off.

The sun set even lower and was a rich orange color by the time that most of the fighting came to an end save for a few skirmishes carried out by cavalry. After the Dornishmen had chased down most of those who had stood before them, Rhaegar heard his name and title shouted by a familiar voice.

Ser Derry rode up to him, his helmet still on and his armor and sword stained red. He looked weary and was favoring his right side, but was still upright and alive.

"They have fled the field," He announced. "We are victorious."

Rhaegar nodded to that, his arm reminding him once again that it needed to be attended to when his horse shifted to not step on a corpse, jostling him. Now that the battle had ended, a bone deep fatigue washed over him and he sheathed Dark Sister, leaning forward slightly and taking a few tired breaths to compose himself.

"Ride with me, my arm needs to be set and Baratheon is currently under guard and seriously injured. I would rather he survive to be judged guilty of his treason." With that, Rhaegar rode to the rear with the lone Kingsguard with him to receive medical attention and prepare for a hasty return to Dorne. Dealing with the traitors, deposing his father, and a host of other things could wait.

Much to his irritation after they had forced the entirety of the rebel army away and were accounting for dead and wounded, Rhaegar was unable to stand as he botched the dismount from his horse in front of a section of a grassy field where a few maesters and healers were at and he crumbled to his knees from fatigue and pain.

Derry had to lift him up and support him with his good arm, but he was successfully carried to a tent where they began to attend to him.

xRSxxRSxxRSx

Eddard Stark was slow to rage, unlike his late brother and his best friend Robert. He had the moniker The Quiet Wolf for a reason and he had been of a more temperate sort throughout his life.

This time was very different.

His rage had matched the despair he felt when the right flank nearly collapsed in on itself and proclamations of Robert's death were shouted by the fleeing men. He couldn't believe it, a mistake. Robert was the last man he would believe to die in this battle; but the royalist forces had deadlocked what had nearly been a catastrophic mistake in crossing the ford and had he been as skilled as the Dragonknight or his ancestor Cregan Stark, it still would not have been enough for him to hold off the tide of enemies that threatened to overwhelm them.

But by sheer force of will by his men, his own quick thinking to maneuver his cavalry and the decisive impromptu charge that broke a formation of cavalry by Jon to free up his own, they managed to salvage the situation and prevent a route and even withdrew with minimal losses from their rearguard.

And now here they were, encamped on a hill miles away from where they had clashed at the Trident and a couple days after the inconclusive battle that was only a victory in name to Rhaegar.

Yet it hurt like it was a defeat.

"Lord Frey appears to have cast his lot in with the royal forces." Jon Arryn mused, setting down the missive given by their scouts to confirm what the Blackfish had seen earlier that day.

Ned's goodfather fumed from across the table, his face nearly as red in rage as his hair that fell down to his shoulders.

"A traitor to his liege and too craven to side with either until they saw a favorable option." Hoster gritted out, shaking his head. "Nearly 4 thousand men and 1000 of them knights."

"There is also the matter of Tywin Lannister." Jon added, his eyes fixed on the map in front of him on the table of Westeros. "He has not declared his intentions at all and is marching forces in our direction. Scouts report that the beginnings of his cavalry will arrive in a matter of days."

Ned remained silent, pondering the grim news. Brandon would have known what to do, what to say and add to possibly salvage the situation. They could still win if another mistake like the botched crossing Rhaegar tried to make happened again, but that point was moot if the Westerlands sided with the Targaryens and doubled the size of the army arrayed against them.

The meeting of the rebel commanders was interrupted by a Vale knight being allowed in through the tent flap by the guards, his helmet under his left arm to reveal a sweaty man around Ned's age.

"Lord Arynn, a missive from the royal camp." He addressed his liege, bowing his head before approaching him and handing the rolled up message to him.

The Lord of the Eyrie took the message and broke the seal, unfurling it and reading it.

The only reaction Ned noticed was the faint gasp that escaped his foster father, who read it once again. Then the man lowered the message and looked directly at him.

"Robert is alive."

Ned temporarily forgot how to breathe, freezing in place. He had hardly come to terms with thinking Robert to be dead, but now he hears he's alive?!

"What else does it say?" Brynden Tully asked, standing next to his elder brother, still clad in his full armour from his scouting run earlier.

Jon sighed, holding up the note to the candlelight.

"To the rebel lords Eddard Stark, Jon Arryn, and Hoster Tully,

Lord Robert Baratheon still lives and is my prisoner. The Freys have joined my forces as you no doubt know and Lord Tywin Lannister comes with reinforcements. Meet between our camps for terms on the morrow or face total destruction.

Signed, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone."

…

If Lord Tywin arrived before they tried to fight once again, there was no hope of victory. As of now, the prospects were grim without including the Lannister forces.

"I believe," Jon started to say, his face frozen and age lines far more pronounced now than ever before, "We should hear the terms before our decision to engage with the royal forces again."

The very thought of negotiating with the man who took Lyanna made Ned sick. The battle should have been where the tide turned for good, where the Mad King and Rhaegar would face justice for their crimes.

Now, Ned knew not what to do. Escaping to the North, calling the banners, and waging war felt easy in comparison to meeting his sister's rapist.

And it would be under a white flag of neutrality, and gods forbid he ever break his word on something of that nature.

"I… agree." Ned finally said in agreement with Jon. It hurt, but Robert's life was at stake and perhaps something could come about from this that could be used to their advantage. "Our position is less than ideal and merely talking of terms may be for the best."

Hoster looked pensive, his face tense as he shook his head lightly.

"Damn it all, I agree."

The remainder of the meeting between the lords involved the conversation that would occur with the prince, possible demands or requests, and Brynden Tully setting up their forces in the event of needing to either retreat into the Riverlands in all haste to conduct operations there when the Lannisters arrived to reinforce the royalists.

But hopefully, everything would work out.


xRSxxRSxxRSx



Rhaegar bit down an expletive as his arm was cleaned once again with boiled wine and a new poltice applied where the skin had been split to stave off infection, before being wrapped after the treatment was done by the maester and a splint put on to stabilize the bone.

"You will require perhaps one more treatment before the skin has knitted together enough for a cast to be placed." The maester said, the middle aged man in gray finishing up on Rhaegar's arm and stepping away as one of Rhaegar's guards began to help him put his armour the rest of the way on, at least everything on his body save for up to his forearm as no replacement piece for the horribly dented and broken one had been acquired.

The armour from the waist down was already on, so it did not take too long for the plates for his chest to be placed and strapped to his gambeson. The final shoulder pauldron was put on and strapped in place, then the prince grabbed his helmet and handed it to his guard.

"Hold this until I am on my horse." He instructed, gripping the hilt of Dark Sister reassuringly as he adjusted his belt slightly.

"Yes, your grace." The knight nodded, holding the helm under his arm and he followed Rhaegar out of the tent as the remainder of Rhaegar's personal guard were waiting by their horses outside while his arm was treated.

"Your grace." The men acknowledged, to which Rhaegar returned the greeting with a nod.

"As you were, Sers." Rhaegar said, walking up to his own horse that was being tended to by Ser Alliser. The man had proven himself an able soldier and Rhaegar had rewarded him so far to continue to be at his side, so had included him in his retinue for the time being. "Ser Alliser, if you will."

The knight nodded and brought the horse around and held the reins while Rhaegar got up on the horse, albeit a little awkwardly with his left arm currently unusable.

His injuries and continued fighting after Robert was defeated had actually made him a bit of a legend to the men. There were whispers, yes, of whether he was guilty of the actions levied against him, but those were small in comparison to him allegedly being the Dragonknight reborn, the newest wielder of Dark Sister who fought alongside his men until literally collapsing to his knees upon the conclusion of the battle; a prince who fought with his men till the bloody and victorious end.

Now that he was on his horse, he took his helmet and placed it at the front of the saddle for now and ensured it was secured. For now, he needed to play the part of the wounded, but triumphant, prince for his men as he and his surviving retinue made their way through camp to the rough halfway point between them and the rebel camp.

Rhaegar and his men were met with a fair amount of cheers as they traveled through the camp, the soldiers' morale bolstered by the sight of their victorious prince. Ser Barristan and Ser Derry, along with a few other knights, joined him shortly after, falling into formation around him as they rode towards the rough halfway point between their camp and that of the rebels.

They quickly were out of the range of their encampment and Rhaegar led his personal guard across the flat, lightly flooded plains near the Trident. The ground squelched beneath their horses' hooves as they moved steadily forward, water occasionally splashing up around them. In the distance, a small creek meandered through the landscape, adding even more inconvenience to the wet terrain. As they approached a gentle hill rising ahead, rebel banners of Houses Stark, Arryn, and Tully began to come into view, fluttering in the breeze atop the hill itself. Horsemen could be seen moving about near the banners, their figures silhouetted against the sky. Rhaegar's men rode with a mixture of vigilance and readiness, the tension palpable as they neared their destination, where negotiations with the rebels awaited.

As Rhaegar and his guard reached the base of the hill, they halted a short distance away, reins held loosely as they awaited the arrival of the rebel lords. Moments later, they began to descend from the hilltop. Among them were likely the leaders of the rebel forces, their banners trailing behind them in the gentle breeze. Rhaegar sat tall in his saddle, his expression composed yet attentive, Dark Sister sheathed at his side.

Once they came into close enough sight, Rhaegar recognized every one of the men wearing the more well crafted suits of armour. The oldest with the falcon sigil upon his chest and looking to have passed his sixth decade was Lord Jon Arryn, flanked by a few guards. Hoster Tully looked hardly any different from the last time Rhaegar had seen him at Harrenhal, with bright red hair that had started to gray. He was to Arryn's right, while a younger man with a long face, dark hair that went past his shoulders, and steel gray eyes that looked to be carved from ice bored into Rhaegar's all the way from the hilltop until they stopped in front of him.

Eddard Stark had a completely flat expression, but ice cold hatred was all Rhaegar could see behind his gaze. Lyanna had the same colour eyes as her older brother, but he had never seen such coldness from her.

"I will make this short." Rhaegar opened up the conversation with the rebel lords. "I am not guilty of the charges laid against me by Brandon Stark. I did not kidnap or take your sister, Lord Stark."

"You were seen taking her with you." Lord Stark replied, his jaw tight and his grip on his reins tightened. "Unless she went willingly wi-"

"She did."

That took the Northman off guard, but he quickly recovered.

"She… why?"

"I will get to that shortly." Rhaegar promised, turning to Lord Arryn to address him. "I am willing to offer a full pardon to you, Lord Arryn, and to Lords Stark and Baratheon for raising your banners against the throne. You were protecting your foster sons from an unjust order, so no fault will be laid upon the three of you."

Jon Arryn gaze was unwavering as he cleared his throat. "Only the king can grant such a pardon."

Rhaegar did not hesitate in his response.

"My father's madness is a threat to the realm. He will be removed from power as was my intention before he murdered Lords Rickard and Brandon. Swear oaths of fealty to me and justice will be granted."

It was around then that Lord Tully noticed his lack of mentioning for a pardon.

"And a pardon for myself upon swearing oaths, your Grace?" He inquired, eyes narrowed.

Rhaegar was aware of Sers Barristan and Derry flanking him, paying them little mind though as their posture shifted.

"A pardon and your continued presence as Lord Paramount will be granted," Rhaegar replied, but the next words had steel behind them, "But you joined a rebellion when no such measure was demanded. Your death or any of your family was not demanded, and your House was elevated to its position by my ancestors. All that you are is owed to the liege you raised your banners against."

Rhaegar wanted to extract more from the Tullys. They betrayed House Targaryen. If were to be honest, he would have preferred to take hostages, send the rebel lords to the Wall, and punish the kingdoms with reparations. He was that furious about the situation.

But he was not in a strong enough position for it, so a near white peace was what he could guarantee.

"But I am not my father." Rhaegar added, having let the trout lord fume internally. "Your personal lands will not be stripped from you, but there will be a penalty for rebellion."

Rhaegar hadn't thought of what exactly so far, as he had been thinking for the last few days about what to offer the rebel lords to get them to join his forces to march on King's Landing to depose his father.

Thankfully, Tywin had been on the move finally. The man was supposed to have assisted him in deposing his father, but it was planned to be during a bloodless coup, not an entire civil war caused by a king's madness.

"Will you aid in justice being served?" Rhaegar finished with that question and looked at his love's brother, who had been unreadable by his expressions throughout most of the conversation.

"I will have the truth of what transpired with my sister." He said, his voice low. "I will accept nothing before you have explained."

"Very well," Rhaegar accepted, "I shall begin with the day I met Lyanna."

Rhaegar went on to explain how he had encountered Lyanna, that she had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree, reminded the Lord's present that Aerys had ordered the knight hunted down and killed, and finished with telling them that he saw Lyanna removing the armour and assisted her in hiding.

He then told, more to Stark than the others, that his father the king had discovered Lyanna's identity as the Knight of the Laughing Tree months after the fact, as well as Rhaegar's initial protection of her. He had chosen to intercept the king's agents with Ser Whent and Ser Arthur up north, and he had whisked Lyanna away. While hiding her, he had fallen in love with her in Dorne.

He neglected to give all the information though, as he suspected none of them would be very understanding about prophecy.

"Had I known your brother would have ridden to King's Landing to demand my head, I would have done things differently." Rhaegar said, adding a faux lament to his tone at that. But now he spoke seriously. "But if you wish for justice for your brother and father, you must accept my generous terms and combine your forces with my army. Tywin Lannister will be here in mere days and your forces will not be able to defeat his army and my own, so let us not shed more blood."

The honest to gods truth was that Rhaegar had been smitten with Lyanna the moment he had seen her hastily trying to remove her mismatched patchwork of armour while in the woods. He had always been burdened with being the perfect prince, to do his duty where his grandparents failed and his father failed as his mind continued to twist and fragment. He had married Elia out of duty, had studied the blade and war as a matter of duty, and this random slip of a girl had humiliated three squires for attacking her father's vassal. She was a lady, yet did what she felt was right in spite of the obligations placed on her.

Rhaegar had gotten one look at her and envied her beyond all else for choosing to do that, and it made her seem the most beautiful creature in the world. She was an answer to everything, both something he wanted and loved, and would be the prophecy fulfilled perhaps.

A year later and she was his, something that was his alone and that he chose as Rhaegar Targaryen, not the crown prince of Westeros.

Looking back, he was a fool to not take Lyanna and immediately depose his father. But he never expected events to spiral out of control.

After a long pause, Lyanna's brother spoke first after sparing a brief glance towards Jon Arryn.

"Lyanna is safe? Robert will be spared and pardons for us all?"

"Yes to all of those." Rhaegar nodded, his gaze remaining fixed upon the Northman.

"I accept your terms then," Lord Stark finally declared, his voice measured yet tinged with resignation. "For the sake of justice and peace. I pledge my men and sword to you."

Lord Arryn nodded solemnly in agreement. "I pledge my fealty to you, Prince Rhaegar, and will aid in restoring order to the realm."

Lord Tully, though visibly displeased, reluctantly acquiesced. "Very well, your Grace. House Tully will comply with your terms, but I expect fairness in the justice you mete out. I too pledge my oaths anew."

Rhaegar acknowledged their acceptance with a nod. "Thank you, my lords. Your cooperation shall be crucial in restoring peace and stability to the Seven Kingdoms."

With that, the atmosphere eased slightly as the negotiations reached a tentative agreement.

The remainder of the negotiation ended with the three lords willingly following with their men into Rhaegar's camp. From there, it felt like a blur as over the course of the remainder of the day, word was spread that the rebel lords had submitted to Rhaegar and that both the rebel army and royalists would be marching on King's Landing. Rhaegar could hardly believe as night closed that he had succeeded, and time could only tell if he would be able to depose his father without fanfare.


xRSxxRSxxRSx




Rhaegar squinted at the Dornish sun with a cracked stoicism from the pain of his arm and the fatigue he still felt after the following 3 weeks of travel to Dorne with maester in tow for Lyanna.

His mind was still in a state of near permanent brooding about how he was going to stabilize everything, but he was certain deposing his father was the easiest. Ser Gerold, Whent, and Arthur would be by his side and take his father into custody and under guard, for his own safety and the safety of the realm.

Currently, it was him confiding in Barristan about what really happened with Lyanna and a request to delay bringing the army to King's Landing so that his father could not execute all the rebel lords that was weighing on him. It had him freed up to head back to Dorne with the maester for Lyanna, but it also had him thinking twice about whether he was making yet another oversight.

His small retinue started to reach familiar terrain and he smiled to himself. He would see Lyanna soon and everything would be fine.

After an emotionally exhausting final stretch of the journey, he saw the tower that housed his beloved Lyanna and he hit his heels against the sides of his horse, accelerating in front of the roughly dozen men with him and he made good time as he got within view of the 3 Kingsguard that had stayed behind to protect Lyanna and their child.

Rhaegar dismounted, requiring more effort than usual from his left arm still being unusable and he walked briskly forward, seeing Arthur walk towards him as well. His helmet was off, and his close friend's face was laid bare to him, purple eyes not dissimilar to his own practically glowing in joy at their reuniting.

"Arthur." Rhaegar said, not even needing to say anything else as he embraced the Dornishman.

Arthur returned the embrace, Dawn slung across his back to be kept out of the way.

"We received your raven, but she has been waiting for more news." Arthur said as they parted, his posture shifting awkwardly for a moment. "It was difficult to calm her down."

Rhaegar frowned at hearing that, not comfortable with how Arthur looked upset to an extent. He should have been able to be there for Lyanna in the last stretch of her first time being a mother, but the war complicated that.

But he was here now and that was what mattered.

"I am going to see her now." Rhaegar said shortly, cutting the pleasantries with his friend. "The horses will need watered and fed!" He called out as he jogged forward to the tower itself and ascended up the steps.

He opened the door and walked into the bedchamber, his heart pounding in his chest in anticipation. His eyes immediately sought out Lyanna, who was seated with her back turned towards him, her attention focused on something in her hands.

"Ser Arthur?" His sweet winter rose asked, the coarse Northern accent to her voice that he had not heard in months igniting a fire in him once more.

"Lyanna," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he approached her.

Lyanna stiffened in her chair and turned around, her gray eyes widened in surprise and disbelief at the sight of Rhaegar standing before her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized it was him, and she rushed towards him with a cry of relief.

"Rhaegar!" she exclaimed, her voice choked with emotion as she threw herself into his arms, her tears flowing freely now as she sobbed in relief into his chest.

Rhaegar held her tightly, his heart swelling with love and relief at the sight of her. He could feel the weight of her emotions in the way she clung to him, her body trembling with each breath she took. And as he held her close, he couldn't help but notice again how visibly swelled she was with child.

Their child.

"I am here, Lyanna," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I am here."

For a moment, they simply held each other, the months of separation melting away in the warmth of their reunion.

The coziness disappeared when she suddenly looked desperate at remembering something.

"Is Ned alright?" She asked hurriedly, a look of dread washing over her that he did not enjoy in the slightest. "Rhaegar, is my brother alright?"

The expression she made and the sheer despondency from anxiety crushed any chance of Rhaegar's that he would extract a pound of flesh from Lord Stark without feeling dreadful. Just because he had pardoned the man didn't mean he was going to like him.

The uncomfortable thoughts of his evidently were misunderstood as Lyanna started openly crying.

"No." She shook her head, fresh tears falling down her face in a cascade. "Not Ned too." She sobbed weakly.

"Nonono, my sweetling." Rhaegar said quickly, cupping her cheek in his hand to assuage her misunderstanding. "Your brother is alive and whole. He was taken as a hostage, as were the other rebel lords."

Lyanna shuddered and thankfully stopped crying, wiping at her eyes.

"Sorry." She mumbled, leaning into his touch and he pulled her closer so her shoulder was pressed up to his arm. "I… I cannot lose anyone else, no more."

"I promise, your brother will be shown leniency. I will not take his head as my father would." Rhaegar vowed to her now, "And I have already instructed Ser Barristan to delay delivering them to King's Landing. Once our child is born and you are ready to travel, I will depose my father and this war can be behind us. You are my wife and will be my queen."

"I still think Elia will hate me." Lyanna muttered, absentmindedly rubbing her hand across her belly gently.

"She will not hate you. Me perhaps, but Aegon will have either another sister or a brother to be his right hand." His smile was a bit subdued as he said that and went to interlock his fingers with hers, before realizing that his arm and wrist were still splinted and a cast of stiffened bandages were openly visible.

The failed attempt was what drew Lyanna's attention.

"What happened?" She gasped.

"The battle." Rhaegar replied. "A hammer blow from Lord Baratheon."

Lyanna went silent, wiping at her eyes and looking up at him.

"Can you tell me what happened during the battle?"

Rhaegar nodded, but he walked his wife over to the chair where she had been sitting before.

"Please sit down, you should stay off your feet."

Lyanna scowled, glaring down at her stomach that now extended far past her breasts, but she relented and sat.

As Rhaegar recounted the events of the battle, Lyanna listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. She nodded solemnly at the tales of valor and sacrifice, her heart heavy with the weight of the war that had torn the realm apart.

Once he had finished, Rhaegar took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult conversation ahead. "But the battle is behind us now," he said, his voice firm. "And it is time to look to the future."

He spoke of his plans to stabilize the realm, to ensure that peace and prosperity would reign once more. He talked of punishing certain rebel lords, of restoring order and justice to the Seven Kingdoms, but that was where he hoped to word it delicately.

"As for the rebel lords," Rhaegar continued, his tone turning somber, "They will face the acceptable justice for their actions."

Lyanna scrutinized him, dark gray eyes boring into his purple.

"What about Ned? He rebelled because your father demanded his head and thought I was taken. Yo- do not tell me you are going to punish him?!" She nearly shouted, aghast at what she thought he was saying.

"I said I would not execute him or send him to the Wall." Rhaegar frowned. "I am speaking of the Tullys. But I will not pretend as if your brother and I will ever be friends. I was nearly killed because of this war."

"Perhaps you should have gone to…" Lyanna started to say hotly, before stopping crossing her arms over her stomach and looking away from him. "Nevermind."

"Should I have informed your father or brother of the situation?" He asked, his jaw tensing at the reminder of his mistake. "Yes, and perhaps I would have thought to, had my father's assassins not nearly reached you. Or perhaps I should have buried Dark Sister through my father's heart, declare myself king and put an end to his reign. I should have done a hundred things, Lyanna, but I did not and now I must fix it all myself." His voice hadn't shifted in time at all, keeping a flat monotone even as her face continued to twist angrily.

"Oh, such a noble princ-" Lyanna abruptly gasped in the middle of her outburst, hunching over and clutching her stomach.

Rhaegar's eyes widened and he grabbed her to stop her from falling, noticing the tiny puddle of what looked like water on the floor between her legs.

It only took a split second realization for him to realize what was happening.

He gently guided her towards the bed, his arms wrapped protectively around her as he helped her to sit down. "Lyanna, it's going to be alright," he murmured, his voice reassuring.

Gone was her anger and now she was once again a terrified young woman who was to be a first time mother.

"I will get the maester and you will be fine, my love. Trust me." With that, he kissed her forehead and raced out of the room, his mind racing as he searched for the maester.

Rhaegar descended the steps of the tower swiftly, his concern evident in his voice as he called out for the maester.

"Maester!" he called, his tone urgent yet measured. "Maester, if you would, we require your assistance."

The maester he had brought with him was an experienced one that had specialized in attending women in labour and had two dedicated midwives as his assistants.

The three heard him from where they were in conversation with the three Kingsguard where the horses were currently resting in the shade.

The maester, Willem, immediately stopped his conversation and rushed to him, all his attention on the prince.

"Maester," he repeated, his voice carrying a sense of urgency tempered with the need for composure. "Lyanna is in labour."

Gone was the neutral faced man. What replaced him was a trained physician with nerves of steel and a wit to match.

"Then lead me to her." He said. "Jeyne! Miria! Grab the supplies from the horses and follow me!"

The two midwives clamoured to get what was requested, but Rhaegar did see anything else from that direction as he turned and nearly marched up the steps to Lyanna's room where Rhaegar heard a soft groan of pain that did nothing to settle his nerves.

Thoughts of how Lyanna would have fared without a maester to attend her were not welcome and he tried to cast that What If far from his mind.

"Lyanna," He said to his wife, who was still curled up but staring at him, "This is Maester Willem. I brought him to help."

"Hello." She mumbled, her hands on her stomach as she shifted uncomfortably. "H-how long will this take?"

"No longer than perhaps a day." The maester replied, turning to look at the doorway when the midwives arrived with two leather bags in their hands. "Get everything ready. My prince, you may stay for only a little longer. I must not be crowded."

"I understand." Rhaegar nodded. He understood what was really being said that Willem did not want Lyanna to hear. There were risks, and a man should not witness the possible death of his wife and child.

"Rhaegar?" Lyanna said his name nervously, looking frightened. "Must you leave?"

"I will be just outside, my love." He said, walking to her bedside and placing a gentle kiss upon her lips. "The maester will take care of you and our child."

The reassurance set Lyanna at ease, at least more so. With a final whisper of his love, Rhaegar left the room so the maester could prepare everything unimpeded.

What followed was even more nerve wracking than his fight with Robert or even the birth of Aegon. Lyanna's screams could probably be heard over a mile away and even Arthur standing next to him outside did not help him as he struggled between giving into cowardice and plugging his ears shut or powering through it and accepting that his emotional discomfort was a pale shadow of the physical pain Lyanna was in from pushing out an entire child.

It was almost nightfall before the screams subsided, replaced by a very faint noise that might have been the cry of an infant, and Rhaegar blearily raised his head after being propped up against a large stone.

Nobody came out at first, and that worried him. It took time for him to be informed of what happened when Rhaenys and Aegon were born because of how damaging it was to Elia, and he did his best to keep his cool.

Eventually, after a much too long period, the younger midwife, the blonde one, came down the steps and offered a slight curtsey.

"My prince, Maester Willem says Lady Lyanna and the babe are fine. It was a rough birth, but nothing he was not prepared for."

A weight greater than the full poundage of the Black Dread himself seemed to melt off of Rhaegar's shoulders and he pushed himself to his feet with his good hand.

"May I see them?" I asked tiredly.

"Yes, your grace, Maester Willem said it would be fi-"

Rhaegar was already walking forward, barely having the presence of mind to give a small thanks before he ascended up the steps and once again entered Lyanna's room.

Maester Willem was beside a table, cleaning what looked to be blood off his hands and his forehead was beaded with sweat. The other midwife was attending to Lyanna, who looked pale, disheveled, and exhausted while holding a small bundle to her chest.

"Your Grace." The maester grunted, finishing cleaning most of the blood off before tossing the towel on the table. "Congratulations on another son."

…

He had expected a girl. It was supposed to be a girl, a Visenya. Was… was he wrong? Was this all a mistake, his mistake, in understanding what the prophecy meant?

He was completely frozen in place for a moment, trying to comprehend it, before reality reasserted itself and he realized…

He could not care less at the moment. Two boys and a girl, his family grew once again and he smiled at the wonderful addition.

"How rough was the delivery?" He asked quietly, not wanting Lyanna to hear.

"The gods must have intended that I be present. I fear she would not have survived if not for a maester."

Rhaegar felt that familiar chill run up his spine, but he thanked the maester anyway for saving the life of his love and he walked over to the bed after the midwife moved aside, allowing him to crouch next to Lyanna.

"You are so brave." He whispered, running his hand through her damp hair gently. He continued to run his fingers through her hair, and she looked at him tiredly.

"He is so beautiful." She murmured, still clutching the bundle gently.

Rhaegar stopped his ministrations on her and leaned closer, moving part of the cloth so he could see his son for the first time.

A wild tuft of dark hair like Lyanna's was what he saw first, and he smiled.

Their child.

His little boy let out a cry and shifted around, his eyes opening briefly before closing shut. He couldn't tell by the candlelight what his eye colour was, but it did not matter. What was on his mind now was a good name for his son, a warrior's name. A name that would serve as a cloak to denote his son as the strong right hand of his elder brother through all matters in both capacity as future king and as a brother.

He would reforge House Targaryen and restore it to its place in Westeros, and leave the realm a much better kingdom for his sons than he found it. His sons will stand upon his achievements and they will soar to heights he never could, shoulder to shoulder.

"Daemon." Rhaegar said, laying a feather touch on his son's head and looking at Lyanna. "We will name him Daemon."


xRSxxRSxxRSx


Bonjour everyone and here's the first chapter of my Asoiaf fic that I've been working on since the last half of 2022 and the beginning of 2023. This fic was originally going to be something completely different, but then arguably one of my favorite AsoIaF fics, The Lost Emperor, underwent rewrites and this transformed into a reactionary story and borderline spite write of what it should have retained and should've been.

Expect a massive in-depth exploration of the magic system, history of Valyria, and so on.

As with much of my other fics, my coauthor is MandTeKad. (He's a dickhead right as I'm typing this out, so fuck you)

Shout-out to Tertius711 and the members of his server for helping point out some minor things needed adjusting. Be sure to read his stories like High Tide, Divide and Conquer, and the King of Knights. (Corlys, Aegon, and Daemon B SIs)

As a heads-up as I've not been entirely clear about it, Invictus will be on hiatus pending a reworking of the earlier chapters and cleaning up of other parts. My other fics will be updated on a rotating schedule instead of the haphazard kind as of late.

With that said, I hope you all enjoy.