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News from The Wall seemed bleaker with each raven that arrived.
Something has become dislodged and unsettled—something from the Age of Heroes.
As he laid the latest correspondence from Lord Commander Eddard Stark contained more than enough accounts of wildlings massacred. The body parts of men, women, and children are laid in an unusual concentric pattern.
Such news from the North increased as news from the East made it to the Westerosi shore—three dragons had returned, as did three dragon riders.
The stories tell of three siblings—one brother and two sisters. They came from beyond the shadowlands from whence dragons used to reign. Together the dragon riders began a crusade that started to sweep across Essos. It seems they were loved and hated in equal measure.
Much like the supposed Aegon the Conquer and his sister-wives were.
Dragons three, riders three, each come into existence as the otherworldly dangers from the North make themselves known.
This Prince that was Promised...
Could such a person reside in the Essosi trio?
Resting a calloused hand on the scrolls below him, Rhaegar Targaryen wondered if there was still some validity to these tomes. Yes, perhaps the danger is real, but it seems the wood witch was wrong, or mayhap she was intentionally misleading. The Prince that was Promised, the rise of Aegon I and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, were not to come from his line after all.
Images of a long-hair child with curly hair color of cinnamon, eyes of darkened honey, and skin that reminded him of a lovely shade of copper. He could see her now as she peeked around the side of this desk, an impish smile on her radiant face: Rhaenys, his girl. Eternally a child, he thought. He could not say that the remembrance of her took his breath away, for every morning Rhaegar woke up, he was brutally aware that she no longer existed.
Turning away from the phantom beside him, Rhaegar turned towards the balcony. The sky was a vivid blue. The color brought him to another memory, and with it, he saw his wife, Elia. Keeping his head toward the mirage, Rhaegar shut his eyes tightly. The quaking of his jaw was something he could not ignore or fight, so he let it pass through him because resisting took what little sanity he still retained.
Opening his eyes, Rhaegar sees his younger self kneeled before his wife, who was swollen with child. He knew they would need to leave for Dragonstone so that Elia could prepare herself for childbirth. He remembered their short return to the Red Keep came at the demand of his erratic father.
Rhaegar's indigo eyes watched as he held Elia and their son in his hands. Aegon. Rhaegar shut his eyes once again as the waves of heartache coursed through him. With a sigh, he returned to watching the younger man he once was speak to the babe that lived less than a year: a boy, his Aegon.
He could hear Elia's voice admonishing him for his display of affection for anyone could see—especially one of his father's spies.
"You know the man wishes nothing but our unhappiness. If he sees how much joy you are displaying—you're his perpetually melancholic son, Gods only know what he would do, Rhae."
There was a humor's lit to her accented words.
Elia's voice.
Over the years, he has wondered if he stills hears her true or has his mind conjured what it thinks she sounded like.
The young prince stood before her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips before he gentle held her face tilted towards his. As the King watches who he once was, he sees great affection in his gaze for Elia. She may have been brought into his world due to duty, but she was the first person aside from his mother, whose only ulterior motive was to be a good wife to him. She took the time to peel him—layer by layer until he grew to look forward to her company. He learned to love her cleverness, thoughtfulness, and wit. She became unexpectedly dear to him, for it seemed all she wanted to be was a good wife and mother—and in turn a good queen one day, but that day never came. Rhaegar is painfully aware that the fault lies with him.
He wonders what Elia thought of him, of them, once she finally understood what he had done. Did the affection in his eyes make her believe he would have come in time to save them or had the tenderness in his gaze make her deny the rumors she had to have heard? The truth in either of those answers shames him. Rhaegar lied through omission. He compounded the betrayal of her and their vows when he lost himself to the prophecies. The young man he once was just lived in the consumption and lost the importance of the present...and it cost him his dearest friend—his wife, and their children.
Now he is a King of a realm in a marriage that host more ghost in their marital bed than there is room for him and his wife to sleep in. In over twenty years of marriage, they have had three sons who ignore each other at best. Close they are not as these young men are competitive to a detriment. While he does not have the best relationship with his own brother, Viserys, Daenerys has always been genuine with her affections towards him.
It seems some siblings are successful in having an authentic appreciation for each other. He knew his Martell wife was one example, and now it seems these dragon riders are another.
Pulling out a new piece of parchment, King Rhaegar decides to reach out to this King Terus of Meereen. He knew what his wife Lyanna would say. She has many opinions, and many times, they seem heavy-handed for Kings Landing is not the North.
Pride be damned. If Westeros was on the brink of an ungodly war, then as their King, it was his responsibility to protect his people by any means necessary. If that meant inviting a Conquer to his shores, then so be it.
Word he sent.
Word he had received.
In a chamber with his wife, sons, brother, and Lord Hand...Jon Connington, Rhaegar announced that the dragon riders were to come in a moon's turn.
As King, he prepared himself for the objections—those circumspect and blatant.
"Silence!"
Thankfully the room gave him just that.
"I didn't call you in to ask for your suggestions and recommendations on the invitation. That is done. Decreed by your King. Your job is not to question, but rather it is to obey."
Rhaegar looks at each person in the eye. Conington kept his opinions behind a neutral expression. His sons carried varying states of disbelief. Viserys observed everyone's reactions from his post beside the mantle. Still, Rhaegar did see the understated smirk that twitched at his lips. Though he'd like to ignore it, Rhaegar can see by the look in his wife's eyes that they will continue the conversation privately.
"I understand your decree, your Grace. I just worry about the wisdom in bringing such individuals to our realm. If I have heard correctly, I understand that they were no one of note, who now rules what was once called Slavers Bay. They made themselves Kings and Queens. Is that not something to be concerned about?"
Lyanna's tight voice echoed the question had by all with her the only one brave enough to say it out loud. Rhaegar could not respond. The truth was the threat from beyond the wall scared him more than these dragon riders did. A King should not admit such weakness, of that he knows.
"If they do not choose to help us, then we risk losing the realm to something greater than man or dragon."
Rhaegar rose to his desk to collect the letters from Lord Commander Stark. Years upon years of reports growing with concern ending with the last correspondence.
"You are still wrapped in these prophecies. I thought we agreed to set aside this insanity, Rhaegar. The price we paid—it was too much. We agreed!"
Lyanna's voice was fearful, and he knew it was that fear that made her forget their formality in front of an audience.
"I had not forgotten, Lya. I have put it aside until I started receiving these missives. I can't know what I know and ignore that there are similarities that should cause concern. Your brother has been the Lord Commander for 15 years. Does Eddard seem prone to exaggerations and hysteria?"
"No," His Queen whispered quietly.
Her Northern family has always been a tender and raw spot between them. First, it began with the death of her father and brother. Then it compounded when Eddard refused Rhaegar's pardon in return for swearing an oath of fealty. Eddard declined. He said he had an heir and a younger brother who would see Young Robb grow into manhood. Still, his sister's shameful acts resulted in so much loss for the people of the North and the loss of House Stark's honor—he couldn't in good conscious stand right to be their Lord without someone from House Stark paying the price for their misstep.
The misstep of trying to save Lyanna, who wasn't the one who needn't to be saved.
Rhaegar turned away from his wife. The one he protected. There is no way he can rationalize the facts. He left Lyanna hidden and protected while he left Elia exposed and vulnerable. What he hadn't factored in was how determined his father was and how genuinely defenseless he had left Elia?
Such arrogance on his part. In the end, what purpose had it served? Yes, he can admit to being wrapped up in the newness of Lya. She was so different from Elia. Wild, willful, spontaneous, and adventurous. All the things he thought a Visenya to be. Once the mating haze dissipated and reality set, when Elia and the children were gone, he realized he desperately missed her calm, flexibility, sureness, and caution. There is beauty in that kind of love. If wishes were horses...
"So, all this is for certain." His eldest son Aenar spoke as the young man looked over a letter in his hand. A warrior son and heir who would rather spend his time solely with his sword.
"Yes,"
"This is insanity, Father." His second-born, Daeron murmured. His charismatic child. A young man who likes to drink and laugh rather than to engage in any interest of note.
"And if it is not? You heard your mother. Your uncle would not jest. What would you suggest I do as King? Ignore it. I think not."
"What do we need to do to prepare for them? We have the dragon pits, but they haven't been used in so long I am not sure they would be secure enough to withstand three grown dragons. Not to mention that pandemonium it would bring the people." Maelor, his youngest son, and the practical one out of them all. He is not a fighter or one who enjoys the company of others—a solitary young man.
"That is the question, is it not. Where to put the dragons? This is why I have you near on this day. Any suggestions."
Rhaegar listened to each person, save for Viserys, offer ideas only for someone else to shoot it down. Just when he thought no compromise could be found, a new voice provided the answer to their search.
"What about Dragonstone?"
Rhaegar's eyes caught Viserys as the man shrugged.
"I mean, the island was built with dragons in mind. Perhaps that will do.
Rhaegar considered the options and found them suitable for their guest's needs while keeping these Essosi out of Westeros. He knew that was still a sizeable overhanging fear. He had learned of these liberators that they were chosen by their people whom they freed, but slavery is not an issue here. There is no liberation, but salvation is an opportunity if they were willing to offer it.
If they declined, then his people will pray to their gods before they took up arms against an enemy unknown.
Time moved quickly. It seemed like days when he told his family and his Hand about the dragon riders' visit to Westeros. What it seemed like and what it was were entirely different. The turn of the moon was among them. Rhaegar had traveled to Dragonstone a couple of days before the arrival of their guest. He left his heir and second son in Kings Landing. There was no harm in taking precautions. He had learned that lesson so awfully late, but he knew it.
On the third day of their arrival, Rhaegar sat with this wife, son, and brother as they broke their morning fast. The horns rang in the distance. Dragonstone sounded off in response. The visitors were here.
If that weren't enough of a warning, the roars of dragons would have.
Blood of the dragon called to the blood of the dragon, for Rhaegar's gaze met his brother's and his sons. There was a pain, a longing for something neither man had ever experienced before. They rose, walking towards the balcony. Lyanna remained frozen in her seat.
"Gods, they are real," Maelor whispered.
"Dragons fly over Dragonstone once again, Brother."
"Gods, what a sight, Viserys? So many of our family entertained so many notions in an effort to bring them back."
"Do you add yourself to that list?"
"I must, for to deny it requires that I do not acknowledge them and that is something I just can't do, Viserys."
They quickly made their way out of the castle and towards the hills. He couldn't stop staring at them. The creatures were so graceful as they swooped and glided. The green and white ones seemed to be engaging in some type of play, while the black dragon seemed to be watching them all. There were times he could make out a person on the dragons.
Blond hair blowing in the wind.
A silver head of hair shaved, it seems, on both sides, but the hair was long, and it was held in one long plait. Perhaps there was a touch of Valyria in them. That would make sense, he thought.
Neither held the white porcelain skin associated with Old Valyria. No, two of these riders had tones that were kissed by the sun, while the one who rode the dragon that watched carried with her much darker tones—ones that reminded him of a small girl who had warm copper skin, a girl who once was his.
Foolish man.
Rhaegar shook his head to clear it. These were not his children. The children he created with Elia perished long ago, along with their lovely mother. A beauty in her own right. As the dragons began to descend, Rhaegar wondered if he had ever told Elia that he thought she beautiful. Not in response to Harrenhal, but before then, for he knew her to have her own beauty before that tourney. No matter how much he tried, Rhaegar couldn't find a memory that led him to the only conclusion he could have—he had never told her. Perhaps he had said something, but would she have believed it after he had fled with Lyanna. Gods, he indeed was a piece of ungodly work, was he not?
The black dragon hovered as the rider watched the other dragons land, and their riders stood on solid ground. When the rider seemed satisfied, they landed as well. The three walked towards him. Rhaegar could feel Lyanna tremble as the dragons stared at them. He knew such creatures to be bonded to a rider. If they treated their riders well, then the dragons would leave them be—or so that was what he had been taught to believe. Standing beside his wife stood their Maelor and Viserys.
Rhaegar returned his gaze to the dragon-riders.
A unit is what he saw. Much how Aegon walked with his wife, Rhaegar thought. The tall woman was the center of them. He could see it in how she commanded the lead—a composition borne out of years of practice. The man flanked her on the right while the petite blonde edge on the left.
The man had since lifted a hood over his head—a tall man, yet muscular, much like his brother Viserys. The outline of the man's brow, nose, and chin spoke of something hauntingly familiar. He had two swords at his back and a Warhammer at his waist. The latter weapon had him considering Robert for just a moment as this was his tool of choice.
His eyes darted to the fine-boned blond woman who carried a bow on her back and twin sais strapped to her thighs. She might be just about his sister's height. This woman, too, held features that Rheagar seemed acquainted with. Those eyes—jeweled emeralds, orbs he hadn't seen in such a long time as they are found on Lannisters but then there were parts of her that reminded him of common characteristics he shares with his siblings and with his children. This woman is not his that he knows, for she looks to be about Maelor's age. Lyanna has been the only woman he has been with since...Elia.
As Rhaegar's eyes slid to the leader of this trio, he noted it was a woman and not the man who led. The sight made him think of a stories Elia used to tell him and Rhaenys right before they put their daughter to bed, stories she would speak to Aegon as he rested in her womb—tales of Nymeria, Meria, Daria, Myriah, and of course her mother, Princess Lorenza. Accounts and legends of women rulers of Dorne. She told them of their Dornish ancestry that they had through her. His own connection severed many generations ago.
The woman was almost as tall as the man. Slim with gentle muscles of her own. A warrior, Rhaegar ascertained. She, too, wore a hood, a spear harnessed her back, with an arakh affixed to her hip. While she seemed the most hidden, he felt she saw the most. The features that revealed themselves reminded him of Elia, for her soft skin held the same warm coppery complexion.
They stand before each other. Rhaegar feels uneasy, but little could break him, like discovering his first family had perished—and the reasons why. Unease is all he can muster, even in times such as these.
“King Rhaegar Targaryen, I presume.”
“Queen Ariadne of Meereen.”
Her voice held a slight Dornish accent. While he is not versed in all the languages on Essos, he hadn't expected such resemblance. Quickly he remembered his courtesies.
"Queen, I am not."
"My apologies. I had heard you and your siblings are..."
"They are of royalty. My brother Terus is the King of Meereen. While my sister Esabelle is a Sultana of the Great Moraq? I have yet to settle into my future title. It is waiting for me, but until then, you may address me as Ariadne of Essos. While it is not the land of my birth, it is the land that made me."
"Very well. Welcome to Westeros Ariadne of Essos, King Terus, and Sultana Esabelle."
They tilted their heads, but the only one he could truly see was the sister, Esabelle. That unease in Rhaegar began to build as time passed, and the two covered had yet to fully reveal their faces.
Rhaegar proceeded to complete the introductions. He noticed his brother held a look of uncertainty in his gaze as his violet eyes settled on the tall woman who continued to keep her face hidden.
"Perhaps we should head inside. Your dragons will be safe."
"Hmmm...our mother warned us of those very words—words you've said before."
Rhaegar swung his gaze towards King Terus. A memory of Prince Oberyn's voice dripped in sarcasm needled at his mind.
"Pardon, your Grace." Rhaegar wanted the man to repeat himself. He needed him to. The King in him was vexed, but there was another side of him that was desperate to hear those words spoken again—to listen to that voice.
The man tugged his hood down with one hand. His body may have looked similar to Viserys, but his face—it spoke of Rhaegar.
Rhaegar held his position, but he noticed his wife take a step back as she gasped in shock. Her hands covering her mouth as her eyes scream what he knows she dare not say. Three sons that bare the visage of Stark, but once upon a time, I had a son who held both his Dornish and Targaryen roots. Here stood such a man. Rhaegar felt a large lump at his throat that made it almost impossible for him to catch his breath.
"Perhaps my brother and I should introduce ourselves by names you may recognize."
Two dark hands held the edges of her own hood, but unlike her brother, she gently lowered her hood over her curled hair in a shade of cinnamon. She raised her gaze to meet his, and all he saw was her honey-eyed stare.
"Rhaenys..."
"Yes, and Aegon, but we have not used those names in many years. They died a long time ago. While we stand before you as Ariadne and Terus, we know to be cautious with your intent as your concern in the past has not served us well."
Rhaegar felt his chest spasm, flutter, falter, only to pound heatedly against his breast. There she was. His Rhaenys who spoke incessantly to any and all who would listen. The girl who carried her black cat everywhere and swore he was the Black Dread reborn. The daughter who once looked at him like he rose the sun every morning and painted the night sky just for her.
Now she stood before him a woman grown, with eyes that knew too much of the world, and a demeanor that shouted of her own awareness of her power.
His Rhaenys...
How could this be? Rhaegar's mind sifted for answers.
His gaze tore away from his daughter to his son.
Aegon lived.
Before Rhaegar stood a man who carried himself as a close acquaintance with war, death, and the cost of it. A man who knew what it meant to be a King and the responsibility that comes with the title. A man who commanded respect but who seemed to live by his own code.
These were his children. They had lived. How did he not know? Where had they gone? He had heard that Oberyn had left Dorne, for he could not remain in Westeros after hearing about Elia. Was he the one who had his children?
This other woman clearly is related to his children, but she is not his of that he knows.
Who is she?
No, she couldn't have. If she did, then she would have come home, wouldn't she?
Rhaegar found his past colliding with his present, and as he gripped at his chest in an attempt to find a breath—just a single one. As his knees begin to lose their strength, and he began to fall, he thought he had created the path for this.
The voices of his wife and his son sounded unclear to him. He knew they were speaking to him, but he could not focus, for all he wanted was a breath. Perhaps this was his fate, and it was he who set himself on the course to lose in the end.
As his vision began to fade, Rhaegar wouldn't tear his gaze away from his children.
He could see Viserys speaking to his Rhaenys. No, she told him to call her Ariadne. As his field of vision narrows, he prays to the father that he is given another day to see them, for if he is granted that wish, he would call them by any name they wished. How many times had he prayed to the gods and promised them anything and everything if he could bring them back? Was this not the very thing he prayed for?
Then a darker hopeful thought crossed his mind.
Could Elia have survived?
His eyes widen in hopeful disbelief, and as the world went black, he whispered one name, the name of a woman...
“Elia”