#oh naerys. god loves you. but not enough to save you.

[visenyaism]

Let's discuss Aegon being the Jailer but Aemon being The Jail for Naerys please please can we Discuss

i have!!!!! it’s huge!!!!! but yeah as an extension of institutional monarchical power the kingsguard have always functioned as both a violent arm of the king’s wrath and a cage for the people obligated to the king in whatever way. to join the kingsguard is to lose your identity in order to enmesh yourself completely with feudal power. And Aemon is absolutely an example of that where he had the physical power to intervene or even just get his sister out of that situation and instead he kept her there until it killed her.

The reason Aegon was able to hurt his sister for so long is because he got off was on making Aemon watch because he KNEW Aemon wouldn’t do anything because his Kingsguard vows were more important. I feel like it’s really pointed that she was extremely religious as like her only means of finding solace that she had in her entire terrible life and then Aemon is described as the Warrior incarnate. and she spent her whole life praying and neither of them saved her. 

in my mind aemon got off on being the perfect knight and the ontologically good brother, and if he ever let Naerys out of her cage, she might become a human person and fall from grace from being a perpetual victim who always turned to him and only him for comfort. and that was worse than losing her to him. the only way out was a lifetime of self-martyrdom and he decided she would have to be a martyr with him because the alternative was. well we call it a madonna-whore complex for a reason

[cappymightwrite]

Sometimes you walk by the goods ones 'Cause you're trying too hard, too hard to see them

He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders. – AGOT, Sansa I

And sometimes you don't find the right lines 'Cause you're trying, too hard, too hard to hear them

How could he explain Ygritte to them? She's warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. "She's with Styr, but she's not...she's young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she..." She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. "I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but..." It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her... – ASOS, Jon VI

But you know what it feels like, 'cause you're like me And you won't give up

This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. – TWOW, Alayne I

Till an all time love 'Cause nothing else is good enough

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well...but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely. – ADWD, Jon XI

I want an all time love To find me

"Everyone wants to be loved." – ACOK, Sansa IV

Some days you're too set in your ways And you forget to shut up, shut up and listen

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? – ADWD, Jon VI

And some days you just have to misplace all your mistakes Somewhere that you won't miss them

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again. – ACOK, Sansa I

So stop lying that you're fine, cause you're like me And you can't give up

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. – ASOS, Jon XII

Till an all time love 'Cause nothing else is good enough

Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. Her, and Winterfell, and my lord father's name. Instead he had chosen a black cloak and a wall of ice. Instead he had chosen honor. A bastard's sort of honor. – ADWD, Jon III

I want an all time love To find me

Even if Dontos was right, and it is Winterfell he wants and not me, he still may come to love me for myself. – ASOS, Sansa II

I don't believe that it's a failure I don't believe that it's a fault

He could tell she did not believe him. If I could show her Winterfell...give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us. – ASOS, Jon V

'Cause if everything were plain sailing Oh, tell me what would there be left to exalt

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies. – ACOK, Sansa IV

But an all time love 'Cause nothing else is good enough

Val was a stranger to him [...] I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. – ASOS, Jon XII

I want an all time love To find me

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. – ASOS, Sansa VII

I want an all time love 'Cause nothing else is good enough

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon. – ADWD, Jon XII

I want an all time love To find me

Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. – AFFC, Alayne II

TLDR: Basically...don't do what I did and give into the random nostalgic urge to listen to Will Young's All Time Love, unless you are prepared to be instantly consumed by Jonsa feels. I am in PAIN.

[it-was-so-human]

I read you for some kind of poem - Part 2

He is not the same boy anymore. And that is fine, because she’s not the same girl. Jon and Sansa AU.

Part 1

Sansa struggled to stay seated as he entered the solar. (Her solar.)

Jon Targaryen arrived at Winterfell last night. Demanded to see his betrothed before the wedding.

She sits up straighter, tilts her chin preparing herself.

And to keep from throwing herself at him.

A lady would not do such a thing.

(And she’s never embraced him before. And he’s never held her before. Never put an arm around her filthy rags. She can still feel the layers of mud and grim and how he—no—no.)

She’s not a little bird anymore.

And then she hears his voice for the first time in over seven years. Familiar and yet not so much.

“I see that you sit on chairs now.”

And when she turns, her eyes finally land on the man that was once the young prince Jon Targaryen—with broader shoulders and darker eyes—she knows.  

He is not the same boy anymore.

And that is fine, because she’s not the same girl.

- - -

Since leaving King’s Landing, she was fostered in the homes of Northern Lords—lords still quietly loyal to the Stark name.

Sansa Stark, the surviving daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark.

Meant for dead, but hidden under the Targaryens’ very noses.

And anyone who remembered would gasp that the girl looks just like Lady Stark. With high cheekbones, bright blue Tully eyes, and auburn hair.

(And the North always remembers.)

And in Northern homes, some kinder than others, she was taught and trained.

Her innate delicate sensibilities no longer weakness but the tools to finesse herself into a great lady.

She remade herself, shaped herself under a cloak of grace and armor of control. A beauty with the strength and will of a Northerner.

A lady who never knew hunger or cold or how it felt to have nothing nothing.

But her time as a little bird taught her to watch and listen and notice. (She never had a Master of Arms or a Septa, but she had her ability to pay attention to the world.)

And now she is a lady who knows their Northern ways and their pride and their culture, knows how they think, and has learned to give council, earning their respect and even admiration.

If she was to be used, she would make the best of it. She could hand out food to the children, make sure the women were properly clothed for the winter.    

And all the while there was growing tensions and anger and fear of the cruelty of the Boltons as Wardens of the North.

A desire to shed the demands of King Rhaegar showing himself to have the very same manic of his father.  

Anger over the losses and years of discontent under uneasy Targaryen peace.

Open rebellions already started in the Vale and the Reach.

The Seven Kingdoms fractioning slowly slowly.

There were talks of getting her married off to a Northern son or to try an alliance with a Southorn house.

But Verys’ plan held firm. Sansa was the banner to retake Winterfell.

And a Jon Targaryen turned Stark the key to an independent kingdom.

--

He’s in her solar now.

Her solar in Winterfell. The castle she helped reclaim. 

Perhaps he’s going to embrace her.

People don't touch her. At least not in kindly.

(Street rats don't get comforting embraces. And neither do Little birds or great ladies.

She doesn't remember ever being held. But she can imagine it. And oh how badly she wants it.

She's so alone. Even in the North among her father's former bannermen or the fierce ladies of House Mormont.

She's always different, always held apart.)

And now Jon gives her a smile—but it’s not the one she remembers

It is empty, not reaching his eyes.

“You are to be my Lady Wife?"

His tone is unkind, mocking.  

Winterfell is hers. He is the Targaryen son with just enough Stark claims to help strengthen the North.

They rally around her, not a Southron prince despite the loyal armies and ability in command he brings.

And he’s come to marry her claim. (Not her.)

“So I am brought here to marry their pawn, the wench planted in my rooms," he continues.

“I am not a pawn.”

“Then at worst you are a willing whore, at best a foolish girl. Neither speaks highly of you.”

She might be a pawn. But now she is a well-fed and cared for pawn. One with a warm bed to sleep in at night. A pawn that will be able to protect her people.

He needs her and she’s beginning to see he does not care for it, these new dynamics. It was easier for him when she had nothing and he could toss her sweets and have her do his bidding.

It’s undoubtedly harder when she’s an equal. Cannot get past the slight to his pride. Talking to a street rat turned bird turned queen.

“You do not have to marry me, your grace. But then you will lose our loyalty and the North may go against your brother.”

She sees his eyes surveying her, the length of her.

“And I am to believe you are truly the lady to this great house? Not a convenient impersonator?”

She knows she is a Stark. She feels it in her bones. Feels strength from the walls of Winterfell. Feels generations and generations of her blood in the crypts and the Weirwood tree and her people.

“The North believes,” she says her voice certain.

“The North didn’t see the skinny dirty nothing of a girl, but I did.”  

That, that hurt.

And it was easy. It was so very easy. A wave of humiliation. The familiar feelings of being less than, of being unwanted filth, creep back in so very easily.

Maybe… maybe she had hoped deep down that he would be proud of her. For being able to shed her old skin.  That he would tell her she had grown up to be pretty.

But he still saw the old little girl and she hated him for it.

She should have had… she tried so hard not to have… any expectations, no false hopes.

He may have been the dream she barely dared to hope for, but she always knew she was nothing to him.

(But the confirmation of that hurts. He was her prince, but she wasn’t anyone to him. Not really.)

In those dreams however, dreams she dare not admit to herself in the light of day, she imagined that this Sansa, this Sansa clothed in fine silk and furs and scrubbed pink and perfumed with hair elegantly plaited?

This Sansa he could love. (And she would love him back so very furiously.)

She had heard that his once betrothed was a beautiful and charming girl.

And Sansa knows that she too is now beautiful. Has a remarked on elegance and demeanor (but sometimes she still feels so small, and so alone, her life always in flux, always anticipating the next move, waiting for this, waiting for him, for the moment to unite the North so it could finally be home).

His eyes are those of a stranger now.

Not of her prince. (Though he truly never was that, was he. That was just the childish musings of a lonely little girl.)

They are the eyes of a man hardened by loss. A man who went to war against his father, raised arms against his family name.

But he had no right to be cruel.

“I am Sansa Stark. I am the Lady of Winterfell. I do not need you to believe it for it to be true.”

(It is a bit of a bluff. She needs him too. Needs the validation his armies will bring. And the North needs him to secure their independence.)

“And to win Winterfell I need to marry the woman who has lied to me for years?”

I cannot have lied about something I did not know.

“Marriages have had worse foundations,” she manages to shrug.

She could be mistaken, but a small smile plays at the corner of his lips.

“Aye, that is true. Is this marriage alliance suitable to you then?” 

She give him only a nod and he walks out of the room.

And she reminds herself he doesn’t have to love her. He does not have to care.

(Her father was brave and honorable. Her mother elegant and fiercely loyal. Sansa can be all these things.

She has to be, she has to. This the legacy left to her.)

((Sansa never imagined having a legacy. She promises to be worthy of it.))

She had been so very ashamed for wanting him when he wasn’t for her—but he was and yet it still hurt.

The romantic songs weren’t written for her however. This much was true. Not even in pretty dresses could change that.  

But even Prince Aemon the Dragonknight wasn’t able to save Queen Naerys from dying with a broken heart.

- - -

She was married and cloaked.

And tonight her husband, her prince. No. A stranger enters her chamber

She stands tall.

She is not scared. She is strong. She is the Queen in the North.

A she-wolf.

Her new husband’s eyes are blazing when he enters, but she holds his gaze. Does not look away.

She steels herself.

Jon Stark wearing the fur cloak she made for him herself, the Stark sigil she carefully crafted for her old friend and future husband.

His eyes survey the room, and land on her dressing table. She reddens when she realizes what he’s looking at.

She forgot to hide her doll.

The most beautiful doll in the world still lovingly kept. Her dress cleaned and mended by her own hand over the years.

(She had kept it near for strength, had meant to put it away. Hadn’t felt strong enough to just yet.)  

He is in front of her now.

She prepares herself.

And watches as he drops to his knees.

Jon Stark is shaking. She rests a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He grabs the hand and brings it to his lips. Presses a kiss. And then another.

“You’re safe. Thank gods you’re safe.’

Her breath catches.

He stands now, still holding her hand. His thumb is stroking it and it feels, it feels like being found.  

“I never protected you. I never… I let you leave—”

He reaches a hand into his vest and pulls out a scarp of fabric, handing it to her.

It’s frayed on the edges, softened with age and folds, but she would recognize it anywhere.

The embroidered direwolf. She gave it to him years ago, not knowing it would one day become his sigil. Theirs.

He… kept it. He kept it.

“I thought you forgot me,” she whispers, half to herself.

His voice is hoarse.

“No, never… When I was a young boy I dreamed of being the knight who saved you. I would ride into Flea Bottom and whisk you away. But I never did. Never did anything.”

He swallows, a brave warrior with a catch in his throat.

“When you were gone… I kept wondering if you were warm, or well fed, or cared for, kept from harm. But I realized those were never thing I guaranteed while you were with me.”

"I never expected you to," she manages.  

His hands cup her face—as if she is precious and beloved.

“But you should have. I was…so angry when I learned…thought of how you manipulated me for years. But even still I could not stay away. When I was given the choice of this marriage alliance, I could not refuse…”

No. “I have never lied to you. I thought of you as... my friend.”  

“I know. I know that now. And if you were a pawn Sansa, I was as much of one and more. A willing one.”

His fingers graze her cheek. “But I promise to be a good and true husband. Your closest friend. I will protect you, our house, and the North.”

“And I will too.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The smile Jon gives her is achingly familiar. It tugs at her heart and she finds herself slowly returning it.

“You were a lovely girl but gods I never dreamed you would grow up to be so very strong and beautiful and... mine.” 

He rests his forehead against hers, and her senses are overwhelmed by the very feeling of him. It feels lovely. 

“I did not come here to marry Sansa of the House Stark. I came to marry you.”

-

Also on Ao3

-

Meh. Mehhh. 

[rhegar]

Dearly Beloved, Chapter 7

Fic Summary: Elia Martell passes away after giving birth to Aegon from complications. Rhaegar Targaryen, now widowed, realizes how fatal his mistakes were to his family.

Chapter Summary: Rhaegar must stop his father’s threat, or doom faces everyone in King’s Landing.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: TW for rape + This chapter includes graphic imagery and descriptions of gore

This is Chapter seven. Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 or Read on Ao3 here

"Your grace, what should we do? Your grace?"

For seconds, Rhaegar couldn't answer. He couldn't even tell how he felt. Was it anger? Sadness? Doom? All he could knew he felt was his heart beating almost out of his chest, his frozen feet on the floor, his breaths going in and coming out heavy and painful like a sword in the chest, and his father's laughter. Even his vision became blurry.

If you don't speak, your mother and brother will die. Arthur will die. You will never see Rhaenys and Aegon again, if your voice does not come back.

He turned around. "Catch Rossart. He can't be very far away. Surround all the known secret passages, the great gate, and the dungeons. Go. Ser Jonothor, accompany them and organize their movement." He found himself breathless, almost screaming the words, but his screams sounded suffocated.

The castle guard ran off with Jon Darry, but Barristan, Pycelle and Arthur remained.

Barristan was looking at Aerys in horror while the king laughed and danced, while Pycelle's hostile gaze was still directed at Rhaegar. Arthur was standing behind Rhaegar; he felt him there. He turned around to face him.

"Arthur… listen. I need you to go as well. To the guild of pyromancers. Pick some men, as many as you think you need, and go. Get all of them here to me, living."

Arthur shook his head. "I will not leave you. I will not."

"Yes, you will. You have sworn to obey your king. Ser Arthur, I trust you to stop it. I trust you."

Arthur looked angry. "He said the wildfire is under the entire city, we cannot stop it. You need to escape the city along with the queen and Prince Viserys, ring the bells to wake the people up and evacuate as many as possible."

Rhaegar shook his head in frustration. "There's not enough time, Arthur! We will only be able to evacuate so many, and if I abandon my people here, then I am a coward and not worthy of ruling them. Our only hope is to find Rossart and the pyromancers before they start the blaze."

"Then send Ser Barristan, I have vowed not to leave you."

Rhaegar found himself taking Arthur's hands. They were both wearing fingerless gloves; Rhaegar's black and Arthur's white. Their fingers touched, and they felt slippery with sweat, but soft and warm. I might not be able to kiss Arthur, but if the city burns… I will not die without touching him one last time.

"I need Ser Barristan here. You go to the pyromancers and bring them to me living. They will remove the wildfire from the city or they will burn with it. It's our only hope, do you understand? Go."

For a moment, their eyes locked. Arthur's eyes were a lighter purple than Rhaegar's; lovely and kind. The prince's eyes widened. I don't want you to leave me, but I don't want your honor to be tarnished by what is about to happen here, and I trust no one else with the task. Arthur finally turned around and left. Rhaegar felt as if his spirit was taken from his body and attached to his white knight; when he left, he felt as if a part of him was dead, and when he thought of how it was possible that he would never see Arthur again, he felt as if he was a body and a beating heart completely devoid of a soul. Good. Perhaps it is required of me to let go of my soul to do this. Oh, Father Above… please forgive me.

"Treason," Pycelle said, still in his place by the side of the throne. "This is treason. Ser Barristan, you should seize this treasonous prince and throw him in a black cell."

Rhaegar almost laughed. "My father plans to burn the city, and I'm the traitor?"

"The king is merely defending himself! We need to stop the fire from happening and arrest you, traitor." Pycelle said, and seemed to fully believe in what he was saying. This time, Rhaegar laughed. He looked at the ground, laughing hysterically, and then rose his eyes to Selmy. "Ser Barristan," he said, "Seize the Grand Maester and the king from his mad dance, and bring them in front of me here."

After a frozen second, Barristan went to do as he was told, while Rhaegar went to the nearest wall and picked up a torch. When he was in front of the iron throne again, Barristan had seized the two old men and brought them forth, one more gently than the other.

"So, father… since you seem to so love bonfires and the scent of burning flesh, might we play a little game?"

In the night, King's Landing's old stone buildings looked like small mountains; the market was empty; the streets almost so, except for the few men returning home from brothels or taverns. The city smelled somewhat less of piss and fish than it did in the morning; the sea breeze and the smoke from the torches that lit the streets cleansed the city and readied it for a new day to come. Or will this day come at all? Ser Arthur Dayne wondered as he rode a horse as white as his cloak to do what he was ordered to do, galloping so fast he was afraid his horse would collapse. He heard the four men that he picked try to keep up with him behind him.

Rhaegar's task was no easy feat, Arthur thought. The secret passages to the castle were not few, and not all of them were known by everybody. The gods help them all if Rossart was familiar with entrances not known to them. All the worse if one of those passages led straight to a place near the Guildhall on the Street of the Sisters. Arthur could not gallop any faster to get there, and he had hoped that his road was shorter than Rossart's, and that him being on a horse will make him faster than the presumably unmounted old man enough to make up for him being late to the pyromancer's steps.

Arthur could feel the blood drain from his face; it felt tingly and it was covered in cold sweat. If he doesn't hurry, he might never see his prince again.

If I let Rhaegar down, he will burn. We will all burn.

As he rode, he thought of Rhaegar long and hard. Any moment, the city could go up in flames, and he wanted to die with his silver dragon's picture in his mind. In the last months, Rhaegar's beauty had turned from a violent, awe-inspiring beauty that used to hit his heart and incapacitate him from thinking, to a delicate and pallid beauty. His short-cropped hair spoke of his grief, and his pale and bony face reminded Arthur of tales of Queen Naerys. Thank the gods that Rhaegar was not as sickly and frail, but he was no more what he used to be than Queen Naerys was Queen Visenya. And what was there on this earth that Prince Aemon the Dragonknight would not have done for Queen Naerys?

What Rhaegar was, was an isolated man who ignored all those around him and his family because the gods chose him for a higher purpose. What Rhaegar has become is a man who realizes that the higher purpose was to protect his family, love the realm and protect it. It was not to sit alone in a library for days on end interpreting old prophecies, but to do what he had to do to ensure the safety of those he loves. And while his body had thinned down and weakened, he had never seen Rhaegar any stronger than he had become now. How he was responsible for so much, and did what he had to do… I have to save him, and save all of these people. I have to save the city, and to save my prince.

When Arthur finally arrived at the Guildhall, he descended from his horse and unsheathed Dawn. As he had expected, the wooden gate was locked. He could go looking for a rock or a hammer of some sort to knock it down, or he could try the easy way first. He knocked on the door; only three calm knocks, far apart. He concluded that, if the knocker seemed calm enough, the pyromancers will assume they're not Rhaegar's men; that is, if they knew that Rhaegar's men were coming to take them in the first place.

The door was opened, and a young boy with peachy cheeks stood behind it in a black robe. "Yes?" he said. An apprentice, no doubt.

Arthur pushed the boy back and entered, and then locked the door from the inside again, and took the key from the boy's hand. "Stay here and don't do anything stupid," he told the boy.

In the darkness lit only by a few torches, he spied a round table that a group of men was standing around. A few other young boys, three older men, and Rossart. Arthur lunged at him.

"You," Arthur said, "you criminal. You will be punished by our king for your treason."

First, Rossart looked terrified. And then he laughed. "And which king is that, Ser? The true king I serve or yours? Because both of them are about to go up in flames."

Arthur tried to calm himself. "You will stop this right now, or you will be burned in your own green poison. King Rhaegar summons you at the Red Keep, and you will come."

"It is too late to stop it, I'm afraid."

Arthur looked around in terror. There were ten apprentices, and four masters. He remembered that there can't be many more of them who went to execute the plan; the numbers of the alchemists had dwindled over the years.

"You try to frighten me, but all of you are here. The city is not about to burn, because I have all of you, criminals."

"Not all of us, no," one of the other two masters said. And that's when Arthur heard the explosion.

Arthur's heart went mad with the sound. He had heard a canon once; and this sounded like it, though he knew that if he were nearer, it would have been stronger.

"Ser Arthur," one of his men said in a panic, "What should we do?"

Arthur took a deep breath. I am the sword of the morning. I must be wise. I must be brave. And, I must save my prince.

"You will escort these traitors to King Rhaegar in the Red Keep. I will go and find those of them who fled."

A blaze swallowed a group of houses on the Street of the Sisters, and the screams almost pierced Arthur's ears.

When he approached on his horse, he saw the inhabitants of the houses look from their windows, screaming for help, and behind them, he saw the flames lick their bodies, hungered for flesh. Some smallfolk had gathered in the streets with barrels of water, others stood by watching their neighbors burn. Arthur felt the most let down in his entire life; this was caused by the monarch I swore myself to protect; by the dynasty I chose to stand for. He saw a woman in a window carrying a newborn babe out of it as low as she can to keep it away from the fire, and then she threw it to a man standing nearby who barely picked it up. After that, the woman disappeared behind a wall of smoke.

If I don't catch those necromancers fast enough, they could set more fires.

Nearby, he saw a dozen golden cloaks, and the captain of the city watch, whom he knew; a short and stocky man with golden hair. Arthur descended from his horse to meet them. Before the captain could speak, Ser Arthur said, "Take a large portion of your men under the city, to the tunnels. King Aerys has filled them with wildfire and he has sent a group of pyromancers to set up explosions and burn the city. Catch the pyromancers, and don't touch the wildfire. Another portion is to evacuate as many people from the city as possible to the Kingswood; should we fail to take the wildfire out safely, we want as few casualties as possible.

The captain opened his mouth in shock and said nothing for seconds, while his men started whispering to each other with panic in their eyes. Arthur wasn't certain that all of them understood the word "casualties."

"Worry not. Prince Rhaegar is arriving from Dragonstone in hours, and he will declare a regency over his father once the wildfire is safely removed from the city by the pyromancers. Until then, the ones who set this fire could be elsewhere and setting more fires as we speak. Hurry now."

"Yes, ser." The man turned around and gave instructions to his soldiers. As for Arthur, he knew what he needed to do: Return to the Red Keep and send reinforcements.

He was climbing his horse when the bells of the Red Keep rang. He didn't stay for long enough to see how the people at the scene would react to that, but rode off to the castle. Rhaegar. If he were hurt…

As he rode, the story became clearer.

He rode by guards and servants spilling out from the Red Keep, gold cloaks hurrying to carry orders, women speaking to one another while their children were crying, but the louder of them seemed quite certain, somehow, of what had happened:

"King Aerys is dead; he burned himself saying that he will become a dragon."

"A fire in the throne room…."

"They say he tried to burn the city, the bastard, and Rhaegar sent his men to stop it."

"Long live King Rhaegar!"

The next few days were exhausting.

The rogue pyromancers were found as they were about to set up a second explosion, and shot with arrows. Rhaegar appointed Barristan, Gerold, Jaime and Jon Darry to oversee the evacuation of the city. The Kingswood turned into a massive camp for the people of King's Landing, including most of the usual inhabitants of the Red Keep, starting from the kitchen wenches and stable boys and ending with Queen Rhaella herself along with Prince Viserys. Only Rhaegar and his close guard remained in the Red Keep to oversee the operations. The city watch's manpower was divided into two; half of them surveyed the camp to ensure that no murders or rapes or thievery ensued as a result of the chaos, and the other half manned the streets to ensure that the houses and belongings that the King's Landers had left behind were safe. And, of course, they oversaw the pyromancers' evacuation of the wildfire.

The plan to rid the city of the wildfire was simple, and orchestrated by Rhaegar himself: The barrels of wildfire would be loaded into a massive ship, and the ship would be launched into open sea, only manned by a few trustworthy (and very careful) men. When the ship was far enough from the shore, the men would set up an explosion of the wildfire by lighting a tall candle in a pool of it, and evacuate the ship right away in a boat. Should the pyromancers' calculations be correct (and Rhaegar ensured them that they had to be, otherwise they would be drawn and quartered) the men should be far enough from the ship when it explodes, and the ship should be far enough into open sea to not harm anyone.

The day that this evacuation occurred, King Rhaegar stood watch at the port of King's Landing along with a crowd of people who were there to witness the bonfire; the death of this old evil. When the ship exploded, the people cheered, wine was poured, and a celebration was held. Rhaegar was not yet officially crowned, and yet he sat at the high table and heard people toast to his health; a drunk old man from the attendance even presented him with a laurel of white roses and leaves of fragrant basil and rosemary, which Arthur insisted on touching first to ensure there were no thorns. After that, Rhaegar wore it, and chuckled when the crowd repeated "Long may he reign" after the old man. It was not the real coronation, but it made him feel stronger than any high septon or noblemen ever could. Nevertheless, he went back to being solemn shortly after.

The day after the celebration, King Aerys the Second's funeral pyre was held at the sept of Baelor.

The body had been moved to the sept in the dead of night to avoid the angry crowds desecrating it. The silent sisters had their work cut out for them; a large portion of the king's body was charred, including his face, which was beyond recognition.

In funerals of members of House Targaryen, it was customary that the funeral pyre be lit in the center of the sept, with the head pointed towards The Stranger's disfigured statue. After the body was embalmed by the silent sisters, it would be set on fire with a torch held by another member of the house. Rhaegar held the torch, and when he lit the body on fire and watched the last traces of it turn to ash, he looked around to see no one too sorry. Pycelle was dead, and so was Rossart. The remaining members of the guild of pyromancers were all in black cells where they'd die and the secret of the wildfire would die with them. The rest of the king's small council was pretending to stand behind Rhaegar now; but Rhaegar knew that he wouldn't keep any of them for long. As for the other nobles of the court who were in attendance, their faces were respectful, but cold. Rhaegar imagined that they were not very fond of the fact that Aerys had planned to burn them all.

After the funeral, Rhaegar oversaw the restoration of the people of King's Landing to their homes, and then announced that his coronation would be delayed for three weeks, for he needed to travel to Dragonstone and move the belongings of his family into court in order for them to be there when Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys were returned from Dorne. A large crowd of nobles and smallfolk stood to bid farewell to the prince before his journey, but he only took Arthur and a few other men that he trusted from his guard. After all the men were boarded, a five-feet tall wooden box was lifted into the ship, carrying cargo that Rhaegar would have transported to Dragonstone.

The journey took a week at sea that served as time for Rhaegar to process everything that had transpired since the day he landed in King's Landing. The wildfire plot, the lords of Westeros's letters of congratulations to King Rhaegar for stopping the plot from taking place and showing their support, the smallfolk's crowning, and the fire. Oh, Father, the fire most of all. For days on end, Rhaegar's stomach had churned when he remembered the sight of the fire, and when he remembered that he was the one to light it.

Oh, Father Above, forgive me, for I have committed many sins of late. The pyromancers (even the young apprentices) who would all live and die in black cells, Pycelle, Rossart (who was beheaded) and Aerys…

For as long as he had stayed on the ship, Arthur had not spoken a word to him about what had happened, only held him as he tried to sleep until he went calm and slumbered peacefully. On the last night on the ship, right before they reached Dragonstone, Arthur finally asked the question Rhaegar had dreaded.

"Did you do it? Did you kill Aerys?" Arthur whispered, with their heads on the same pillow, looking straight into each other's eyes. "I would understand if you did. He would have killed us all. I would not trust him to be alive."

Rhaegar bit his lip. "Arthur…"

The knight took a deep breath. "If you wish not to speak of it…"

"I do not. I have committed a great crime in the eyes of gods and men, and should it be known, no one would wish me to be king, ever. I sent you away because I wished not to tarnish your honor by having you witness it. You will get a better answer than this soon, but tonight is not the time."

Arthur nodded. "Fine, then." He reached up with his fingers to brush Rhaegar's hair and the back of his neck. The prince eventually fell asleep.

When they woke up, they were on the shore of Dragonstone. Rhaegar and Arthur dressed and met with their men on deck, where the ship was evacuated from men and cargo quickly. Rhaegar was surprised when he found that he had missed Dragonstone; he had missed the grey sand and the heavy walks he had to take in it, he missed the rocks, he missed the fearsome castle and the stone beasts it was made of, he had missed its clear smell and the clean water of its beaches.

In the castle, he ordered breakfast prepared for his men. Arthur insisted hotly that the prince must eat before he would perform any tasks he had come to perform. "Your face is beginning to look like a skeleton," he said. Rhaegar gave him a small smile. "Are you saying I'm ugly?" he asked, bemused.

"No," Arthur replied, "I'm saying if I were your maester, I'd forbid you to move until you've got some flesh on you. You're going to collapse any day, your grace."

At the great hall, Rhaegar sat by Arthur's side and chewed on hard bread absent-mindedly, and Arthur passed him a plate of fried bacon and eggs. "Your grace," he said politely, but his eyes looked at Rhaegar firmly. He smiled and ate. When breakfast was finished, Rhaegar ordered wine brought to the men, and ordered Arthur and two others to finish quickly, for they had a job to do.

Deep beneath the castle, there were tunnels so deep under the earth and so dark that Rhaegar didn't know if anything could survive there. The cells were carved into rocks in the shape of gaping mouths of dragons, waiting to swallow their enemies. Even the spikes that closed the cell doors were shaped like dragons' fangs. If my ancestors have built this with the intention to keep prisoners here, it would have been more merciful to just have them beheaded. But, some prisoners, he knew, deserved no such mercy.

The two men accompanying him and Arthur carried the five-feet tall box that was their cargo from King's Landing. When Rhaegar entered one cell, they all entered behind him and dropped the box on the floor, gently. Arthur looked at Rhaegar in confusion still. "Ser Arthur, please light the fireplace. And you," he pointed towards one of the two other men. "Open the box, please." Rhaegar ordered. While Arthur lit the fire with two stones left near the wood for use, the man took out of his pocket a key and opened the lock that kept the box shut. When he was done, the front side of the box fell, and revealed its content.

"All of you, please leave, but stand nearby for when I call on you," Rhaegar said. "I would like a private audience with my father."

Aerys was bound by the hands and feet and gagged. Before putting him in the box, Rhaegar had forced him to bathe: "You're going to further rot in there," he said to the old man during his imprisonment in Maegor's Holdfast. He had kicked and screamed while his two loyal guards carried out Rhaegar's every order, but he had no other choice. If people were to know he was alive, they were to kill him slowly, and seven hells with all the laws of gods and men.

But his face… his face was one of the things that gave Rhaegar nightmares since that night.

Rhaegar would not have his father be recognizable, and so, he had had his face disfigured. With a hot knife, he had ordered his father's face carved almost all the way across, and several scars were placed on different parts of his face. His hair and nails were cut, and he was stripped of his House Targaryen garb and placed in robes. As for Grand Maester Pycelle… he took the king's place, the king's clothes, and the fate that the king deserved, and only did not get because Rhaegar was too afraid to kill his own father.

Beneath the gag, Aerys was making muffled, choking voices; in the past week or so, he had been trying to scream, until he lost his voice. There was no use. Rhaegar had confined him in a lone cabin as far from the other men as possible, and the gag and box muffled his voice enough.

"You know, father, Lord Varys was brought here in exactly this manner. My dear friends Doran and Oberyn Martell have had him brought to me, delivered in a box like this one, and he was delivered by my mute friend also. But he died, father. Quite quickly; I'm not fond of torture, and he was only looking out for his own good, like most of us are. But you…" Rhaegar's fist closed so forcefully his fingers hurt. "You hurt my mother, and you almost hurt my brother. You almost killed my children. You almost killed Arthur, and you almost burned my city, my people."

"You see, with Varys, I also removed his gag and let him answer me; explain his crimes. I asked him: Why, Lord Varys? Why did you support an obvious madman? Why not help me ascend the throne and save the realm from his folly? Why did you let him hurt all of those people, and help him do so? Did he know, father? About the wildfire, that is? I imagine he did. But you… I doubt you have any explanation that a sane man could swallow."

"Before I go, let me ease any fears you might have about the future of our house. I will rule Westeros. I will do all that is in my power to erase your legacy. I will end the tradition of incest and I will ally the Targaryens with the paramount houses of the realm by marriage. My son will marry a Stark or a Baratheon, most like, my daughter a Tully, and Viserys will marry another princess of Dorne. They will grow to be strong and kind and worthy of what a Targaryen should be. My children are half Dornish, and I am proud of them, as is Dorne. When we set that ship on fire, we set the past of our house on fire also; we will no longer isolate ourselves and rule from a superior place; we will rule because we will deserve to rule, and I will make sure that my son is worthy of ruling, and that he teaches his son to so be, and his son teaches his son… and House Targaryen will be a strong and fair dynasty till the end of days. But that is of no concern to you, is it? You almost burned half a million Westerosi alive. You care naught for the good of the realm. You are no dragon, father, you are little more than a serpent. Ser Arthur," Rhaegar called, "Come and bring your companions."

When they arrived, Rhaegar pointed towards one of them. "Let me introduce you to my good friend here, father. I do not know his name. He is mute. And I'm sure you're familiar with Ser Ilyn Payne. One day, you cut out his tongue because he said something you didn't like. Today, Ser Ilyn will return the courtesy. Ser Ilyn, heat your dagger in the fire."

Aerys stared at Rhaegar in horror. Apparently, he doesn't mind being burned alive, but having his tongue cut out inconveniences him. Rhaegar returned his father's gaze with a gaze like steel: Sharp, cold, unfeeling.

When Ser Ilyn's blade was finally orange, Rhaegar looked at Arthur. He looked at him because if Arthur's eyes told him not to do it, he will leave the old man alone and be done with it. But Arthur only gave him a slight nod. Rhaegar's eyes went to Ilyn Payne.

"Remove his gag and return his courtesy, Ser Ilyn."

The first few months of Rhaegar's reign went smoothly.

Rhaegar finally got the time he had craved with his mother and brother. Rhaella was hurt, and she would need time to heal. Viserys was a bit quiet; Rhaegar gathered that, because the only other man he knew was so fearful and volatile, he was not quite comfortable around his older brother. So, Rhaegar decided to take him training with him in the yard to carry swords, and made sure to constantly be reassuring. He would tell him not to be afraid, pat his shoulders and his face tenderly, and laugh with him. Eventually, Viserys had warmed up to him and would even start their conversations when they met. Arthur also did his best with Viserys; Rhaegar noticed. He later exchanged letters with Lord Mace to arrange for his mother and brother to go and stay at Highgarden for a bit; the beauty of the reach was healthy for them, after months of imprisonment with a madman.

The coronation went well. Rhaegar had found that he did not look forward to it, but did not particularly dread it either. It was merely one more task; just another day. But after the crowd chanted "Long may he reign," Arthur turned around to him and gave him a look that made his blood run heated and his heartbeat quicken.

As promised, Rhaegar dismissed Lord Chelsted and appointed Jon Arryn as his hand. Most of his father's small council was dismissed and replaced. When the new master of whisperers, Oberyn Martell, arrived to King's Landing, he had expressed his satisfaction with Rhaegar living up to his part of the bargain. "Why, your grace," Oberyn had smiled and said, when Rhaegar invited him to a private setting, "You have done well. Certainly my brother is happy with the match with Prince Viserys. Should he grow up to be a capable man like you, my niece will be a lucky woman."

Rhaegar smiled back. "I'm glad I did not disappoint. May our friendship last for as long as our names remain on this earth. For my brave and kind wife, your sister."

Earlier that day, Rhaegar had received Rhaenys and Aegon in the castle yard. He had held Rhaenys and spun her around, both of them chuckling, and then he kissed her hair. It smelled of roses. She held on to him, tying her arms around his neck, and telling him stories of the Water Gardens. Of Arianne, Nymeria, Tyene, Prince Doran…

"Uncle Oberyn assured me that he will teach me how to carry a spear."

Rhaegar smiled. "Ser Arthur and I will be responsible for the sword part of your training, then, I suppose."

Aegon, he had grown just a tiny bit. His head felt more solid when Rhaegar slightly pressed on it, and his eyes could open wider. When Rhaegar held him to his chest, he was so calm. After that, the royal children were taken to meet their grandmother, the queen, who embraced them just as tenderly, told Rhaenys sweet stories, and introduced Viserys to them. Viserys seemed to think that Rhaenys was young and silly, but he played with her and corrected her silliness nonetheless.

Weeks after that, Rhaegar found himself in need of some time alone, and "alone" meant him and Arthur, for there was nowhere in the world where Rhaegar could feel at peace without him. Without Arthur, the prince had felt as if he were missing a part of himself, rather than simply being without a friend or even a lover. Before leaving to Summerhall, Rhaegar had opened his drawer to give a look of farewell to the box of black wood with the three-headed dragon on it. He opened it, and caressed Elia's lock of hair gently. "The children are safe," he whispered. "I hope wherever you are, you are not further disappointed in me."

They lay on their backs on the cool marble floor, which eventually warmed up under their skin. The roof of the great hall of Summerhall had fallen; that's how destructive the fire that came with Rhaegar's birth was. Nevertheless, the stars had made him feel at peace. He had once read a book by a maester whose name he had forgotten, that theorized that the stars were faraway planets that burned with fires so hot they shone at us as such. Rhaegar wondered if one day, the same will come of this planet. He hoped it was not while he and his children and their children lived.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked him.

Rhaegar smiled. "I'm thinking that the stars look like your eyes. You?"

"I am thinking that I might never know what you truly think. Whenever I'm thinking of something smart and I think I might be catching up with you, turns out I'm only halfway there. It did not occur to me to replace your father with Pycelle, it did not occur to me to appoint Oberyn master of whisperers… but that is alright, because whatever you end up doing always amazes me."

Your father. The memory of the man troubled him. Arthur read that, and instantly sought to ease his mind. "I know you feel guilty. At lease you did not murder him, and believe me, he deserves to be dead."

"I…" Rhaegar's voice was almost choking. He cleared his throat. "I had to cut his tongue and mutilate his face, to ensure that…"

"I know. To ensure that no one recognizes him, and that he speaks to no one. And I'm telling you this: He deserved worse. I still can't believe Barristan helped you do it, though."

"He is no idiot," Rhaegar replied. "He swore to protect the king, and my father's actions threatened not only himself, but his heirs, his queen, and the entire population of King's Landing. It was him or all of us."

"I'm glad he made the right choice. I didn't want to stand against him."

Rhaegar turned his gaze away from the stars to Arthur. "You know… you do know what I'm thinking. You're always here to tell me not to worry, it's alright, I did well."

"I know enough to love you."

They both smiled and kissed. After they broke the kiss, Rhaegar lay his head on Arthur's arm. Arthur squinted. "You know, you are slowly returning to what you used to look like. Your hair is growing longer again, your face is growing fuller… things are getting better."

Rhaegar snickered, and then took a deep breath. "It is over. My family is no longer in danger. Now my attention can go to other things, such as my own health. I don't want to know how my family would fare with me dead. I still need help with the children, though, especially when my mother goes away to Highgarden. The grand maester says there is a chance she might be pregnant. I don't know which to give more care, my family or the realm. Will you help me?"

"Of course, I will. Now that you are king, you get to command me, your grace."

Rhaegar moaned in protest, and Arthur laughed, and then he stopped laughing. "You are a good king. A kind, fair, wise king, and I vow to serve you with my life." His hand was caressing Rhaegar's chin, and then it went down to his neck, then to his chest, then down under that… "Long may he reign," the knight whispered. Rhaegar laughed, and laughed, and then they kissed, and kissed, and kissed… until all the thirst was gone from them.

The End.