IMPORTANT: This fic will no longer be updated on this site. New chapters will be posted on Archive of Our Own only. Further information is in the author's note of the last chapter posted here. Thank you.

TIMELINE NOTE: This story begins around the time that Rhaegar would have been fighting Robert at the Trident. The main canon divergence that sets everything off is that Rhaegar DOESN'T fight Robert there, so he does not die at the same time as his canon counterpart. And then my fic branches from there.

WARNINGS FOR: The Mad King Aerys and everything that comes with him, including abuse and rape.

Prologue - Viserys

The shadows hid Viserys quite well, and he tried not to giggle. The cooks were right there, yet they couldn't see him! Viserys crouched lower, inching toward the candied limes his sister Elia had shipped in from Dorne. They sat on the counter, just waiting to be stolen. Usually his friend-servant Ryn would sneak him treats from the kitchens, but he hadn't seen her in days, not since she'd accidentally served him and his mother vanilla pudding that'd made them sick. So he'd take these himself.

Viserys snatched several handfuls of limes, stuffed them in his satchel, and ran to his bedchamber. When he found Ryn, he'd share some with her, after he gave some to Mother and Rhaenys, of course. Mother always smiled for him, but she looked so sad when she thought he wouldn't notice. But she loved Dornish fruits; perhaps they would cheer her. If she never knew he'd stolen them, of course. And if he was set on marrying Rhaenys someday, he had to bestow her with gifts, didn't he?

A million years later, Viserys made it to his bedchamber. It used to be closer, right next to Mother's, but Mother moved him nearly a whole wing away after that night when the smell of ash swallowed up the halls, and Father had come into her room. He said things that Viserys couldn't decipher through the wall, but he sounded excited, like he did whenever he spoke to Viserys of dragons and fire. Then there was a lot of thumping, and Mother's bed creaking, and Father's laughing, and Mother had screamed and cried. The morning after, the servants moved his room far away from Mother's, and then it was Viserys's turn to scream and cry, but no one paid heed to his anguish, not even Mother.

To this day, Viserys couldn't understand why Mother didn't want him to hear her spending time with Father. He hardly ever saw them together, so it had been nice to hear, even though he didn't exactly know what they were doing. He figured Father had been jumping on the bed, to the point where it'd distressed Mother – she hated when Viserys jumped on his own bed, after all. Or perhaps he was teasing Mother with scary stories. Father seemed to like scary stories. Once, when Viserys had snuck into Father's solar to show him a drawing he'd made of the two of them riding dragons with Rhaegar, Father was sitting at his desk, muttering to himself about demons. He looked frightened. He was so deep into his imagination that he hadn't even noticed that Viserys was there.

Ser Jaime, who was the only one in the room besides them, was frightened, too, which shocked Viserys – Ser Jaime was his favorite Kingsguard, besides Ser Arthur anyway, and he hadn't thought the lion knight was capable of being afraid. Or perhaps he was just pretending to be so for Father's sake. But he'd looked so nervous when Viserys went near Father. Viserys knew Father was only playing Pretend, and he'd told Ser Jaime so. With a touch, Viserys brought his father out of his pretending, and he looked so happy to see him. Because I saved him from the demons. He'd liked Viserys's drawing, too. Viserys wished he could be with Father more, but Mother rarely let him. Viserys thought it was because Mother was jealous, and wanted him all to herself, which Viserys didn't mind overmuch. He wanted Mother to himself, too.

Viserys hid his satchel underneath his pillow. The servants had already cleaned his room; no one would find it there.

The door opened. "Little Prince?" It was Sia. Besides Ryn, she was his friend-servant, too. "Oh, thank the gods, you've returned. Where were you?"

Viserys snuck a lime out from his pillow and gave it to her. "That's where, and you mustn't tell. Why were you looking for me?"

"Your brother, the Prince Rhaegar, has arrived earlier than expected and –"

"Where is he?" Viserys asked, nearly yelling. He bounced up and down, grinning. "Are you taking me to him?"

Sia smiled. "I must dress you for court, first." She put him in his finest garb, the darkened deerskin boots Rhaegar gifted him for his last nameday, and a black velvet doublet with a red cape that draped over one shoulder. Colors of the Dragon. "I caught a look at the prince," Sia said. "He wore his cape just like this. You'll be matching." Viserys grinned even harder at that.

Viserys and Sia made their way to the throne room, hand in hand. He wanted to run, but that was unbecoming for a prince, so he didn't. He hadn't seen his brother in so long. It was exciting enough for Elia, Rhaenys, and his new nephew Aegon to be there, but Rhaegar was something else entirely. And he was early. Viserys couldn't be happier.

Sia sucked on the last of the lime as they walked. "My thanks, Little Prince."

Viserys shrugged. "I want to give some to Ryn, too. Have you seen her?"

For a quick breath, Sia's grip on his hand tightened. Viserys looked up at her, concerned.

"I cannot say that I have, Little Prince," she said.

Before Viserys could even comprehend that, they were at the throne room's doors. The room was just as vast as it always was, the dark, gloomy walls glowing in morning sunlight shining through massive windows with draping, crimson curtains. A throng of lords and ladies swelled up all the space, but nothing overcame the looming presence of the dragon skulls on the wall, watching over them with empty eyes. Viserys stared at them in awe. He had seen them countless times before, but they never grew less glorious.

Not too long after they stepped through, Mother was there to collect him. She looked so pretty, as always. All purple, wearing lavender and a silver crown of dragons in flight. She made her way to him, arms open.

"There you are, my Dragon," she said. She wrapped a tiny arm around his shoulder, brought him to her hip. The ends of her wavy silver hair tickled his cheek. He'd so loved to play with those tresses, hide behind them when he was younger.

"Is Rhaegar here? Truly?" he asked her.

Mother smiled, her purple eyes warm. "He is. We must greet him." She offered her arm, and he held it as a prince holds a queen. She thanked Sia, then led him toward the front, near the Iron Throne. The crowd of lords and ladies parted for them like the clouds did for dragons.

Beyond the crowd was the Kingsguard. Only two of them were there. Ser Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell stood across from each other, leaving a pathway for Viserys and Mother to walk through. They took their place, on the right side of the throne. Then, the King arrived.

He strode through in the blackest robe, a red sash around his waist, a rope of rubies resting over his long, silver-gold beard. His crown of golden dragons shone brighter than the sun, his light purple eyes twinkling underneath it. Red and black rings glistened on his fingers. Viserys wondered how he was able to put them on without breaking his nails, so long they curved at the ends, yellow and sharp. His dragon's claws. Briefly, Viserys wondered if Rhaegar would grow claws when he became king, but the thought vanished as Father passed him. Viserys stood up straighter, hoping his father would notice him, but he never did. His eyes were trained on the throne, and though that hurt Viserys, he knew he couldn't blame him.

Ser Jaime was not too far behind Father, guarding him as he walked. While Father ascended the throne, climbing the endless stairs, Ser Jaime stood at the foot of it. He looked the same as Viserys did whenever he had to hear a lesson that wasn't about dragons: bored and dreaming. He caught Viserys's eye though, and winked at him. Viserys smiled back.

Father reached the seat of the throne and sat upon it, waiting for his heir to make his entrance. Not for the first time, Viserys basked in the heaping majesty of the Iron Throne, the blackness of its endless blades glistening in the morning light. He would never sit in it himself, but perhaps Rhaegar would appoint him his Hand of the King one day, or if not Rhaegar, his little nephew Aegon would. I'm older than him, and he'll be my king. I'll have to protect him, just as I will Rhaenys.

A commotion took the room, and Viserys knew Rhaegar had arrived. He turned his head toward the entrance, looked past the crowd, and there his brother was. He stood besides his wife, Princess Elia, who held little Aegon. Rhaegar held Rhaenys, and Sia was right, their clothes were matching. Rhaegar wore a black doublet similar to his, his red cape draped over one shoulder. His white hair hung in a loose ponytail, strands dangling beside his face, bright against his indigo eyes. He stood tall, strong, unreal, and Viserys hoped he would look that grand, someday.

Rhaegar and his family made their way to the front, and the usual greetings of court occurred; quick kisses across the cheek, nods, smiles. Elia was the first to greet Viserys, holding his face in her frail, brown hands, and as Viserys smiled at his sister, he wondered again why Rhaegar did not make her his Queen of Love and Beauty. Frail as she was, she was still quite lovely, with her dark, curly hair, even darker eyes, and smooth copper skin. And she loved Rhaegar so, Viserys knew it. But Rhaegar was much smarter than his little brother, so Viserys stopped questioning it. He stroked the soft, pale hair of sleeping Aegon's head, then Elia went to stand beside Mother.

Somewhere along the way, his sweet Rhaenys had wiggled out of her father's arms. She ran to Viserys as fast as her little legs could carry her. He hugged her, squeezed her tight, kissed her all over soft, pretty face as she giggled.

"I missed you so," he whispered into her black curls that were just like her mother's.

"Me too," she said.

He let her out of the embrace, but didn't let go of her soft, tiny hand. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Father shift in his throne, and Viserys looked up to see him frowning at both of them. We made too big of a scene in public. Viserys bowed his head in shame and let go of his niece's hand. He should've known better.

A finger tilted his chin up. A frown formed on Viserys's face, but it vanished as soon as he saw who it was.

"Viserys," said Rhaegar, voice as gentle and smooth as Viserys remembered it. "I see you've been poking around my wardrobe." The smallest smile tugged at his lips. Those who didn't know Rhaegar wouldn't have even seen it.

"Or perhaps you've been sneaking through mine," Viserys said.

The quietest little chuckle left his brother. "Perhaps. It's far more dashing on you, I fear." He placed a hand on the back of Viserys's neck, his thumb brushing against his ear. Then he held him close.

"It is good to see you, Little Brother," he said, and the smile that Viserys had been holding in split across his face so wide that it hurt.

After that, it became somewhat boring. Other lords greeted Rhaegar, then finally, Rhaegar and Elia bowed before their king. Mentions of the war came up, and Viserys couldn't follow most of it. Not that it mattered. The rebels stood no match for his brother; he'd do away with them soon.

"Prince Rhaegar has returned to us, for the time being," said Father, voice echoing throughout the entire room. "It is good to see he and his heir well. The rebels would see them and my family harmed, but they will not stand long. We are not so easily thwarted. Nor are we weak enough to fall to their pitiful attempts at subterfuge." He sat back in his throne, and with each moment that passed, he looked angrier. "A few days past, an assassination attempt was made against the Prince Viserys and Rhaella, my Queen, with the foulest of poisons, placed in their food. But poison cannot fall a dragon, and so they stand before you now. Even so, such treason cannot go unpunished."

Poisoning? Viserys frowned at his father's words. He didn't remember being poisoned a few days ago. There was the pudding he and Mother had gotten sick from, but the milk in it was spoiled, that was all. They were only in bed a day, nowhere near to be dying. Viserys looked up at Mother, giving her a questioning look. But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were trained on Father, suspicious and hard.

Father motioned to his gold cloaks, and they brought a girl in. She was covered in filth, shaking with fright, her head hung low, her body weighed down by chains. They threw her down before the king. She looked up at him, brown eyes filled with tears, and Viserys knew her. Ryn.

No. Father was mistaken. Ryn was Viserys's friend, one of Mother's best servants … she would never hurt – she wouldn't –

"You stand accused of attempted murder, of high treason," Father said, face twisted in a sneer. "Do you deny it?"

Ryn was trembling. "Yes, Your Grace, please. I've served your family since I was a girl, like my mother and hers before her. I love Prince Viserys and Queen Rhaella. I'd never hurt –"

"Lies!" Father screeched. "That pudding you served was tainted enough to weaken two dragons. Mere spoiled milk could do no such thing."

Mother squeezed Viserys's shoulders. "Your Grace," she said, "Surely there must be some sort of trial put into place before judgment is passed for such a serious crime. Ryn has faithfully served me for years, as did her mother. She has earned the right to –"

"Her treachery has earned her naught but death," Father snapped, "And queens have no knowledge of law; only birthing heirs."

Rhaegar stepped forward. Yes, thought Viserys, save her, it wasn't her, it wasn't her. "I know the law, Father," he began, "Perhaps we could –"

Father raised a silencing hand. "The Prince of Dragonstone was not here. He does not know. And he is not king." His pale purple eyes looked down at Ryn, and Viserys had never seen such hatred. "I'll not tolerate rebel scum in my kingdom. My dear cousin Robert will burn as well, but first, you."

A scream formed in Viserys's soul, stormed through his entire being, but Mother trapped it behind her trembling hands, pressed over his mouth.

"Be silent and go," she said. Then she pushed him away from her, into the crowd, and Sia clutched him into her arms, fled through the servant's entrance.

Viserys screamed, screeched and roared, a dragon, a mad, heartbroken dragon. He clawed at Sia as she ran, bit her, fought to be free, to run back to his friend, tell Father of the mistake, but even through her blood and tearing flesh, Sia pressed on, carried him to his chambers, held him as his tears drowned him, as he cried, as he feared. The soft silks on his bed soaked up his tears, Sia's bruised body underneath his as she cradled him. Soon his agony exhausted him, and he let Sia's heartbeat lull him as silent, shallow sleep took him.

When Viserys awakened in the dead of night, the world smelled of ash, and Viserys understood far more than he ever wished to.