RHAEGAR

The garden of King's Landing's Red Keep was lit with the sun of mid-day. It was peaceful and quiet, except for the gentle strumming of a harp that can be heard faintly by whoever enters the tranquil environment. The fingers of Rhaegar Targaryen ran over the strings of his harp, plucking at certain ones that fit perfectly with the tune he was playing, his low but sweet voice echoing through the bushes and flowers.

The son of Aerys II Targaryen was not like his father in many ways. While the Mad King's skin was brimmed with scabs, and half-healed cuts and grazes from his Iron Throne, the same one that Rhaegar would one day sit upon, Rhaegar's pale skin was smooth and untouched. While his Father's hands looked like claws due to his long and yellow fingernails, his son's were beautifully groomed and manicured to suit his beautiful looks.

The one thing that the Targaryen Prince shared with his Father, his Mother and his little brother Viserys was the dark, indigo eyes and silver hair that all members of the Targaryen Dynasty shared, from his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, who dominated the Seven Kingdoms almost 300 years before, to the latest King of the Targaryens, his father Aerys.

Many men and women thought that Prince Rhaegar was beautiful, not only because he was tall and handsome, but because many saw him to be exceedingly intelligent, with the Young Prince of Dragonstone being somewhat able to excel at anything he put his mind to, and a talented musician, able to woo the hearts of young maidens throughout the Seven Kingdoms. But Rhaegar was also a skilled knight, and relished dueling and fighting in tournaments, whether it be in the melee or on horseback.

While he was well-loved by the people of Westeros, who saw him to be a drastic improvement to his Father, the people who knew Rhaegar saw him as a lot more than an attractive Prince. In fact, many saw him as 'quiet', 'private' and 'bookish' at times. Many of his family members related it to the Prince being affected by the 'Shadow of Summerhall'. Summerhall was the pleasure castle of House Targaryen, located in the Dornish Marches. However, during the rule of Aegon V Targaryen, Summerhall was set alight in a tragic accident which resulted in the deaths of many, including Prince Duncan Targaryen, Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and King Aegon V himself.

Rhaegar was born the same day as the fire, and often returned to the castle alone and walked it's ruined halls, whilst composing songs with his harp whilst he walked. The members of his family that knew that he did it thought of him as melancholic for doing the deed, but Rhaegar did not care for what they thought.

Rhaegar sat in the gardens for a while, composing a tune, something the Prince liked to do in his spare time. But whilst the Prince thought he was alone, oblivious to the presence of someone in the wings of the garden. As Rhaegar plucked the final string for his tune, he placed the harp to one side and rose from his seat, clutching the pommel of his sword with a closed hand. He looked around the garden for a second, before the tall, slender shadow of Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, stepped out into the mid-day sunlight.

"Prince Rhaegar," the Hand of the King also held his blade, but did not seem intent on using it. "I'd like to speak with you, Your Grace."

Rhaegar issues back to the smoothstone he was sat upon, which Tywin nods to and sits down upon, but Rhaegar did not wish to sit, he simply folded his arms and watched the Hand of the King's movements. He wasn't a trusting person, and Tywin knew that, but Rhaegar knew all about Tywin Lannister. He had heard the tales, of how the man had destroyed the Houses of Reyne and Tarbeck, and knew that the Hand was cold, calculating, ruthless, controlling and more.

"What is this about, Lord Paramount?" Rhaegar snapped, sharply.

Tywin simply relaxed his shoulders, like he was trying to somehow unnerve Rhaegar, or so the Prince thought.

"Nothing serious, Your Grace." Tywin grinned as Rhaegar relaxed. "I know that you have sent ravens to the lords of the Realm, all of which I know have sent pledges of allegiance. But what of Martell, if I may ask?"

"You should know that Elia decided to handle that one personally, Lord Lannister. She is returning soon but has sent a rider ahead. Prince Doran's decision is the same as the others, he has pledged allegiance." Rhaegar was calm in his words. He knew that Elia would have convinced her brother to support the King, and so he wondered why Tywin had truly seeked him out.

"I am not troubled by the South, Your Grace." Tywin spoke with authority. "It is the Northern Realms that trouble me, they have made quite an alliance between themselves."

Rhaegar was, again, not troubled by the Tywin's. The houses of Stark, Tully and Arryn may have formed an alliance, indeed, but the likes of Tyrell, Martell and countless more had bent the knee to his Father, so Rhaegar was not phased, they could handle the Northern Realms should they get out of hand and too confident.

"I am not worried, Lord Hand, for I know that your House is conjoined with those, too?"

"Indeed," Tywin grinned slightly and nodded. "My son Jaime is indeed betrothed to Hoster Tully's youngest, Lysa."

Rhaegar's thoughts were true, they had no reason to be troubled, yet Tywin still looked it, and he wondered why. "Then we have no reason to be concerned, do we, Lord Hand?"

Tywin chuckled to himself, before resting his chin on his fist and looking at Rhaegar.

"There is more to them than simple war partners, Your Grace." Tywin grimaced. "They are Great lords, Lord Paramounts of the Realm, should we have to unseat one Dragon, what is stopping them from unseating another?"

And then, Rhaegar understood what Tywin wanted. Many men had grown tired of the Mad King, his insanity becoming more and more out of control with each passing day. There were many decisions that Rhaegar grimaced at of which his Father made, ones that twisted the Prince's stomach into knots. His father made decisions that were the stem of pure madness, and yet no man had the power to stop him, except the ones who were close to him. Tywin's game was the one of deceit, but Rhaegar did not wish to play it.

"It is you who should be worried, Lord Hand." Rhaegar said, picking up his harp and holding it in his arm gracefully. "You have been my Father's Hand for a great many years, one of his most loyal subjects, and yet you plot to overthrow him. This makes me think that you are not as trustworthy as you so believe. Do you truly wish to help me gain my rightful place upon the throne, or will you simply want to use me as a puppet for your own ends?"

Tywin chuckled to himself and gently rested his forehead between his thumb and his index finger, looking down at the ground. When he returned his gaze at Rhaegar, there was nothing but disdain for him. "I have been in service to your family and the crown for many years, for all of which I have watched you grow into the capable young man you are, and I have watched your Father's slow descent into madness, like so many rulers before him. You are the King that the Realm needs, Your Grace. But no, trust no man, not even I. Whether you like it or not, your Grace, you are now playing the dangerous Game of Thrones."

"Very well, Lord Hand." Rhaegar said, beginning to walk off out of the Garden, before stopping on the small steps, where Tywin could still see him, and Rhaegar could see Tywin. "You have proven your point. But should we wish to commit dishonorable treason, we are going to need more than a few lords. I shall have to speak more to Oswell Whent about the tourney of Harrenhal that his brother might hold, for it would be the perfect place for us."

And with that, Tywin chuckled and nodded, before Rhaegar grinned and left the Garden, leaving the Hand to his own thoughts and ideas.