So this is something I've been sitting on for a while. I wrote it about a year ago and just now found it. It was originally meant to be a oneshot, but your average oneshot isn't some-odd thousand words. So this is really more of a novella that I broke up into healthy-sized chunks. Enjoy, with the warning that this is unfinished and will probably stay that way.
Rhaegar Targaryen was a proud man, an honorable, scholarly man. He was esteemed in battle, and respected in Westeros. Many a man thought that he would be the best king to ever grace the Iron Throne.
But many a man before Rhaegar had lost his wits when confronted with utmost beauty.
The first time the Prince of Dragonstone truly saw Lyanna Stark was at Harrenhal's Tourney. As he and the other competitors walked, rode, or ran into the jousting arena to show off their houses and size up competition, he saw her.
When the herald announced "Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, First of His Name," the crowd at Harrenhal roared with love and loyalty. Rhaegar was intelligent enough to know that half of them were likely in their cups already, but he took the compliment anyways.
His roar had been louder than that of Robert Baratheon's, who had just walked into the arena, sword in hand. The heir to Storm's End would only be competing in the melee.
So as Rhaegar rode into the arena from behind the pavilion on his black gelding, cloaked in silks of red Targaryen fire, he felt like a better man. The people he stood to inherit loved him, he had been told that he made a most menacing silhouette on his mount, and women all over the realm fell at his feet in ardor.
His own wife, Elia of Dorne was seated high in the center stands, in a place of honor. He looked up at her and made brief eye contact; their marriage was in its early stages, fresh and new even as he had gotten her with a babe on their wedding night. Targaryens were strong, and he needed an heir.
At that time, Rhaegar had felt it as more of a duty than an act of love.
Powerful and comely, her family had more influence over the land than King Aerys had liked, so he combined their houses with a contract of marriage. The rational part of his mind new that Elia was a good match, a great match even, and King Aerys would do anything to strengthen his hold on Westeros.
That same rational part of Rhaegar's brain snapped off as his gelding reared up and he saw her.
She leaned precariously over the balcony for a lady, stooping down to tie a favor to the arm of her betrothed, Robert Baratheon. Her dark northern hair framed her face in a way that Rhaegar found so incredibly beautiful that he stopped and stared.
Robert himself was jeering up at Rhaegar, slowly lowering the sword that had been pointed at Rhaegar's horse to keep their distance.
"Watch where you trot, Targaryen!" Robert shouted loudly up at him from the ground. "We wouldn't want the Dragonprince to fall from his horse before the joust has even begun!"
Rhaegar was too fixated by the ice-blue dress she wore that so exactly matched the color of her eyes for politeness. He met eyes that were staring up at him, curiously icy yet warm at the same time.
Rhaegar tore his gaze from that of Lyanna Stark's, and managed to reply to Robert.
"Watch your own step, lord. The last I checked, my horse was bigger than you, and we wouldn't want to leave you a trampled smear in the dirt." Rhaegar threw his cloak aside, revealing armor the color of red dragonfire.
"Though I'm sure your Lady of Winterfell would mourn your loss most beautifully." Rhaegar once again locked his gaze with Lyanna as he spoke the last part.
"You won't be needing to ruffle your crimson feathers on my account, Prince. Baratheon men are stronger even than we look." Robert raised his eyebrows sardonically, trying to prod Rhaegar into reacting poorly.
"Any feathers of mine are those of a dragon's scales; yours are the arrogant boasts of a peacock, which raise and deflate like breeze through ships' sails." Spoke Rhaegar lyrically.
The Prince of Dragonstone heard the herald announce another lordling from behind, and decided that they had created enough of a block in the path that their interruption would surely be noticed if they did not move.
Rhaegar guided his gelding around Robert, giving his not-quite-enemy a nod.
Lyanna Stark still had one hand resting on the edge of the balcony, where she had watched the prince and her betrothed with intent interest.
As he approached her, she curtsied deeply as custom dictated, but he sensed that she was uncomfortable with the movement.
"Prince," she spoke softly, with a voice like windchimes and winter storms all in one. "A thousand lucks to you in your joust."
Unlike many of the other ladies at the tourney, Lyanna Stark did not wear gloves to rid her hands of the potential messes. He took her uncovered left hand boldly and brought it to his lips.
A small intake of breath was the only sign that Lyanna had reacted to him at all. When he looked up through the drooping silver-gold locks of his hair to her face, she returned his gaze intensely.
He kissed the back of her hand carefully, reverently, and smiled into it when he felt horseriding calluses on the underside of it.
"You have my thanks, kind Lady Stark. A thousand lucks and more to you as well."
And ignoring the astonished looks of her septa and Robert Baratheon, as well as half the crowd, Rhaegar Targaryen took his lap around the crowded arena to louder cheer than he had heard before.
*break*
It was midmorning, and Rhaegar had already won one of his victories in the joust, defeating Lord Yohn Royce in the first round. He looked around the crowd, searching afterwards, hoping to irrationally see Lady Lyanna in the crowd cheering for him.
The thought was ridiculous, he knew, but her gaze had been so open, so truthful, that he felt a reckless need to prove himself to her. The deep yearning he felt to see her tried to overpower him, but he controlled it and focused on his ruby hilted lance.
When he learned that the melee had started at the same time as the joust and she was like to be watching Robert, he found his wife and father in the crowd and acknowledged them.
Targaryen family loyalty went far back, farther back than his strange infatuation with Lyanna Stark, and Rhaegar was thoughtful enough to know that.
Nothing was worth giving up his family and dishonoring his name, Rhaegar would be good to remember.
At the feast after the other jousters had completed their rounds, Rhaegar found himself seated in between Elia and Aerys, on his father's right hand.
The dinner and feast were nothing if not cordial, but awkward if not pleasant. The food was fine, and the wine kept flowing freely. Many of the men around them were drunk already, and they were only on the third course.
Robert Baratheon had done well in the melee today, his team had advanced into the next round as Rhaegar had.
The Dragonprince was struck with the foolish notion that he hoped the joust and melee were not the same time again. He wanted Lyanna to be able to watch both, knowing that she was likely the only woman in the Kingdom who would pick Robert Baratheon over himself.
Lady Lyanna sat across from her betrothed, watching him slowly drink himself sleepy. She was not stinting on the wine herself, as it was her third cup by his count.
Rhaegar found that the northern woman's ability to hold her liquor was attractive to him, more so than his own wife's light tolerance.
Lyanna was wedged in between her older brother Brandon and her younger brother Eddard. Neither Lord Rickard, nor her septa was present. Benjen, the youngest Stark was seated off to the side, conversing animatedly with another squire. The male family members would be her guard, he realized, along with a few members of her household. Rhaegar found this a stark contrast to his own guard, which was composed of at least fifty men at arms. King Aerys was ever-cautious.
The musicians started up a song, lively and fast-paced, the kind favored for dancing. Rhaegar looked around eagerly, for dancing was one of the things that he had put his mind to and excelled at.
He noticed Lyanna's wine-brightened face light up as well, and her brother Brandon pulled her up to dance as she laughed.
Rhaegar turned to his lady wife sitting at his side. "Would you care to dance, my love?"
Rhaegar propositioned her with his eyes, they hadn't danced since their wedding five moons ago. Elia, knowing how he loved it, obliged.
As he led his wife down to the dancefloor, Rhaegar noticed that Eddard Stark had left the table as well, and now was dancing with the lovely Lady Ashara Dayne. The pair seemed quite comfortable with each other, an unusual occurrence, as Ned was generally the quiet type.
However, as melodious peals of laughter reached his ears, it would appear that his sister was not the quiet type at all.
Brandon spun Lyanna in his arms, and she nearly flew threw the air as they moved, she was so light. The enticing sounds of her laughter made Rhaegar draw Elia into the middle of the dance floor, near to the swirling pair.
As the royals began to dance, Rhaegar tried to make himself concentrate on the woman in his arms, the woman that was bearing his child. He succeeded for the most part, when he put his mind to a subject.
Ignoring Lyanna Stark was soon to be the hardest subject he had ever studied, and it was not made easier when the music changed ten minutes later.
The crowd recognized the tune in which dancers frivolously switched partners, and swarmed to the floor. Rhaegar found himself pressed against Brandon Stark's back as the music drew more to the dance.
Rhaegar prepared himself with a thrill. He knew that being so close to the Stark brothers and their respective partners meant that they would all switch several times. Rhaegar knew that his meant that he would get to dance with beautiful Lyanna.
He felt his heart race and his blood began to burn inside of him. Rhaegar temporarily forgot the face of Elia of Dorne as he danced in the feast hall. He danced like he never had before, and once more he felt the irrational need to please the woman that he had met once, and hardly knew.
The first switch saw Elia to Brandon, Ashara to Rhaegar, and Lyanna to Ned. Rhaegar could not deny that Ashara Dayne was a fine figure of a woman, but he was struck by something haunting in her purple eyes that made him feel eerie.
Ashara was a great dancer however, and as nervous as she seemed around him, Rhaegar managed to get her to crack a small smile as they spun. She moved like water, fluid and soft in his hands, and molded into the more complex moves of the dance like she had a thousand times before.
When the partners switched once again, Rhaegar almost grabbed Lyanna out of Ned's arms in anticipation. However, he managed not to do so, and even kept his face in what he hoped was an inquisitive look.
"We meet again, prince." Lyanna said as Rhaegar placed his hands on her slender waist and twirled her around him.
Rhaegar smiled. "They say when a beautiful woman remembers you, a god is smiling bright: it helps smaller men of smaller deeds sleep through the night."
Lyanna laughed. "I doubt there are many men who would compare my memory to a god's bliss, Prince Rhaegar."
Inside he was burning. His wishes had evolved, and Rhaegar found himself consumed by the urge to touch her.
"My lady," he replied. "I pity the poor beast that craves for your glance from afar, ever wanting, never earning,."
They danced for moments more, twirling gracefully, before Rhaegar chose to break the silence.
"I had heard that you r betrothed did well in the melee today. Is this true?"
Lyanna Stark blushed, and Rhaegar felt a strange satisfaction that she was not as smitten with Robert as the latter was with her.
"Robert did well in the melee, yes." Lyanna said. "He defeated many foes, including his old teacher, Jon Arryn."
Rhaegar raised his silvery-blonde brows. "And so the pupil bests the very hand that taught him," he said with a smirk.
Lyanna nodded, and they continued their dance. Rhaegar was an excellent dancer; he had spent two days when he was thirteen locked in his room poring over steps and trying until his feet ached.
Lyanna's dark northern hair waved gently around her temples in the slipstream of their dance, and Rhaegar couldn't help but notice. Defined cheekbones, a perfect nose, and full, red lips made up her face. The daughter of Winterfell had piercing blue eyes that could stake the soul, framed contrastingly in long, delicate lashes.
Lyanna looked up from the place where she had found Robert in the crowd, half in his cups and half into a song, to meet Rhaegar's eyes.
Caught mid-stare, Rhaegar smiled abashedly.
Lyanna smiled herself, and gave Rhaegar an approving glance of her own. The smile that stretched her full lips was filled with mischief.
"And you, Prince Targaryen?" she asked innocently. "How did you fare in today's events?"
"Well. I unhorsed Lord Royce this morning. I believe it was at the same time as the m—" Rhaegar broke off, seeing Lyanna smile broadly.
"What are you laughing at?" He inquired curiously, slightly awed by the gleam of her white teeth, set like pearls into her mouth.
Lyanna stuck her chin at him, and made her tone mockingly condescending. "Of course you won, Lord Prince of Dragonstone!"
Rhaegar widened his eyes. "Are you implying that Lord Royce let me win?"
The Stark woman grinned devilishly, at that moment reminding Rhaegar very much of the direwolf her house was symbolized by.
"Royce and every other jouster that you've faced." She answered. "Have you ever lost a tilt, Prince?"
Rhaegar thought back a few years, realizing that since he had learned to joust, he had seldom lost a match.
"My father beat me once." Rhaegar said, saving face.
Lyanna laughed, a rich, luring sound, and Rhaegar found himself drawing closer to her unconsciously.
"And all this time, I suppose you thought you were the finest horseman in Westeros, didn't you?" Lyanna mocked him playfully.
Rhaegar could not seem to keep himself from smiling at Lyanna and her humors, even though they were at his expense.
"You have not seen me joust, lady. I am indeed the best in the realm, you'll see."
"And what makes you think that I will watch you?" Lyanna asked indignantly. "I think I would choose instead to watch my betrothed in the melee over you, Prince or not."
"Ah, but you will pick me. I'm near as sure of that as the mournful moon above our heads."
Lyanna raised a dark eyebrow. "However do you know?"
Rhaegar smiled, and knowingly raised an eyebrow. "Well, we're still dancing, aren't we?"
And they were. Rhaegar and Lyanna still twirled and moved on the dance floor, amid different couples than had previously been there. The dance that had initially put them together had changed; the song had switched to a sadder, sweeter melody. Her two brothers and Elia were nowhere to be seen.
Lyanna stopped moving entirely and slid out of Rhaegar's arms.
"My lady?" he asked, confused.
Lyanna looked embarrassed for a moment before she spoke, but then grew angry.
"It's not exactly appropriate, is it?" The rhetorical rushed out of her mouth into the air.
Rhaegar creased his brow. "Dancing is hardly cause for moral qualms, Lady Lyanna."
"In this case it is." Lyanna looked down at Rhaegar's hands that still held hers softly.
"You're a crown prince, recently married and expecting your first heir. I am newly betrothed."
Rhaegar searched her eyes, trying to find any regret in them, of which he could see none.
"And yet we dance." He stated.
"And yet, we danced." Lyanna corrected.
Lyanna Stark loosened her grip in Rhaegar's hands and moved to turn away, to go back to Robert who was drinking even more wine.
But Rhaegar tightened his hold on her hands and silently drew her back to him.
Then, for the second time that day, he placed his lips tenderly against the skin of her hand and kissed her. Her skin was soft, and she smelled of winter roses, a fact he hadn't noticed before then. Bowing his head over her fingers, he let his lips brush briefly over them before he let go.
Lyanna Stark sighed and walked away, leaving Rhaegar Targaryen partnerless in the middle of the dancefloor.