283 a.c.
The months pass and I grow larger with each day. I am self-conscious of my body, aware that it is more difficult to be held and make love to with my protruding stomach. Rhaegar notices my discomfort and compliments me constantly, showering me with affection.
One afternoon, he disappears, claiming the need to visit the neighboring village for supplies. He leaves me with one of his Kingsguard, the other accompanying the Prince to the village. They are our only company besides each other. I find Ser Oswell, the one who remains with me, to be crass, but amusing at times. His stories entertain me, but he leaves a sour thought in my mind whenever I remember Mary and his unkindness toward her. He's made amends by running errands for me, bringing me food that I desperately craved for in the middle of the night.
I wander about our tower, feeling alone and craving for my husband to return. Husband. Even now, months after being married, I still find it difficult to believe. The Crown Prince of Westeros, heir to the throne, married me, a Stark of Winterfell. I squeal in delight like a little girl with a new doll whenever I think of it.
However, in the same thought, I also remember his wife and two children in King's Landing and I grow weary. We will have to emerge from hiding eventually, and then what will happen? My family will disown me, surely. The people of Westeros will no sooner accept me as their queen as they would accept a long and harsh winter.
I slump into a chair at the table and pluck a book from Rhaegar's stack. There is no title, so I open it and curiously scan its contents. The more I read, the more confused I am.
Thousands of years ago, in the old land of Valyria, a prophecy was read, detailing the coming of a prince that was promised. In the prophecy, this prince is born with the blood of the dragon. He is to be of the House Targaryen and born beneath a bleeding star. With his return, dragons will return and darkness will be conquered.
I stare at the page for a moment before turning it to read on. The rest of the book is notes, scribbles detailing one's thoughts. It doesn't take me long to realize that I'm reading the personal thoughts of my lord husband. What he writes about—details of myself, of the prophecy, of his wife and children, of our marriage thus far—the words blur together and I can no longer comprehend them.
I'm nearly on the seventh page when Rhaegar enters the tower. In his arms are a new dress and a cloth bag full of the foods I often crave. I look up at him slowly, anger boiling in my blood. His smile falls as he see what I'm holding. He drops the food and the dress carelessly and approaches me. I stand, moving away from him. He grabs the book and scans the contents of what I've already read.
She is the one. She will introduce the third head to the world.
"How did you happen upon this?" he asks carefully.
"What is the meaning of it?" I snap. "Who is 'she' and what do you mean by a third head?"
I know the answer is me—I'm the 'she' he speaks of, but I have no sense of what the bloody third head is.
"Little wolf, calm down."
"Don't you call me that!" I scream. "You have no right to call me any of your precious pet names, not now. I demand to know: What do you mean by a third head?"
He stares at me, all the warmth gone from his expression. He pins me in my spot with cold, lilac eyes. "The prophecy, you read it?"
I nod. He comes around the table, closing the distance between us with every step. I don't move away as he reaches out to hold me. I smartly slap his hands away. "What does this prophecy have anything to do with me?"
"You will help me fulfill the prophecy."
"How?" I erupt. "I do not have any blood of the House Targaryen in me. I'm a Stark of Winterfell, I was not born of incest."
His eyes are sharp, slicing me deeper than any knife wound. "Careful, Lady Stark," he growls dangerously. "Do not disrespect your King in such a manner, nor your husband."
I bite my tongue. It was a harsh thing to say, spoken in anger. I don't relent, though. "Yes, husband—a title which normally includes speaking the truth to your wife rather than keep her in the dark in hopes she will remain ignorant." My anger flares. "I will not allow you to continue lying to me, husband. Tell me the truth—what does this prophecy have anything to do with me?"
"Our child," he says flatly.
I pause. "What about the babe?"
"The child you carry is the third head of the dragon—Rhaenys and Aemon are the first two."
I try to wrap my head around what he is saying, my hand instinctively covers my stomach. "How . . . why?"
"The dragon has three heads, there must be one more."
I stare at him. "You brought me here—you kidnapped me—all for some folly prophecy?" I shove him away, stepping out of his outstretched arms and moving across the room to gain a clear head. "Gods, I thought . . . How could I be so stupid?" I turn to face him, pointing an accusing finger. "I thought that you might actually . . . How can you possibly believe that this prophecy is even real?"
He speaks softly, the calm before the storm. "Aegon the Conquerer united the seven kingdoms with his two sisters—he is known as The Dragon. The dragon must always have three heads—Aegon himself and his two sisters. On the night of my son Aegon's birth, a bleeding star crossed the sky, one of the signs of the Prince that was promised."
He explains this to me as though I'm a child, but I clearly see the connection he is making. My child is the third head to his prophecy.
"Why me? Why couldn't your beloved wife give you a third child?" I spit out bitterly.
"The pregnancy and the birth of my children—both of them—were difficult. After Aegon was born, the maester said she could not bear another child or else it might kill her. I will not doom her to that fate."
I digest this information. "But why me?" I all but scream. "You can have any woman, any of them, from any other part of the kingdom. Why choose me?"
"Because, my love," his voice softens as he steps toward me. "You are a wolf—fiercely protective, intelligent, and unwilling to bend to authority. You have power in you that you have yet to discover. You are a natural queen, born to rule. You are . . . perfect."
He reaches for me, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me into his chest, crushing his lips to mine. I want so badly to give it, to let him take me right here, on the table like on our first night together, but I can't. Not when I know this is just some ploy for him to fulfill some folly prophecy.
With all my strength, I push him away, my eyes watering as I turn away. My hand comes to my mouth, covering my sobs. I swallow around the lump in my throat. Anger bubbles once more inside of me, but this time, it's directed at myself.
"I was so stupid . . . foolish to believe you brought me here because you . . ." I can't even say the words out loud. Because I thought you love me catches in my throat and I cannot bring myself to choke out the words. It's too painful to think about.
I love him—with all my soul I love him. I knew I loved him from the moment our lips first touched. But this betrayal, the lies he's kept from me, it's too much. I hear his soft footsteps near me slowly. I feel his warmth at my back as he closes the space between us, but he doesn't touch me. His words are gentle, caressing me with every syllable. "I remember when I first saw you, at the Harrenhal tourney's opening night's feast. You had poured a goblet of wine over your brother's head because he was laughing at you. You smiled, brightening your eyes and pronouncing your beauty. I was in awe. I had to see more of you. I followed you to the stables after the joust. I found you with my mare, gentle and whispering kind words into her ear. You were even more beautiful when you thought no one was watching—you blossomed.
"I went on with the tourney, but watched you in the stands as each man was defeated, falling from their horse to the delighted roar of the crowd. You were excited, you found joy in watching a man's sport, more so than my own father. I found strength in your charisma, which helped me win the tourney. I didn't hesitate to name you my queen, above Elia. You are the embodiment of love and beauty, everything I desire and need.
"I returned home with Elia. She was silent and distant, but I took her to bed like a proper husband. She gave birth to Aegon soon after. The maester informed us of her health and I could not bear to let her suffer again. I'm fond of my wife; she is gentle and kind. She refused to allow wet nurses do what she could do on her own. However, she was too kind, too gentle . . . too weak.
"I found myself thinking of you, even during the nights I spent with Elia. I thought of you, of your beauty and your smile, constantly. I remembered the possessiveness Robert had when it came to you, and how you rebuffed him openly, reminding him that you were not his lady wife, not yet. I soon came to realize that I needed you, not only for completing the prophecy, but for myself.
"I sent my most trusted guards to find you and bring you to me. When I finally had you in my arms, as we rode South, I tried to tell you my intentions, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I never wanted you to believe I brought you here for the sole purpose of producing a third child. I wanted to cherish you without the taint of duty to separate us.
"As the weeks passed and we spent more time together, laying in bed, speaking of trivial things, I found myself falling in love with you. Every day, I discover a new reason to love you. Every day, I grow further away from my obsession. Here, with you, I lose all connections with my father, with my title, with my duty—it all falls away as I form a deeper attachment to you. I do not want this child only because it will fulfill a prophecy; I need this child because I love you, and I want to have a part of us to continue our legacy, to show the world that love—our love—is beautiful."
The tears falling down my cheeks have turned from tragically sad to bewildered happiness as he spoke. His hands finally wrap around me, pulling me back into him. Our bodies fit together perfectly, forming around each other. I lean my head into his neck, sniffling and swallowing back tears. All the months we had been together, we never said we loved one another, never spoke the words. It was all implied, assumed.
"Say it again," I whisper, looking into his eyes.
His lips hover over mine. "I truly, deeply love you, Lyanna Stark. You have my heart and soul in your hands. I trust you to keep them safe."
My tears continue to flow, but happiness surges through me. "I will, my love. I shall keep them safe for you." I press my lips to his in a desperately passionate kiss. When I pull away, I softly add, "And I love you, my dragon. I will love you until my last breath."
