259 AC. The burning of Summerhall

Rhaella

Rhaella did not know which sound was louder amongst the chaos; the crackling of hellish wildfire where the mighty Summerhall once stood, the panicked screams of men running around akin to headless flies, or the pink crying babe within her arms.

Born beneath a bleeding star, among smoke and salt, comes the prince who was promised. "Hush now, sweetling, hush now." She rocked the babe gently, back and forth. For these nine months she had carried the babe, she had never thought it would be so heavy. It, is a he…? Rhaegar of House Targaryen. The name still rolled off her tongue strangely. She was a mother now, the realization a foreign concept. Not long ago, she would still run within the gardens of Summerhall, whisper stories of chivalry with her cousins in the godswood of the Red Keep, pretend to be Florian and Jonquil with her Bonifer, her sweet Bonifer. Tears welled up in her eyes, stringing down her puffed-up cheeks. Oh Grandfather, uncles, cousins, Ser Duncan...

She looked back to the ruin of Summerhall, still strolling with green infernos, hot even to her from this distance apart. Men were still rushing towards it, attempting to put the fire out. A mute effort, it seemed, for the fire had grown more since she last dared to glance its way.

Rhaella hoped, prayed that Ser Duncan was safe. When the flames sprouted from the dungeons, it was he who carried her out of the ruinous halls as the pillars collapsed and the floors melted away. Then he left her by the young oaks next to the lake with the servants, gave her a quick pat on the head, and offered a sad smile before running back to the scorching pyre of a castle. The pat reminded her of the time when she was still eight years of age and stuck on a tree after chasing a wild kitten. The fear came to her young mind then, when the cat nimbly jumped off and she could not follow suit. Ser Duncan came to her rescue and promised to catch her if she jumped. He did, of course, for he was The Tall, the gentle giant, the knight who protected the young and innocent, the weak and the old, as all knights should. She was crying then, she was crying now, the only difference being that Ser Duncan wasn't able to comfort her with soft lullabies and smooth summer songs.

She looked back to her babe, for that seemed to be the only thing within her control. How gentle he nudged his tiny head to find a comfortable position within her bosoms and arms. How delicate, she thought. Was Aerys ever so soft? Was he ever so curious? Her husband and brother, Prince Aerys, was the image of Aegon the Conqueror, people say, with his purple eyes, silver hair, handsome face, and an affinity to the sword. He was nothing but cold and distant toward her, however, and her to him. There were innocent bonds between them once, crudely broken after their betrothal, and ever more so after their marriage. Grandfather Aegon was against it at first, but her parents insisted that from their union would come the promised prince, who would strengthen the Targaryen bloodline once again. Her grandfather protested little after that, especially with his eventual fixation of hatching dragon eggs. At least Aerys and father and mother are safe at Dragonstone. The babe made a noise. And Rhaegar is safe with me.

Footsteps approached her, but instead of the hurried and erratic footsteps of the servants, however, these were rhythmic and steady, relaxed and leisurely, as if the sight in front of them was nothing but the rising of the morning sun. She looked up and saw several men walking toward her, all clad in full plate armor with swords by their hips. She instantly recognized the one leading them by his red flame armor and slick silver hair.

"Cousin Maegor," she greeted, weakly, tired from the flame and the babe.

"Cousin Rhaella." A silky voice responded.

Rhaella swallowed her anxiousness and looked at her nonchalant cousin. Maegor Targaryen stood a head taller than Aerys, but was frail in comparison. His flamboyant crimson and black flame armor was custom built in the Street of Steel, yet still seemed ill-fitted for his thin torso and arms. He was clean-shaven and kept his hair long, and looked young for a man of seven and twenty, perhaps five years senior to Aerys, but Aerys was only five and ten. His eyes were/had a shade of haunting magenta, passed down from his father, the infamous Aerion "Brightflame". His smile was that of a person at ease, though the situation seemed hardly suited for a smile like that. It makes his face look twisted, Rhaella thought.

"I saw it in my dream last night, you know? A dragon dream. I saw a comet leaping through the air, marking the sky red. I saw a green flame devouring dragons hungrily and effortlessly within a circle of sands and storms… Fled the castle in haste this morning, with my men, of course. And behold, Summerhall in ruin, such a tragedy really, I've always loved the gardens." Maegor said in a sing-song tone as haughty as his smirking eyes.

"And you did nothing but flee?" Rhaella raised her voice. Exhausted as she was, a fire flared within her. All these deaths could have been prevented? Oh Grandfather, uncles, cousins, Ser Duncan...

" I told Aegon. He thought me in the mood to be a mummer. The man never took a liking to me, unfortunately. He spoke only courtly to me and with a judgemental gaze each time. I never knew why... I never will either, it seems. " He chuckled lightly at his own jape, not enough to be a laugh, but the sound echoed in Rhaella's head all the same.

He is… was your king. Address him as such, Rhaella thought, but she said nothing, instead opted to rock Rhaegar gently. Maegor moved closer to her now, and she could not help but tense up. Even the babe took to her mood and started to whimper quietly.

"This is your son, I presume?" He leaned in and reached his gloved hand to touch the head of the young babe. It cost her much restraint to not slap his hand away.

"What an ugly little thing… I never liked babes. Vaella's miscarriages certainly do not help, that useless woman, cannot even bear the task of carrying my seed. She should be heavy with a babe as well now. Cousin, I do wish your blessings on my child to be. "

Cousin Vaella is the daughter of her grand uncle Daeron and his lady wife, Kiera of Tyrosh. Vaella was a sweet woman but unfortunately born simple-minded. She used to play childish games with Rhaella all the time until she married Maegor, who almost never let her go out of their chamber in the Red Keep. At least my marriage is better than theirs.

He retracted his arm now and looked at her intently, as if tempting her to lash out. It's all a play to him. He looks at me with amusement and will mock my indiscretions.

" I hope Cousin Vaella bears the child successfully and peacefully," she said curtly, almost whispering. I hope you die a painful death. I hope your child has none of your cruelty.

" I thank you for your blessing." Almost a sound of mockery. Rhaella kept her head down, she did not dare look into his eyes, for she feared to see the eyes of a monster.

" Where, pray tell, is your father and your brother?" asked Maegor, though this time, he seemed to be a little more serious, his nonchalant facade slowly fading away.

"At Dragonstone." She replied

"And what of your uncles, Duncan and Daeron?" Another question, inquisitive in tone.

" I last saw them in the castle." She almost cried at that, but she stopped herself. Be strong, Rhaella, this is not the time to weep tears of sorrow. Not in front of him at least.

" I see... I'm afraid I will have to make my way to King's Landing… to be with my wife for the birth, of course. If you will excuse me, cousin. I do hope to see you soon." He bent down, grabbed her hand, and kissed it gently.

"Farewell."

He joined his men and galloped away on top of his crimson destrier.

Author's note:

That concludes my first chapter of this fic. Hopefully, you all enjoyed it. The first few chapters will be introductions to the plot. But the main story will take place around robert's rebellion era. I did a lot of research during the writing of this ( aka wiki of ice and fire). If you find any time inconsistencies please tell me. In canon, Maegor was never mentioned after his birth, presumably, he died during Summerhall. So this is assuming he survived it and what happens afterward. This is my take on a bunch of half mad targaryens. Also Just want to say that I will not intentionally bash a character. I do appreciate all comments and even ideas that you think might add to the story. Love you all 3