Disclaimer – This fanfiction was not written by me; it belongs to the user William Dellinger on alternatehistory, by publishing it here I only intend to bring it to a wider audience and make it available for offline reading. I do not claim any ownership of the content.

Rhaegar IV
Early 274 AC

I had reached a decision.

It had come to me during a night full of wine and singing with Jon and Arthur. Jon, ever the rebellious lord's son, and arrived at my door with a cask of wine in his arms, one almost as big as his torso. The very best from the Arbor, he said. Arthur had come in right behind him, three cups in his hands and a slightly disapproving glare on his face. We were apparently getting drunk.

I had tried to fend them off, of course. I had so much work to do, writing down everything I could think of before I forgot, or Rhaegar's memories replaced my own. I had managed to keep him at bay, for the most part. I was learning. The more I did things, the more they became my memories that I could draw from, rather than his. I was still afraid that, one day, there would be something new, something I hadn't been exposed to in this place, and Rhaegar would come roaring back.

But fuck it, you know? I couldn't keep living here afraid of my own fucking shadow. There comes a time when everyone has to man the fuck up and take the bull by the horns and seize the day and all the other platitudes. But I just wasn't sure how.

Then the epic night of drinking happened. We sang a lot of songs – some of which were amazingly dirty – and talked about big grand things. Solving the problems of the world, one cup of wine at a time, all by three teenagers born on the right side of the bed.

It was strangely familiar. All those times back home, getting drunk with friends and talking out of our asses about a world we had only barely glimpsed. It shouldn't have surprised me to find the same here. Jon was the idealist; he had this grand vision of revitalizing the port of Griffin's Roost with a massive building project and making his lands completely self-sufficient, food-wise. He spoke with the air of someone who had never been involved with such a project, the arrogance of someone who thinks they're the first to come up with an ideal; a teenager in every sense of the word.

"It jus' makes shense," he slurred, his eyes dangerously unfocused. "The Roosht cudbe the bigges' port on Shit... Shitbrea... Shipbreaker Bay, bigger'n even Shtorm's End. It's perfectly shituated... shituated... shit... placed. The shtorms aren't ash bad as they are nearer the... the... you know... openin- mouth! of the bay. We could run shitting... shit... shipping lines to White Harbor, Oldtown, Braavosh... everywhere."

I leaned over and poured more wine into his cup. Mostly into his cup. Also mostly onto the floor. "You're not drunk enough. Here." I offered the container of wine to Arthur. "More?"

Arthur sat rigidly in a chair, both hands on his cup. "I like wine."

I looked at both Arthurs before closing one eye. "Yes. Wine, motherfucker. Would you like more of it?"

He looked down into his cup and drained it, lifting the cup with both hands. "Yes. I like wine."

"Good! Here." I reached over and poured some more wine into his cup when he stood up suddenly, splashing wine in my face. Jon roared with laughter while Arthur looked around my rooms frantically. "Dawn! Where is Dawn?!"

Jon only laughed harder. I dried myself off with a shirt I found on the floor. "For the third time, it's sitting over there on the bed. You didn't lose it. Shit."

Arthur ran over to the bed to touch his sword and make sure it was still there. The relief was evident in his voice. "I have to... I have to carry this. Always. And forever. And ever."

"Yesh, we've heard," Jon said over his shoulder.

Some sober part of my brain really, really wanted to look at that sword, find out what it could do. I'd heard all kinds of stories, but who really knows whats true and false in a place like this. Myth and legend walking among the blood and bone. You all know the story of Dawn. As fanciful as it was to believe, an Iron Age lord found a meteorite and managed to shape it into a massive, Fuck You sword that had kept its sharpness across millenia. Space metal like that could change the very face of Westeros, if I could find enough of it. And knew what it could do. I also knew that messing around with Dawn was a really good way to lose one of the only friends I had.

And they were my friends. I don't know if it was Rhaegar's memories or the last few weeks, but I knew these guys. Maybe better than Rhaegar ever did. Jon was hopelessly in love with me, that much was obvious; but that wasn't the entirety of his character, not by a long shot. He was brave and brash and loved life, always smiling and thought he could take on anyone at anytime. Everyone knew Arthur to be stoic, but that stone face hid a sharp wit and a wonderful laugh, especially when he loosened up. They both were loyal to me in a way that I hadn't seen since Afghanistan. Brothers in arms. Men that would have done anything for me, had I asked it.

They deserved better. They deserved someone that would fight for them, to make this world a better place, if you'll forgive the cliché.

I hadn't wanted to get drunk, for fear of revealing something. But something happened that I hadn't expected.

"I hate this place."

Jon stopped laughing and Arthur stopped manhandling his sword. They both looked at me with the grave seriousness that only the wine soaked can manage. I went on, unable to stop myself.

"I hate this place. I hate the smell. I hate the corruption. I hate the way things work. I hate being here."

Jon nodded. "Yoush- You should. Do it. Do the thing," Jon said, motioning wildly to the window. "The Shitty Guard thing... No. Not Shitty Guard... Well, no, that worksh."

I chuckled. "Yeah. Just change an institution built on corruption and favors and lies. Should be easy." I took another deep drink of wine, this time straight from the pitcher.

I felt Arthur's hand on my shoulder and turned to find him standing beside me, sword point into the stone floor.

"You can do this, Rhaegar," he said solemnly. "We can do this. I pledge my support, my house, and my sword to you."

Jon stood beside him and echoed his words, without hint or trace of mockery.

They didn't believe in Rhaegar. They believed in me.

I had to stop thinking of myself and Rhaegar as two separate people. For better or for worse, we were the same, especially in the eyes of the two men before me.

I felt the consciousness that I had been suppressing, the little portion of Rhaegar that remained. It felt like... approval.

Maybe there were things worth saving here.