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 XXXIV
1; 276 AC
King's Landing

My heart beat faster and faster the closer we approached King's Landing. I hated the waiting, the seemingly interminable time it took between one piece of information and another. Ravens would not fly to ships at sea, having no idea where a given ship would be at a given time, and so I had been blind and deaf for two weeks while the Spear of Dorne cut through the choppy water off the coast of the Stormlands and Masssey's Hook.

But the city was now in sight and I couldn't sit still, pacing the deck back and forth like a madman in my irritation. Jon and Arthur, along with the rest of the crew, assumed I was worried for my father; they offered sincerity, and I accepted with deceit.

I had decided shortly after leaving Sunspear that I was leaving, brother or sister notwithstanding. This was no place for me, and the Iron Throne even more so. A king was to serve his people, protect them, guard their lives so that they may live and grow. I was not that king, not by a long shot, and with the uncertainty of my future knowledge, I was doubly more unsuited to rule. I was barely a prince, more a playwright than anything. Lord Tywin would have everything well in hand once he returned to King's Landing; a sister that would be betrothed to his son, ensuring his continued role as Hand and ever-capable administrator. Cersei sent to the North, married to Ned Stark, ensuring that the Northern Alliance backed the Crown.

And even if that didn't happen, if my sister died in infancy, a Great Council would be called, raising the next best claimant for the Iron Throne to king. Lord Steffon Baratheon would be Steffon I, and who better to name as Hand than his childhood friend, Lord Tywin Lannister? Lord Tywin would marry Cersei to Robert and–

Fucking hell.

It was the original timeline all over again, just a little different. But Jaime would never be in the Kingsguard this way, never leave Casterly Rock. And with Lord Steffon living longer, having more time to prepare Robert for the throne, perhaps he would be a better king and husband this time around. And Robert might not ever even meet Lyanna, not fall in love with her, not whisper her name into Cersei's ear. Lord Steffon was a youngish man, capable of living long enough to face down the Others in twenty-five years' time. With Lord Tywin at his right hand, Robert leading his armies, Stannis his navy, there wouldn't be a single thing they couldn't face. They didn't need me getting in the way.

It could still work. It had to work.

Either way, Jenny and I were long gone. I couldn't count on my sister surviving, not with the timeline this far changed. I still couldn't understand what had happened to change the circumstances of Viserys' birth, but I had to assume that also included the surety that the child would live past childhood. As soon as we docked, I was headed for the Globe, sending a message to Jenny in Thorne's lands. We'd leave in the dead of night as soon as she returned and be long gone before anyone realized it.

I was still pacing and I realized then that my legs ached from the strain. I was exhausted, barely able to sleep the entire voyage out of anxiety. That alone proved my unsuitability to lead and rule; I didn't have the temperament to do it. A king was supposed to be good, someone who did what was right no matter the cost or consequence. The things I had done, in this life and my old one, proved I had no business ruling anyone. I could barely rule myself.

The deck shook beneath my feet and I realized the ship had docked while I was lost in thought. I turned around, finding the bustling port of King's Landing, a hundred times bigger than Sunspear, staring at me over the rail. I saw Jon and Arthur preparing to disembark and I felt a touch of sadness.

Right. If all went to plan, I would never see them again after the king died. But at least I could leave them a proper king to serve.

A wide board was lowered to the dock and I stepped forward first, the other two directly behind me. A clerk bearing the seal of the Master of Laws on his sash stepped forward nearly as soon as my foot touched wood, bowing at the waist. "The king awaits you in the Throne Room, Your Grace," the little clerk said, his head bowed, eyes toward the dock.

I nodded and stepped toward the Red Keep, then stopped suddenly. "The Throne Room? Not his chambers, or the Grand Maester's rooms?"

The clerk seemed frozen, afraid of my displeasure. "Aye, Your Grace. The Throne Room."

***
1; 276 AC
King's Landing

I entered the throne room as I had done only a handful of times before. The Iron Throne loomed above me on a raised dais at the end of the hall, my echoing steps only serving to reinforce the scale of the room. Five hundred men could fit comfortably in this place, as was usually the case at court, showering the king with flattery and praise. Arthur trailed behind me, one step behind and one step to the left, his white cloak swirling around him. Jon had returned to his rooms, his presence not requested by the king.

The hall was empty now, save for a handful of men; the High Septon, the same skeletal figure that had once attempted to shut down my playhouse, stood to one side of the dais, arms folded in an air of solemn contentment; Lord Commander of the City Watch Guncer Sunglass, the pious devotee of the Faith of the Seven, stood beside him; Ser Barristan the Bold stood opposite the pair of fools, hands resting vigilantly on the hilt of his sword; Hand of the King Tywin Lannister stood beside him, his face an impenetrable mask.

At our approach, they all bowed their heads in acknowledgement, then turned their gazes to the figure seated on that monstrosity of a throne.

Aerys II Targaryen. The Once and Future Mad King of Westeros. Alive.

It was the first time I had seen him with my own eyes. I had Rhaegar's memories, of course, but even those were two years old. The king's hair was longer, falling to mid-breast rather than the shoulder, his skin paler, his eyes brighter. He was a beautiful man, tall and regal and straight of back. He sat easily, almost lazily on the throne, lounging with his legs crossed at the knee. He looked the part of a king, his crown carefully placed upon his brow, catching the light from the tall windows on the east side of the hall.

He began clapping at my approach, descending the Iron Throne with decided grace. "My son, my son returns!" he shouted triumphantly to the other men. I felt Arthur stiffen behind me, his hands resting on the pommel of Dawn, the blade resting on one shoulder.

Aerys was clear-eyed and smiling brightly, a haggardness in his cheeks the only evidence of his sickness. I chanced a look at Lord Tywin, who remained impassive. No explanation then, for the king's quick recovery. Perhaps Pycelle had overestimated his abilities.

I cursed in my head. As badly as I wanted to leave, I couldn't leave the people of King's Landing to their fate at the Mad King's hands. I wasn't that much of a bastard. We wouldn't be able to use the blood poisoning again, not for a while, if at all. There had to be something else to make it look accidental.

Aerys closed the distance between us, smiling broadly and clapping me on both shoulders. "My boy, now the man I see before me," he said, his eyes shining with pride. "Tell me, how is Princess Moria? How many teeth does the old woman have left?" His laugh was throaty and infectious.

This was the man that would make an entire city his funeral pyre. Who would burn men alive for their crimes. Who raped my mother afterwards. The man I had tried to kill.

I nodded as congenially as I could. "She is well, Your Grace, and sends her best wishes to your health."

Aerys smiled knowingly, offering his arm to show a fresh bandage. "Another cut, it seems. No small matter, but enough to keep me in bed under the tender mercies of the Grand Maester for a number of weeks." He turned and began walking toward the Iron Throne. Arthur motioned for me to follow and we did, stopping just before the dais.

Clerks ran in and out, wearing the seals of the Master of Laws or Master of Coin, a thousand and one matters to attend to a day. Some of them went to Lord Tywin instead of the king, though some – twenty percent, perhaps – went directly to Aerys. He spoke whilst reading over a sheet of parchment, he eyes reading. "You've just missed your nameday. Seven and ten, now, and a knight of the realm. Ser Barristan says you're one of the finest swords he has seen, matched only by your companion, Ser Arthur," he said, turning to my friend. "And I understand that the Seven Kingdoms has a new Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur. My sincerest congratulations. You are truly an asset to the Kingsguard," he said with sincere enthusiasm.

Everything about the man screamed manic, from his bright eyes and constant movement, to the profuse praise he offered. There was no in-between for him.

I wanted out, needed to get out. I needed to plan, figure out a way to get him off the throne and then escape.

"If you'll forgive me, Your Grace, our journey has been a long one and I was hoping to–"

The smiling face grew cold in an instant, eyes sharpening. "You arrive here and then want to leave?" he asked incredulously. "You will not leave my presence until you are dismissed, boy," he said, barking the last word so that it echoed off the hall. Fear, insecurity, and rage all crossed his face in an instant before returning to his other face, the calm one. "I have your nameday gift for you, you can't leave without that," he said quickly.

"A gift?"

Aerys nodded rapidly, his smile threatening to split his face. "For your nameday, I have given you the greatest gift of all – a wife!"

I stopped, my mind reeling. "A- A wife, Your Grace?"

Aerys nodded excitedly. "Your sister, Visenya!"

I internally sighed in relief. That would take years before anything could happen, giving me ample opportunity to leave. "I thank you, Your Grace– father," I amended, though it hurt to say it. "By your leave, I will retire and return when I have bathed and changed from my travel clothes."

Aerys gave a dismissive wave of his hand. The High Septon and Lord Sunglass turned toward each other, beginning a conversation now that the meeting had passed. I tried to catch Lord Tywin's eye, hoping for some clue as to what had happened, but his face remained impassive. Ser Barristan, stood stone still, his eyes never moving to meet mine.

I turned to Arthur and inclined my head toward the door. There was no doubt much to do at the Globe, and I needed to send a message to Jenny to return to the city.

"The whore's been taken care of."

I took another three steps, each slower than the one prior, before I realized what he meant.

My heart stopped in my chest, my breath trapped in my lungs. My hands started shaking, and when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. I turned, Arthur still behind me.

"Your Grace?" I asked finally, not trusting myself further than two words.

"The mummer girl," he said conversationally. "Lord Commander Sunglass arrested her two weeks ago and had her executed." Aerys turned to a clerk, eyes scanning a report before continuing. "You are betrothed now, my son. The gods look ill on the man that takes his marriage vows lightly," he nodded to the High Septon. "The Faith is very clear on that. And this playhouse business will cease, immediately. I've indulged you far too long, and your education on statecraft is sorely lacking. Your things have been moved back into the Red Keep, into your old rooms."

Twenty-one feet.

It's the maximum distance an attacker with a knife can close in the time it takes a trained man to react.

Ser Barristan was thirty feet away and I knew I'd gain a fraction of a second in his disbelief. If not, hesitation would stay his hand long enough for me to slip his guard. Sunglass was long since out of practice and I doubted he'd clear his sheath in time. Tywin wouldn't react, let me solve his problem for him.

Twenty-one feet.

And I was only eighteen away.

Before I knew what was happening, my hand was on the knife at the small of my back, knuckles white over the bone hilt, the hall disappearing into a black tunnel with Aerys at one end and myself at the other, nothing but level stone and empty air between the point of my knife and a slim throat.

I felt a hand grip my wrist, pinning it to my back, taking great care to not struggle. Arthur, behind me, had seen my hand move, knew about the knife I kept there. His other hand moved to my shoulder, keeping me from pulling the knife out, making it look like I had nearly fallen and he had caught me.

I looked up, rage coloring my face. The High Septon's solemn face showed he had seen nothing, still deep in his conversation with Lord Sunglass. Lord Tywin's face finally moved, a minute shake of his head.

Aerys' face grew concerned, misinterpreting my face. "I understand how one can care for such creatures. It's for the best. I will not take any chances with the Targaryen line, and the Father knows there's enough dragonseeds in the Crownlands." He finally looked up. "You will understand when you are king, Rhaegar."

The rage left me in an instant, my legs slow and weak. Arthur still gripped my shoulder and my wrist, turning me toward the door and leading me to the outside. I didn't care where he was leading me, or where we were going.

She was gone.

***
1; 276 AC
Dragonstone

I was alone.

The Chamber of the Painted Table was growing dark, the only light coming from each of the four windows, the evening sun setting over the Narrow Sea, casting an orange glow over the table that gave this room its name. I stared at the table, unseeing, the same thought repeated over and over again in my head.

My eyes were wet and red, though my tears had dried hours before. I would hear the soft footfalls of a servant in the outer hallway, half-expecting her to walk through the door, wine in each hand, her smile brightening the room. It hurt every time, but I couldn't help but hope, that somehow, somehow, it wasn't real, that I had been wrong or delusional or hallucinating or any of a hundred other things that meant, goddammit, she wasn't fucking gone.

I leaned forward, putting my face in both hands, willing myself to wake up in another place, any other place. Part of me wanted to leave right then, commandeer one of the many ships in port around the island domain and never look back. Fuck them all and their petty lives. Everything I'd had was gone, every reason I still played the game, every reason for waking up, every reason for staying, every reason for everything.

Gone. Because of me.

Had I still the energy, I would have railed against the chairs and walls, letting my rage and fury out in violence. The splintered remains of the other chairs and my bloody hands evidenced that. But there was no more rage or fury in me. Only the void remained.

A knock came at the door. I didn't answer.

The door opened anyway, Ser Barristan carefully stepping over the shattered remains of a chair or table. "Supper has been prepared, Your Grace. Shall I have it sent up?"

I heard him, but didn't answer. Couldn't answer. If I opened my mouth again, the rage would come out, or the tears, either one just as much use as the other.

"You need to eat, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said softly. I couldn't look at him, couldn't look into the eyes of another person. Not right now. I wanted to scream and rage at him, but there was nothing left.

Ser Barristan seemed to understand. Or maybe he didn't. The man had been betrothed once, before taking the oath of the Kingsguard, been forced to leave her behind in exchange for that white cloak. But that had been his choice, his decision.

But hadn't it been mine?

I deserved to be happy, that's what I had told myself over and over again, repressing my misgivings about being with her. My happiness, my greed and selfishness, my arrogance, had gotten her killed.

"She was… She was a sweet girl, Rhaegar. She did not deserve her fate," he said, closing the door behind him.

And that was as close as he would ever come to criticizing the king. I silently thanked him for that much, at least.

My gaze fell over to the massive table. The Painted Table. Aegon the Conqueror's one remaining physical artifact, his crown lost somewhere in Dorne and his sword lost somewhere in Essos. But this remained, the physical representation of his idea of a united Westeros. No borders, a future that Aegon made a reality. Aegon had reached out into the world and remade it in his own image, every region under his direct control. The Stormlands. The Westerlands. The North and the Vale. The rest. Every castle and keep owing fealty to him. Oldtown. White Harbor. Ashford.

Duskendale.

No more tears. No more running. Aerys had taken everything from me, an innocent life taken for the insane dream of a madman. Inside, I felt the fury returning, more tightly bound, more focused. I burned with rage. I would have vengeance. I would bathe in his blood and grind his bones beneath my feet. He would die screaming, my boot against his neck, and the last thing he would ever see would be my face staring down at him. No, Ser Barristan, she did not deserve her fate. Most of us don't.

But some do.

My love, forgive me.

If this world wanted a bastard, I'd show them the kind of bastard I could be.

And "Rhaegar the Great: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Suck" comes to a close!

112,000 words, give or take.

Keep an eye out for the next adventures of Rhaegar in "Rhaegar the Terrible: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Suck" coming soon!