Chapter Two: Rhaegar

Rhaegar sighed as leaned against an old willow tree, listening to the gentle song of the stream at the tree's base. He traced his hands over the rough surface of the trunk, thinking about the heart trees the northmen worshiped. The tree was strong, it had obviously survived many storms and, judging by the height of the nearby underbrush, probably a fire or two as well. And there was a certain energy that came from the tree, like a wave of comfort to soothe his anxious mind. He was a devout believer in the Seven, but, unlike many other Southerners, he did not scoff at the Old Gods of the North. He slid down to rest against the trunk. He knew he should probably return to his party, but he needed some time alone to think. He wished he had someone he could turn to for guidance. Most people had their mothers or fathers, or even a trusted older sibling. Rhaegar was the oldest child with a mad father and an enslaved mother. Yes, he knew about his father's treatment of his mother. His mother had confessed to him after he questioned her about the bruises and bite marks on her body during his most recent trip to King's Landing. Enraged, he had confronted his father the king in private only to be immediately dismissed. He tried everything short of kidnapping his mother to keep the king away, but His Grace would not be deterred from his violent fetish. Soon, it would not matter. Acting against one's king was sinful. Acting against one's blood was sinful. Rhaegar knew what he was planning to do was treason and was fully prepared to shoulder the burden of that sin for the sake of his people, the people who were now suffering under the rule of his mad father.

Reaffirmed in his course of action, he prepared to rise and return to his party, but a sudden splash made him freeze. Slowly, he peered around the tree trunk and his eyes widened as the woman, beautiful and completely nude, walked out into the deeper part of the stream. Averting his eyes, he rose and stealthily headed off to find his party. He hadn't taken ten steps before a knife at his throat made him halt. Along with the knife's sharp edge, he could feel the woman's naked body, still dripping from her dip in the stream, pressed against his back. He thanked the gods he had yet to don his plate armor that day.

"My lady," said Rhaegar softly.

"Why were you watching me?" The woman's voice was strong and melodic, not the soft flowery voice he was used to hearing from his wife.

"I was not watching you. I was resting by that tree. I left after you started bathing."

"After. So you were watching." The woman lowered the knife and walked around to face him directly. She had the most beautiful grey eyes. They reminded Rhaegar of a storm, beautiful and fierce. "Well, watchman, do you like what you see?"

Rhaegar was speechless. The sight of the woman bathing had been enticing. The sight of her up close was mesmerizing.

"My lady, you are indeed beautiful."

The woman laughed, walked to a nearby tree where she had hidden her clothes, dressed and turned again to face the stunned prince.

"Until we meet again, Your Grace." The woman laughed again as she ran off into the trees. Rhaegar began the long trek back to his camp. By the time he arrived, he had convinced himself that the woman had been nothing but a dream. He mounted his horse and, with his company of about sixty men, including two members of the Kingsguard, he pressed on toward the Tournament at Harrenhall.