Hello Readers! Here is the next chapter. Things really start to get in motion for the entire plot line. Lots of Rhaegar and the inner workings of his mind and the entrance of a new character yet to be identified. I hope you like it and Please do Review. Happy Reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own A song of ice and fire...
His Secret Wisdom
Chapter One
He had been counting off days after that unnerving meeting with the croon. He had searched high and low for the croon after that day. He needed to know more, but as it was always with her, she was nowhere to be found. In fact, no one had ever seen her again. No one ever claimed or even talked about a blind, strange, intimidating and more than a little mad old croon telling them of their futures while cackling.
It was as if she never existed and Rhaegar had looked everywhere. She did not want to be found so nobody found her and that was that. But Rhaegar remembered everything and the croon's harsh voice still echoed those words in his every waking moment and his tired dreams. Her words were monumental and he knew and acknowledged that.
He had spent the next two years pouring over books, scrolls and all manners of texts considering any kind of threat that may come to the kingdoms and all the history of nearly all the prominent Houses of Westeros. He paid very close attention to his father, King Aerys' actions and manner of ruling. What he observed made him sick with disgust and boiled his blood. King Aerys was going to burn the kingdoms because it pleased his deluded mind and he was sure of that. The croon's words, fire and blood, madness and screams, those words constantly rang in his ears every time he thought of his father. It was very clear; he had to do something about it. His father couldn't be allowed to sit on the throne and do what he was doing. But it was too soon, he needed more time, Rhaegar decided.
He threw himself in his studies, his research and to learn all manners of warfare and strategies. He needed to become the leader and the warrior who could lead a rebellion against his own father. From what he had come to learn, nearly all of the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms would back him if it meant that King Aerys would be dethroned and as Rhaegar had the right to the throne, they would gladly accept him as the new king. But he needed more time, more experience and more knowledge. He told himself that he had to wait regardless of what was already happening in the kingdoms. He had to wait for what he was to receive. The croon said so after all. His wisdom was coming; he just had to pass the time until then.
He trained every day and he planned on becoming a knight, after all what was a warrior if he couldn't even become a knight first. His iron determination and the quiet fire burning in his eyes were clear for everyone to see when he trained. Something had changed in him and every man around him knew that. The melancholy that had shrouded him everywhere he went had vanished into thin air. That depression in his solemn eyes and the sad little twist on his lips were gone and replaced by calculative, expressive eyes with a brilliant mind shinning through and those lips smiled sometimes, smirked most of the times and spoke to everyone. It was as if the prince had woken from a slumber or someone had breathed life into him.
Rhaegar had made Dragonstone his permanent home with occasional visits to King's Landing. His intentions for distancing himself from King's Landing had several well founded reasons behind it. He needed to keep calm and not act against his father; staying where his father's cruelty and madness brewed like a violent storm at every opportunity would only make it impossible for him to remain so.
Also, his research and studies needed to be kept a secret, and as it was there were no secrets in King's Landing. His father's paranoia would soon be forced upon him if he stayed too long near him. Also, by not being anywhere near King's Landing, he successfully avoided being caught up in any of the conspiracies and politics of the court. Then there was the matter of his own resolve, as long as he distanced himself from his father, the memory of those scant few years when his father was sane and a loving father washed away. He always needed to remember what his father had become.
He researched all sorts of things and tried very desperately to associate his research with the words that had spilled from the croon's mouth. Screams and madness, he was sure that that was a huge indication towards his father's progression into complete insanity and how he would force his cruelty onto others. His father was becoming more and more of a fearsome tyrant.
He took women from families, good families, married or innocent, it did not matter to him, and he took which ever woman caught his eye and forced his filthy sadistic desires upon them. From what he had heard and saw with his own eyes, his stomach revolted and wrath burned in his blood, but he silently observed, his father left those women in conditions which left them scarred for life both from the inside and outside.
He executed whomever he pleased, nobles, servants, bastards, commoners, it matter not, whomever he thought offended him even in the slightest, he executed them in the most gruesome manner imaginable. They were sliced, burned, drowned, suffocated, beheaded, whichever manner his father felt like in that moment.
Mostly, he was obsessed with fire and liked to watch people burn and laugh at their screams. He had also found out what the croon meant exactly by the words fire and blood, his father had an unhealthy and growing fascination with a substance called wildfire. His father had employed many pyromancers expressly to improve and create as much wildfire they could.
Rhaegar had obtained a very small vial himself to see what horror his father had thought up. The liquid was so volatile and could burn anything, it was liquid fire and nearly inextinguishable. The slightest of heat or spark could set off all of those hundreds of jars of wildfire up in the most explosive of flames which could burn over water and would burn until nothing was left.
There was a tiny childish part of him which initially thought maybe, just maybe his father could be cured of his madness, that he could be shown the right way and that everything would be fine. But one had to only look at King Aerys II to violently jerk away in fear. He was not only a monster on the inside; he looked like one on the outside as well.
His fear for blades resulted in those long thin hair and beard, his hands made him look like he was some mythical monster from a children's story book with those thin white fingers and frighteningly long nails, his eyes always looked like they glowed with evil and that mouth always twisted up in a permanent sneer or snarl and the worst was that awful mad laughter of his. The servants and the nobles had a saying, if someone heard King Aerys' laughter ringing throughout the castle then some poor soul must be writhing before him in pain begging for death.
Rhaegar thought of his mother most often. She was the most frequent victim to his father's cruelty and she bore it all with a Queen's grace and the true loyalty of a wife. Rhaella had no other choice after all. It tore Rhaegar apart on the inside, to know and hear of the things his father put his mother through. But the last time he had all but dragged his mother to a solitary corner to tell her that he would smuggle her out of King's Landing, she had pleaded him to not do anything.
His traitorous mind would never let him forget his mother's hoarse voice imploring him to leave her be, that she had been bearing such actions from his father well before he was born and now she was used to it, she could live what little was left of her life with the same treatment. She would kill herself if his father accused Rhaegar of treason simply because he couldn't bear to see a few bruises on his mother's skin. She told him that someday the reign of his father would end and then no man or woman would ever have to face the cruelty at the hands of her husband. She had her hopes and dreams set on her son, Rhaegar becoming a king that would wipe away all the taint upon the Targaryen name that Aerys was leaving behind.
Rhaegar couldn't utter a word as his mother's haunted lilac eyes searched his own for a promise. She could bear a lot and for all these years she had suffered all but she could not and would not bear the loss of her own son. She had gone nearly hysterical at the very idea of her son rebelling against Aerys. She believed that her son, Rhaegar would not survive if he went against someone as evil as Aerys. She did not even want to take the chance of her son coming to harm at the hands of her husband. She wanted her son to hide out somewhere far away from her husband's paranoia and cruelty until he would die and then her son would be safe to take what was rightfully his.
Rhaegar knew after that conversation that he had to let his mother handle herself for a little while. He couldn't risk setting everything unbalanced because he hastily made a move against his father. He hated to admit it, but there was truth to his mother's hysterics. He berated himself bitterly, what kind of a man was he when he couldn't even save his own mother from such abuse. He noticed and he knew, his mother's mind was fragile, much more so than her body. She wouldn't and couldn't survive standing beside him this early on in the plans he had. Her fears had a much stronger grip on her than the hope she let herself be numb to.
He wished desperately in his heart for some way that he could help his mother, but the only answer that came to mind was patience. He had to wait, sacrifices were made in wars and every one had their own roles to fulfill. His mother had told him that she could tolerate his father's cruelty for years to come until his father passed away just so that Rhaegar could be safe. So he hoped and hoped with everything in him that instead of the decades his mother planned on suffering on his behalf, she could hold on strong for just a few years.
He swore to himself that he would save her from him as soon as the croon's words came true and he made the right choices to ensure the right future. A future without fire and blood, madness and screams. A bright future, a prosperous future and a future where his people could live without the fear of their own king.
There were so many things to decide and prepare for. He had time still and he had to utilize that time to the fullest. With the precious time he had been granted he had to achieve many goals if he intended to free the Seven Kingdoms from his father's tyranny. He had to reach out to all the Houses very, very discreetly and see which ones supported his campaign and his right to rule.
Then, there was the matter of gathering his own army. He had to placate all those whom his father had harmed, humiliated and frightened, then and only then could he ask them to support him in exchange of his solemn promise that he would never again repeat his father's mistakes. He had to make the proper alliances, not everyone could be trusted or be the right choice for an alliance.
His inner circle would have to be very carefully considered and vetted. He could not afford to have some overly ambitious, greedy and power hungry House supporting him only to later on own him as their puppet, or worse yet back-stab him. He had to study his own father's armies and battle strategies as well as the prominent lands one had to win over. He had to plan his own war strategies as well as how to have advantages over certain situations.
He needed to learn more about espionage and subterfuge. He needed to learn how to spot out traitors and spies and plant his own trustworthy spies in his father's court. So many things could go wrong and he was nervous about all of it, but the magnitude of the mission and responsibility he had taken on his shoulders eased his nerves; he had to succeed, failure was not an option.
He looked out the balcony of his bedchambers; anybody else in his position would have considered it a bad omen. It had been raining constantly and unrelentingly for three days straight, there was never a moment of clear sky or sunlight, the winds were chilly and howled like wolves, lightening cracked loudly every now and then. But despite everything, all Rhaegar could feel was excitement bubbling within his heart. He felt the eager pangs of anticipation, as if something big was coming his way. His instincts screamed it and not even his Targaryen blood was bothered by the chilly, wet weather.
The feelings in him were so strong that he could not even make himself focus on his readings and books. Writing and composing songs and anything musical had been the last thing on his mind. He couldn't get inspired or feel the emotions needed to practice his music. Music which soothed him felt dry and lifeless. His worries and stress over the croon's warnings had taken over every bit of his mind, heart and soul. Nothing helped and he constantly felt dazed. He knew it was time and he was more than a little impatient for the croon's words to come true. It had been five moons and seventeen days after his seventeenth namesday, so why hadn't he received his gift, his wisdom already. How much did he have to wait?
He spent the entire day pacing in his chamber, thinking and rethinking the croon's words, checking and rechecking if he had missed something, some clue as to what he had to do or how he was to receive his gift, his wisdom. More than once he scowled in agitation, what the bloody hell was wisdom anyway? Some scripture, some book, some person who could see visions, visions he might start receiving, what the hell did she mean by wisdom? How could wisdom only belong to him? Wisdom was something that was free and could be shared with anyone who was open to receiving it.
His usually smoothed out silver blonde hair had been mussed in a mess because of the many times he had been running his hands through them in agitation and sheer nerves. He had discarded his tunic long ago, the strong fire burning in the hearth kept him from getting too cold, but the chill from the rain and the winds soothed his naked skin. It was well after midnight, yet he felt far too restless to sleep.
He frowned; he still hadn't been able to figure out who the mysterious wolf in the croon's warnings was. He needed to know the identity of the wolf. The only helpful confirmed fact that could be taken from the croon's words was that his help would appear in his chambers. The destination was set, but the circumstance and the timing were not. Red flash and thunder, what could they be?
He looked out into the night sky, the waves were crashing loudly and wildly against the castle walls; the winds howled and the rain pelted down, still no sign of any thunder and he did not even begin to understand what red flash exactly meant.
He pondered with his circumstances a little more; he stared into the fire and sipped slowly on the sweet, yet potent wine. He deeply regretted the way his father had humiliated and had embittered the relations between the Targaryens and the Lannisters. Frankly, he didn't care about the Lannisters or their money; he cared about the alliance with one Tywin Lannister.
He admired Tywin Lannister. The man was brilliant and knew exactly how to run a House, no a kingdom with brutal efficiency and make profits and progress that couldn't even possibly predicted. He had a vision, the much needed patience and the sound and carful mind that accomplished goals. Rhaegar had read reports of when Tywin used to be the Hand. All the people who had said that it was Tywin who ran the kingdoms was right, even if his own father was offended by it. His father's madness was far too consuming, so it fell on Tywin to run the kingdom and look after its interests and he did so extraordinarily.
The whole affair about him not being able to or wanting to free his father from when he was held captive was all lies, and he blamed his own father for foolishly and arrogantly storming into enemy and hostile grounds without the proper backup. Tywin had not lost his cool back then and as usual he had patiently and efficiently worked to free his king. His father hadn't seen it that way. His father was jealous of Tywin's brilliance and the grudging respect and admiration Tywin had earned from most of the nobility and the commoners. Instead of being at ease with having a reliable and responsible Hand to manage the King's affairs, his father had become spiteful of him and did everything he could to humiliate Tywin Lannister.
Rhaegar's sharp jaw tightened as he grinded his teeth in disgusted rage, his father's worst offense against Tywin Lannister was the obscene and obsessive lust for Tywin's wife, Joanna Lannister. There was no limit his father did not cross to get Joanna Lannister, only by Tywin's overly vigilant nature and clever manipulation did Joanna always remain unharmed and untouched by his father.
The things he had heard, how his father shamelessly tried time and time again to abduct Joanna Lannister or invoke that disgusting and preposterous King's law, of how the King could have any woman he wanted. He was so deeply ashamed of his father's actions and more times than he could count, he wanted to apologize to Tywin Lannister for it, but Tywin was a man who never forgot or forgave a slight and this was something Rhaegar knew Tywin would make his father pay for dearly. Tywin would never accept an apology from Aerys Targaryen's son for Aerys' own mistakes.
Rhaegar hoped that he could form an alliance with Tywin in the future. He seemed like the man who would happily join the rebellion against Aerys, but he was also a very cunning man. Tywin would never join a losing side, which only meant the Tywin would keep himself on neutral grounds until one side should more promise and then would join the side which was winning by a land slide. Rhaegar had every intention of showing Tywin how he could outmaneuver and beat his father's forces.
The negotiations with Tywin would be difficult and he knew that. Tywin would most definitely demand for a heavy price for his alliance and the chance of him becoming a puppeteer controlling his every move after he took the throne. It would be the justified payback for every slight Aerys Targaryen had made against him. Rhaegar frowned, he would have to pay for his father's mistakes, that was inevitable.
Despite the Lannister's neutral stand many of the southern Houses would join Rhaegar, because the south had many Targaryen supporters. That is, the right Targaryen supporter, they supported Rhaegar. Aerys had started to scare them. The same was said for many less prominent houses all over the Seven Kingdoms.
Then there were the Tyrells, the whole lot of them were ambitious to the bone, despite their flowery disposition. They would remain absolutely neutral until the very end of the war. Hoping for an alliance with them would prove to be a waste of time, that is until he took the throne and sat in it. Then they would come with smiles, laughs, charms, their famous roses, trinkets, money and of course a long line of young, pretty, fertile and unwed Tyrell girls.
The Baratheons were difficult to predict, but if properly dealt with, they would side with him. They wanted a better future, one without a tyrant breathing fire at them and making them live like paupers. They wanted to prosper and make Storm's End just as prestigious as Casterly Rock or The Highgardens, but to do so they needed for their King to let them prosper. Rhaegar knew he could have the Baratheon's behind him; he only needed to make his case to them and inspire them properly.
The Arryn's of the Vale, now he knew for sure that they would back him till the very end and then some more. Jon Arryn, the Lord Arryn of the Vale, he had a secret. He was very much against Aerys Targaryen, but he was fond of Rhaegar, at least until Rhaegar did not start showing the same signs of madness Aerys possessed in abundant. Jon Arryn would help him dethrone his father but only if he would get to keep a close eye on Rhaegar.
The Tullys, they would support Rhaegar if the North supported him. But it was known to him that the Tullys were getting sicker and sicker of Aerys Targaryen and his sadistic madness.
The Starks, now they had an impressive amount of people and bannermen with them. The Starks were honorable people before anything else and his father was paranoid about them, just like he was about the Lannisters. If Rhaegar managed to make his case to the Starks in the proper manner and he honestly got them to see that he had to dethrone his father, not for the throne or the greed for the Iron Throne, but to save all the people of the Seven Kingdoms from suffering at his father's hands, then the Starks would back him up without question. With them would come the Karstarks and all the other lesser houses of the north.
The Drone, now they…..
He was far too lost in his line of thought, so it made him jump in his seat and spill a little wine from the goblet he held in his hand when the loud thunder cracked and roared over the dark sky. Flashes of light made the dark of the night luminous for a moment at a time and one thunder after another hit across the sky. The sea before him roared and nothing could be overheard because of the monstrous cracks of the thunder.
It felt like the castle was quivering and the thunder had decided to rip the land below into pieces. It felt like some God was in a vengeful mood and had mercy for none. Rhaegar felt very, very uneasy all of a sudden and his skin prickled. He stood up slowly, and looked around the room in slight panic; there was this sudden aura of something in his room, as if his chamber was suddenly filled the presence of something unknown.
He could feel his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. For the sake of his sanity, he hurried to get his sword in his hand as he looked about in his large ominous chambers. He had been knighted not too long ago, mere months ago and he could defend himself against whatever appeared in his bedchambers in the deep of the night. With his sword clutched tight in his swordhand, he felt prepared for whatever it was that came for him. He told himself over and over again, it wasn't the Targaryen madness taking over him, there really was something in there with him. He could feel it in his bones, his instincts screamed it and the hair on the back of his neck stood up in warning.
He couldn't trust his senses all that well, his hearing was nearly impaired by the booming thunder outside, his nose felt cold and he could smell nothing but the rain, cold and the sea, his eyes played tricks on him because of the darkness, the white flashes of thunder, the candles, the fire and the ominous shadows of everything in his chambers. His body was on defense, he would cut down anything that came at him before it could reach his body. His dark lilac eyes looked at anything, everything and nothing.
Suddenly, he jumped once more and his heart pounded even harder. He grimaced and wildly looked about, his long silver blonde hair flying everywhere as he tried to find the source of his agitation and panic. She was nowhere. That thrice damned croon was nowhere in his room and he couldn't find a large crow either. But his chambers rang out with that familiar blood-chilling mad cackle that he had only heard from one person in his life: the blind croon.
The croon was nowhere within those four walls and he knew instantly that like that one time more than two years ago when the croon told him her visions, then she had disappeared room the room only to leave her mad cackle behind and she was doing the same now. Out of very slight respect and to show his welcome, he lowered his sword and stood up straight, although he did not let go of the sword. He breathed in and the out, calming himself, masking his expressions and prepared himself for the shock the croon was about to deal him with. He looked every bit the regal prince he was born to be, even though he was half naked and his hair was a mess.
He narrowed his eyes and waited with slight exasperation for that cackle to stop. Really, she could laugh till her lungs gave out and then some more. Then again the way she found glee in the impending misfortune of others, well who could blame her for laughing at the fool's mistakes the people around her made in sheer arrogance and ambition amongst other reasons?
Then came the biggest shock, shaking him to his very bones. There was a very large boom, as if his castle, The Dragonstone was under siege by warships that came by the sea. The walls, the ground, everything trembled and the prince had to regain his balance, his knees shook a little by the very vibration from the hit his castle walls suffered. His ears rang because of the loud noise. His sense told him otherwise, that it was all a trick of the mad old croon. There was no smoke, no screaming from the residents of the castle, no crumbling noises, no smell of dust, nothing and the thunder was still cracking outside.
He looked everywhere in what he knew was fear of the unknown coursing through his veins. His sword was once more tightly grasped in his hand. He knew for sure that whatever noise he heard and the trembling he felt, it was all him. Nobody else would have heard or felt it, except him. The croon loved to toy with minds. His eyes ran all over his walls wildly again and again. Then he saw it and what he saw paralyzed him to where he stood.
He froze in shock as the thunder outside the walls somehow appeared in the dark corner of his chamber. Thunder, flashes of white appearing in crooked lines again and again and then accompanying the white flashes was a deep menacing throbbing red flash. Again and again, in a hypnotizing pattern and he couldn't look away. His heart beat thrummed and a slow smile crossed his sensuous mouth. His eyes gleamed at the sight before him and all fear and panic left him completely.
Finally, after years and months of waiting, it came in thunder and flashes of red, his help, his wisdom. He watched with hope and confidence building in his chest as the flashes of red grew larger and larger, quickly looking like huge slashes left by claws on the dark, stone walls. It looked like some kind of animal was trying to maul and rip his wall down. It was something fearsome to look at accompanied by the large booming crack and roars of the thunder, but Rhaegar felt nothing but awe and excitement.
Suddenly, right before his eyes, there was an unexpected explosion of red light all over his room and he thought that the way his chambers lit up, someone must have noticed the ominous light of his chambers from afar. The light was so bright he had to shield his eyes, and then he felt it, the thrust of a huge force of wind towards him. Then a crash in his chambers, he barely managed to see some dark silhouette bust through his walls, thrown out and into a small table on the floor and tumbling into the wall on the other side with a loud crash. He heard very little hit on the floor, and the dull thud of the body hitting the table, the table crashing on the floor and then the collision with the wall. He winced, that had to hurt.
He blinked a few times to ease the stress on his eyes the light left them with. Hurt? Wait, was that a body in his chambers? He drew a sharp breath and scrambled over to the dark corner where he thought he saw a body hit the wall. There was a long, haggard, painful moan that made him clutch his sword and walk over there cautiously for the first look at the intruder.
He grabbed a nearby candlestick and crouched down. His lilac eyes widened as he looked the figure over in complete disbelief. It couldn't be. His face twisted into a frustrated grimace, it couldn't be, but it was. That mad old croon had played a trick on him once more. She had sent in his bedchambers in the dead of the night a girl and not just any girl, a bruised and battered girl in her strange underclothing.
He shook off his aggravation and made himself make observations of her, whatever rumors or harmful implications could be made of this most improper situation could be dealt with later on. She was a young woman, around his age seventeen or sixteen, hard to tell with the way she was. In the dark of the night and without sufficient light he couldn't tell most of her features or her coloring, but he could see that her skin was pale and hair dark. For the sake of propriety he knew he shouldn't look over her body with the way she was dressed, but his mind still took note of her physical attributes. She, he was sure was a lovely creature, but the questions remained, why was she there and what was her identity.
Her long dark hair covered her face so he couldn't see her properly, he warily leaned a bit closer to her to hear what she was murmuring about. Her voice was hoarse, dry, dazed and breaking, "Fuck…stupid old woman…sent to Westeros my lily-white ass…help…fuck, everything feels sore…what the fuck did she do? That's the last time I am helping anyone who looks certifiably crazy…god, what the fuck was she talking about? What were they?..."
Rhaegar had drawn back in shock and utter disbelief. What atrocious language and to be used by a young woman such as herself, the complete indecency of it left him feeling more than a little awkward. He was a knight and he was used to men and their crude language, in severe instances such profanities had slipped from his own lips also, but he had never heard a woman speak in such a way. At least not a woman of nobility and despite her clothing he knew that she was born of class, her soft unmarred skin, her hair, her healthy figure, they all indicated towards a family which provided for her very well. She did not know poverty and starvation. Some of her words might be unbecoming, but her accent was clear, her words did not slur and nor did they have the usual shortenings and slangs that commoners used.
He could hear the pain in her voice and his eyes softened at her sight, the poor girl, she was hurt and it was more than acceptable for her to use such language. When she was groaning and panting a little, trying to get a little awareness in herself, he thought of her words. Stupid old woman, he barely held in his snort, it couldn't be anyone but the croon and she must have done something to this poor girl. The girl didn't even know what the croon did to her and the croon had managed to injure her and he couldn't help but feel the surge of anger at the croon for her actions.
The girl couldn't even sit up properly and he couldn't assess the damage on her body in this dark corner, he needed to get her near the fire. He took the candle very close to her face and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She visibly jumped, there was a sharp gasp and then a resulting pained moan, Rhaegar winced; she must have hurt something when he startled her. Her breaths increased and she was almost panting.
Before he could even ask her anything, she swiftly grabbed his hand with one of her delicate smaller hands in a move that shocked him frozen and made him groan out in pain. She had grabbed his wrist in some kind of defensive maneuver, with her thumb pressed against his wrist in a way that caused his wrist to feel a sharp pain which wasn't unbearable but it made his own survival instincts take not; the threat was clear, she could break his wrist if she wanted to, if he gave her a reason to.
If it had been anyone else and had been any other situation he would have gotten himself free and made it so that he had captured his attacker, even it meant fighting back. But this situation was very different and she was unique and he had to admit with a twinkle in his eyes, she had impressed him. She executed the move perfectly and clearly was not a damsel in distress; she had a good head on her shoulders too despite the traumatic experience she just went through. She did not trust him but she was ready to hear him out. The girl had very quick reflexes and an even quicker and calmer mind. Most women he knew did not possess those qualities, they would be screaming and bawling by now.
He watched her with rapt fascination as she slowly raised her head. She had managed to do the one thing many women before her had tried to do so desperately but failed miserably every time. She had managed to pique his curiosity. Everyone who knew Rhaegar knew that Rhaegar was a politely kind to women and very courteous, but he was always distant, cold and detached when it came to women. Everyone also knew how infamous Rhaegar's curiosity was, the man was a pursuer of knowledge and puzzles, mysterious, unanswered questions fascinated the man. This batter, bruised, improperly dressed, fighter of a woman had lit the candle of curiosity in him without even trying. Whether she wanted or not, be she sent to him by the croon or not, she had the complete and unwavering focus of Rhaegar. That is, until he figured her out.
He spoke, his deep sensual voice soothing and coaxing her, "Peace, my lady. I mean no harm to you in any manner. I only offer my help. You are injured."
What came from her mouth was a snarl and words dripping with such contempt masked with her sweet voice that he was genuinely taken aback, "No shit, Sherlock. Of course I am hurt, I just got thrown into a fucking vortex and landed god knows where, thrown straight across the bleeding room bumping into all this crap. Oh and this was after I fought off those ugly ass things for that crazy fucking old hag. And if you don't mean any harm to me then hold the fucking candle higher to your face so that I can fucking see you and assess for myself what kind of a twit you are!"
The girl had quite the mouth on her. To be honest, he felt downright indignant at her words and later he would be ashamed of it, but he was even angrier at her audacity to talk to him, a prince of the realm in this disrespectful manner. He wanted to sneer at her parentage, wasn't she taught manners properly or did her parents not have it in them to reign in their unruly daughter! The only reason he wasn't taking out his anger at her was because she was already harmed and by circumstances had fallen under his house and his protection. It would not be right to discipline an injured woman just because of her filthy mouth and atrocious etiquettes.
A part of him whispered to him, she was right to be so surly and her wariness was logical. She was thrown into a man's chambers in a violent manner in the deep of the night and she was injured, she had every reason to be in turmoil. Her condition, no matter the offense of the words she chose, was appropriate. She had no reason to trust him. She had already paid the price for trusting someone and helping them just moments before.
Damn that croon for tricking this girl, how could she? This girl clearly was brave and had noble intentions despite her lack of manners. She had jumped into to fight of attackers off an old woman because she believed it to be the right thing to do. She was betrayed by the one she was risking her life for. How could he expect her to be pliant and just turn herself over to him and his control? She did not ask for much. She simply did not want to be touched and she wanted to see the face of the man who was before her.
Taking the age old advice, one did not taunt an injured animal lest one wants to be bitten; he calmed himself and made sure his voice did not present any of the ire he felt at her behavior, as he softly coaxed, "I would, my lady, if you would only let go of my hand first."
She snapped back immediately, "Why? You don't need both of your hands to raise a candle. Or is that too difficult for you to accomplish?"
She was an impertinent little thing, wasn't she? Rhaegar was told many times that his voice was one of his best assets, it was a voice which soothed, which left an everlasting effect on people, capable of both putting people in a trance and capturing the attention of even the most obstinate. He knew he had a good singing voice but nothing more than that. Yet in that very moment he hoped and prayed that his voice reached out to her with his sincerity, honesty and promise that she was safe from him. He needed to soothe her, so in his deepest of voice he spoke softly and sincerely, "You are correct and I am quite capable of doing so, but it will be a bit awkward for both of us, my lady. I give you my word that I won't touch you without your assent."
For a moment he was filled with frustration and indignation as he heard her snort at his words, but then she but out, "Big words for a prissy twit. Fine, take your damn hand back. But don't think for one fucking second that I am some weak little girl. I am capable of and will break every bone in your body only to watch you bleed out on the ground if you so much as look at me funky."
She eased the pressure on his wrist and flung it back at him. Again, he believed every threat that came from her mouth. He believed firmly that she was very well versed in physical fighting techniques. He complimented her parents for teaching their daughter on how to protect herself, there were far too many people in the world who didn't respect, protect and care for women as they should; such dark times had come that no woman was truly safe and had to learn to protect themselves. He told her wryly, "I believe you and heed your words, my lady."
There was also the fact that he did not want to attack or restraint the girl. He did not want to make her feel threatened, mistrust him or be hurt by him in any manner possible. He knew that if she had attacked him, he could overpower her easily. She might be very proficient in many techniques of martial arts and most of them unknown to him, but he was a knight who had been training for years.
He leaned a bit closer to her and resisted the urge to massage the dull pain in his wrist; she had quite the hold, sharp, swift and effective. Very calmly and slowly he raised the candelabra higher and near both their faces, he wanted to see her face as well. His lips quirked up in a little smile at that, the face of the cheeky little girl with a filthy mouth that belonged on a fishmonger. He could almost imagine the scowl she would have on her face.
The small glow of light from the candles illuminated both their faces to each other in the darkness of the room. To be honest, Rhaegar did not notice her face or even look at it. His attention was captured completely and wholly by one single thing. From the darkest of long black strands he could see two bright eyes locked on his unblinkingly and unfalteringly.
His heart felt like it was constricting far too hard, a gasp left his lips and he heard the croon's voice echoing in his head, golden hues. That was what the croon had said, but these were not just golden hues, they were pools of molten gold burning at him. He tried but he couldn't look away. They were mysterious, uncommon and belonged in the head of a mythical beast or some majestic animal, not on the face of a disrespectful little girl. He told himself, the way her eyes were affecting him, there was nothing uncommon about them, and the light from the candles must be making them like that.
He was far too busy captivated by her eyes to notice her shocked and almost feared expression. She was not the least bit affected by him initially as he had been by her. She had done inspection and it had filled her with horror. His appearance had enraged her and horrified her, but he did not notice it. It was her angered snarl which broke him from his daze; he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in warning as he noticed how her eyes were glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns, "What the fuck?"