In which ASoIaF stops pretending to be a low fantasy setting when all the magic comes back, thanks to a misplaced demonically corrupted Silver dragon. Its lack will no longer be an issue for anyone. Or anything. Good does not always triumph over Evil. What has been lost can not always be reclaimed. What has been forgotten cannot always be remembered. Some decay is irreversible.

Winter is coming, but it will not do so alone. If the world doesn't end in fire, salt or shadow first?

It will end in ice.


Rust

Winterfell III


It was the hour of the nightingale, the eerie time between the darkest time of night and the full light of dawn. The bleeding star had fallen beyond the horizon, leaving naught but a bloody glow in the sky to the west. Small flickering glimpses of fire up on the walls from the men on guard were their only company. Ser Whent surveyed the courtyard with a practiced eye all the same, while Arthur was still waking up, rubbing his eyes and slapping his cheeks like a child.

"I do not know whether to call you a mad fool or what," Brandon Stark bluntly stated. He then glanced back as if what he just said wouldn't earn him a few days in the Black Cells to belatedly add, "Prince Rhaegar."

Before Ser Whent could bite the Stark heir's head off for his manners, Rhaegar admitted, "You are not the first to say so and like as not will not be the last."

Seven hells By the Flames, he would not be the last.

The future Lord Stark was a tall youth only three to four years younger than himself with long wavy dark hair, the long Stark face with dark gray eyes, scruff on his chin and a fine cloak made of snow bear pelt. Unlike his father, he was dressed somewhat appropriately for the winter with a padded gray overcoat with a white wolf head embroidered on the front, gloves lined in red fox fur and long riding boots. A truly oversized white bird as big as a half grown child, a legendary snow eagle, was perched on the saddle of his horse. The bird was peering at him with intelligent yellow eyes as if evaluating his sanity along with its master.

Perhaps there was more to the paltry talent of animal taming than he had first assumed.

"But?" Brandon prompted, gently tugging on his horse's lead to draw it away from the straw that had been laid over icy patches of ground.

Rhaegar sighed. "Yes, of course, if she was only a dragon, then I would be questioning my own mind as well, but." He raised a pleading hand. "Have you seen her?"

Brandon's sharp bark of a laugh echoed throughout the empty courtyard of Winterfell. "I did see your point! Aye, be hard pressed to find a more comely creature, very well, you're not mad," he allowed with a grin. "You're either a brave fool or fiendishly clever. I do not envy your search for a septon to drag in front of it."

"I have heard vows before a heart tree would suffice, my lord," he said. He could not help the small smile when the vexing Stark's face pinched.

"Aye," Brandon said reluctantly. "Though to be considered legal without needing reparations, we still require representatives of both families to be present before the old gods."

The familiar sting of

(did not know that, did you, boy? not so clever after all)

It was a slim possibility in any case, but perhaps Arthur could be his representative? His sworn brother and a Kingsguard assigned to him by the king.

The bride was slightly more complicated. Her mother was the sovereign of a very foreign kingdom and

"...do you have any insight on the proceedings if her father is also a god?"

Brandon Stark stopped dead in his tracks and turned all the way around. His gray gaze bounced between himself and his Kingsguard, searching for the jape.

"A god."

Rhaegar nodded agreeably. "Were you not informed? She is a godling of the dragon god Apsu."

It was not a name he recognized from known Valyrian gods, but that meant little. Much had been lost in the Doom and through other disasters besides. He could be a god of the old Ghiscari Empire, from Yi Ti, the land of a thousand gods or from Asshai and the Shadow.

It felt familiar, so he must have come across mention of a 'Dragon God of All' somewhen or somewhere.

"It must have slipped Father's mind," Brandon said flatly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "God get. Right. Is a sign of his disapproval going to burn down the godswood?"

And everyone else in it?

"A fair question, my lord," Rhaegar said. His irritation with Brandon evaporated. Unlike first impressions, the youth was not unintelligent, just uncouth. He himself should have considered that. "I haven't the faintest."

They both ignored his incredulous Kingsguard.

"Hmm, well, the North would be honored to host you, but…." Brandon's lips thinned.

"Starting a holy war in the North is inadvisable, I agree. I will ask," Rhaegar assured him. Speaking of divine disapproval reminded him. "As for the septon, it has been suggested to me that the Seven might take offense to her presence in a sept."

"What?" Ser Whent whispered, appalled.

Rhaegar glanced at him. "I did not mention this earlier?"

"No," Arthur said tightly. "No, you did not."

"Of course they would tell you that." Stark said dismissively, rolling his eyes. "I'm certain quite a number in the South still preach about us heathen tree worshippers."

"Not the septons. The Seven Who Are One have already made their opinion known at the Wall." Rhaegar absently corrected the misunderstanding. Given the centuries of burned weirwoods and bloodshed between the First Men and the Andals, he had been unsurprised when Mance Rayder mentioned it.

"It was rather poor. They do not like sharing."

Ser Oswell Whent began to swear under his breath.

Brandon blinked quickly. "I see." He opened his mouth to say something more, but then visibly thought better of it, simply repeating, "I see."

"Mayhaps we shall wed according to her customs instead," Rhaegar mused aloud as Whent continued to quietly curse like an Ironborn sailer behind him. "She is still a dragon, so a traditional Valyrian ceremony is also an option."

"...and how much are you betting your High Septon would love that?"

"Nothing," Rhaegar bit out, vexed.

The wedding itself was not supposed to be the hard part.

He had nothing but respect for the current High Septon who was a very old and very pious individual. Luckily too pious to be overly concerned with politics until politics made it his problem. The crown prince's own conversion away from the Faith of the Seven and subsequently wedding a woman his god actively disapproved of had the potential of making it his problem.

Neither of which could be helped and unlike Jaehaerys I, Rhaegar lacked a Septon Barth to assist in the reconciliation.

…mayhaps announcing the aforementioned conversion in a letter right before his unannounced trip to the Wall was not the best decision he could have made, in hindsight. Nuncle Aemon might have had a teeny tiny portion of a valid point, loathe as he was to admit it.

Why was getting a dragon wife so complicated?

"The North would recognize such a union, correct?" He asked the heir of it. "Your father made his preference plain."

Rhaegar did not have the support of the North.

He had hoped

(you want this throne, i see it! this crown? you think they want you any more than me?)

Terendelev had won the North for him. He would not forget that.

"Don't ask me what Father is thinking, but aye, we won't be cunts about it." Brandon waved a careless hand. "The Manderlys often wed in a sept alone and their Braavosi sailors have their own tradition, besides."

"The Reach is the home of the Faith," Rhaegar murmured. "It might be a point of contention."

More than it would already be.

House Tyrell did not have the hold on their lords that Stark had on theirs. The latter had a history of thousands of years as kings in the North, the former stewards uplifted by Aegon I after the extinction of the Gardener kings. He had on good authority that their vassal lords would never let them forget it.

Staying loyal to the king could gain them much, while all he could offer were promises.

"Dorne would be much the same as the North," Arthur murmured softly from behind Rhaegar's right shoulder, a grimace in his voice. "Greyjoy and the Iron Islands are not likely to concern themselves with your marriage anyhow."

Ser Whent stopped swearing long enough to snort derisively.

Brandon's smile was sharp as they passed through the Kingsroad gate. "It's just everywhere else, aye? No matter." He nodded to the side and Rhaegar followed his gaze. "You have a dragon."

He was starting to appreciate these Starks and their frankness.

"I do have a dragon."

Rhaegar still had to catch his breath every time he laid eyes on her.

Terendelev was magnificent.

All of his books and scrolls, the records and tales and memoirs of the likes of Vhagar and Dreamfyre, the Black Dread Balerion and the Bronze Fury, Vermithor, words could not compare to hearing the bellows of her breaths in sleep or seeing the luster of her silvery scales. Her black talons left deep grooves in the ground and her horns curled proudly from her head while smaller blackened spines framed her face. She was hazy with steam, even as the air in her presence gained a bitter chill. Everything from the barbed frill on her back, the sharp point her jawline came to, the deceptively delicate bones of her wings fascinated him.

His fingers twitched. He was certain that if he could find a few moments to compose her a song without the parchment catching aflame, he might be able to put to notes the majesty his words could not convey.

"It even sleeps like a cat!"

Ser Oswell Whent was decidedly less impressed.

Brandon barked again, catching himself by shoving his gloved thumb in his mouth as he turned away, shoulders shaking. Rhaegar turned to his Kingsguard with a flat look. The man flushed under his bat helm.

"I am not wrong," Whent said stubbornly.

Brandon squealed. "He isn't!"

His dragon had a wing draped over her head. Her entire body, tail included, was curled up against Winterfell's outer walls like a dog that had found a small, warm corner. She was wedged between the tall walls and the encroaching Wolfswood, her hindquarters leaving some few trees leaning precariously. Some enterprising soul had smuggled a yellow bed cushion underneath his dragon's head next to his her high harp. Her sheer size rendered both objects almost comically small.

"Aegon the Conqueror," Brandon said, motioning towards Rhaegar. Then giggling, pointed towards the dragon. "Balerion."

Rhaegar attempted to banish the blasphemous image of Aegon I tossing the Black Dread a yarn ball post haste.

He did not succeed.

"Why did you have to say that?" Rhaegar whinged to Stark's muffled laughter. "You will have me thinking about the Cat Dread all day."

"Ha!" Brandon guffawed.

In the distance, his dragon let out a gust of razor ice shards towards them as she stirred. Whent's guilty chuckle cut short as the shards plowed deep cracks in the ground. Stark snapped his mouth shut and waited in tense silence before she settled back into sleep.

"Well then," Brandon whispered out the corner of his mouth as he took a large step back. "I'll leave waking the dragon to you."

"It still scares Dawn shitless," Arthur volunteered before Rhaegar could say anything. "And I cannot wear armor - "

Whent squawked. "Look who is being a craven - "

"Look who is being a hypocrite - "

"It can braid castle forged steel! I am the only one here without any fucking magic - "

Rhaegar left his Kingsguard to bicker with each other.

He took an indirect route towards his dragon, wading through the snow that melted and steamed to stay out of her line of fire. A bit of searching among the trees behind her turned up a hefty branch and he sidled back to the front. He had to admit, she looked comfortable and he was feeling a little guilty for interrupting her rest.

However, a Targaryen could not be seen balking at their dragon, so with a final sigh of resignation, he took aim.

And beaned his dragon in the snout with a stick.

Terendelev's molten silver eyes snapped open.

"Wha - "

His future wife was not someone that greeted the morning gracefully.

"Who - " She squinted, her head swaying like a viper, blearily trying to see the people in front of her. She stifled a second yawn into just a flash of teeth as she sagged against Winterfell. Meeting the stone seemed to confuse her, as she pulled away a moment later. "Where?"Her head twisted on her serpentine neck to peer up at the walls. "Oh."

"Good morning!" Rhaegar called out.

"Rusting - " Terendelev grumbled wordlessly as a low growl. His dragon yawned, displaying the entirety of her toothy maw.

To think he would ever be in the position to confirm Septon Barth's opinion that the inside of the mouth was not a weak point! The mouth of a dragon 'only allowed death in one direction,' indeed. He could plainly see the toughened plates lining the roof and all the way down towards her gullet.

Incredible!

And reaching out to touch a tooth would be foolish.

He would lose an arm and wonder why he ever thought to do it in the first place.

"Morning," Terendelev mumbled. Her head twisted again to look down at the ground. He watched her double pupils constrict and focus. "You threw a stick at me?" Rhaegar nodded. "...did I sleep through you calling me?"

His mouth opened and then closed. After a moment, he sheepishly tried, "Do not ask me why I did not think to attempt that first."

Terendelev puffed her sigh as he shrugged.

She knocked her head against the keep's outer walls with a heavy thud. "It is too early."

"You picked the time?"

She hissed, looking as close as a dragon could to someone that was hating themselves. She scraped her horns against the gray stone then buried her head in snow, swiping more onto herself with her tail. Her eyes closed as she puffed more vapor petulantly.

She -

She was adorable.

Rhaegar smothered his smile, but he was certain it could still be heard in his voice, "Terendelev."

"Yes, yes!" Her eyes reluctantly pried open once again."Give me a moment."

She rolled around in the snow. As she steamed, she painstakingly used her wings to right the trees her bulk had pushed over in her sleep. At times nudging with her snout. When she was satisfied that the trees were all standing straight, her back curved in a feline stretch before she shook the water from her scales.

Silver light shone.

When it faded, he had to catch his breath again.

He would be hard pressed to find a more comely creature, indeed. In the dim light of the approaching dawn, her woman form seemed to have a silver glow beneath her skin. Her eyes were a clear indigo and her long hair was an exact match for a finely polished silver stag coin, the same as her scales. She looked to be of an age with himself, her face wholly unlined and beautiful.

She chose what looked to be hunting or riding attire from the Reach with plainly foreign differences, such as the extra gathered leather at the top of her riding boots and embroidered crimson patches in her leather jerkin. A long cloth of silver scarf hung about her neck, nearly as long as a cloak. A flick of her finger silenced the phantom strumming of the high harp before she picked it up, cradling it like the treasure it was.

"You are staring," she murmured as they waded back through the snow to the Kingsroad Gate.

"You look like yourself!" He blurted out. "The bones of your cheeks are angled similarly, your sharp jawline and chin reminiscent and the shape of your eyes are the same."

She stopped walking and looked at him.

Rhaegar bit his lip, feeling foolish. "If I do not stare, I will babble," he admitted miserably. "And neither of us want that."

"...I would not be so certain," she said gently, a peculiar soft expression on her face that made his heart skip a beat. "And yes, I do look like myself."

He offered her his arm. "Either way, you are lovely to behold."

She took it with no hesitation and graceful manners. She ran as warm as he did, a bite of ice in the air around her that was missing from her pleased smile.

"Always."

The snowdrifts they had to wade through back to the gate could have been clouds.

"This could have waited for after mid meal!" Brandon Stark called out with a tight smile as they approached.

"If I ever suggest a time as early as this ever again," Terendelev began as a bitter wind blew through their cloaks and hair. "Just…stop me. Strike me if you have to."

"Gladly."

Her head tilted in Arthur's direction. "Thank you," she said sincerely, plainly having heard whatever his sworn brother just muttered. "That would be appreciated."

The Dornishman grimaced.

"Lord Brandon," she said. "I trust you are prepared to be leading us on this venture?"

"Will I be leading?" The youth asked slowly. He was watching her the same way his bird was, wary.

Rhaegar frowned. "Yes, of course, you are."

His father would disapprove

(nothing like a true dragon, knew there was something wrong with you)

He had a suspicion that Tywin Lannister would disapprove of the crown prince following the heir of a lord instead of leading, but if he was to be honest with himself.

That sounded quite a bit of unnecessary effort and responsibility on his part.

He would not even be here if Terendelev had not expressed interest in attending. The last thing he needed right now was any display of disunity.

"You are far more familiar with the Wolfswood than either of us," Rhaegar reasoned aloud. "Restless creatures in your borders are a Stark concern and if a fallen star is causing this, it will be found on Stark land. Why would you not be in command?"

"Your father expressed his confidence in your ability and there will be no need to put more men at risk." Terendelev said, inclining her head. "I only wish to provide whatever assistance I am able."

"Why?" Brandon demanded suspiciously.

Her head tilted in an avian manner as if his question baffled her. "It is the right thing to do."

The heir to the North studied them with his head similarly tilted, along with his bird. Rhaegar kept his face open and his tongue silent at his dragon's side.

A subtle tension loosened in Brandon Stark's shoulders.

"We'll head to the southwest through the Hunter's Gate," Stark said decisively. "Reports came from the direction of a crofter village. I'll order the rations - " His hand shot up to catch the loaf of bread Terendelev tossed at him. "Where did you - " He broke the loaf, revealing fluffy white bread. His gray eyes blew wide open as he watched her bite into a red apple pulled from thin air. "What?"

"You missed yesterday's mid meal," Rhaegar said, amused. "Terendelev conjured it with her magic."

"I - it might snow."

"It will not," his dragon stated as if declaring the sky was blue. "I will make certain of it. What else?"

"...we will have to match you with horses," Brandon faintly said. "It's a three day journey. There will be provisions for tents."

"Do you know how to ride?" Rhaegar asked his intended. He hoped the answer was no so they could share a horse.

Terendelev glanced at him. "Yes."

Damn.

Her lips quirked upwards at the corners as she gently unlinked their arms and pulled away, but not before gently nudging him with her shoulder.

"Rhaegar, Kenabres is a city with alleyways, fountains, market squares and deceptively fragile buildings," she said as she nearly danced a few steps away, crossing a patch of ice as if it were ground. "Surely you did not believe I traveled the streets as a dragon?"

He had not thought that far.

He watched her head for the Great Keep with her harp and weakly offered to her back, "No?"

"No!" She called back. "I will meet you at the stables!"

Arthur snorted softly.

"I wasn't convinced on supporting the Iron Throne, neither the king nor you," Brandon said bluntly and Rhaegar's head whipped around to stare at him, amazed.

Brandon was not unintelligent, but it apparently did not extend to speaking plain treason to his prince's face.

"But that trade deal with Driftmark, that was you, wasn't it?"

Rhaegar nodded stiffly. "Monford is a Velaryon of Driftmark and I am still his Lord of Dragonstone. It seemed an obvious solution." He let his eyes drop to the ground. "I am aware that your Father agreed for the dragon and I have nothing of value equal to her ice houses or contraptions, but that does not mean I should do nothing."

He still had some measure of pride.

"Hmm." Brandon's expression turned thoughtful as his snow eagle tracked Terendelev with its bright yellow eyes. "It may be I do know a little of what Father was thinking, after all."

"I have been considering offering Rickard Stark the title of Hand of the King," Rhaegar admitted quietly.

The North was the second line of defense behind the Wall. It only made sense.

Brandon grinned. "He would hate that! Do it - wait, he would have to go South." His smile dropped as he realized it would mean he would be the Stark of Winterfell much sooner than planned. "Do not do it, I will think of lords who would take positions in King's Landing for you."

Brandon paused and then nodded to himself.

"By your leave, your grace." Stark said with the first bow Rhaegar had ever gotten from him.

A knot in his chest loosened. "Granted, Lord Brandon."

Rhaegar held back a moment as his Kingsguard fell in line behind him. "Arthur."

"Your grace?"

"I am not wasting time, am I?" He asked as Brandon drew further and further away out of earshot. "We could be searching for more information on the prophecy or the Others in the Citadel at Oldtown or Essos." He looked to his sworn brother. "Assisting the North is important?"

"It is," Arthur said firmly. "It is a war, not a battle. Patience, my prince. Would you truly leave the North to bear the brunt unprepared? To make unnecessary sacrifices of people who you have a duty to defend?"

He did not wish to, but that meant little. "Even if the prophecy would hold the key to victory?"

"Even if," the Sword of the Morning proudly said. "I see no reason to let others suffer needlessly for that victory. Focus on securing your crown and uniting the realm first. Help whoever we can along the way."

Would that they were brothers for true as Arthur was the elder and so would be king ahead of him.

Arthur would make a truly noble one.

If Terendelev had not volunteered to just help with this errand, he never would have thought to do it on his own. Rabid animals he had not thought to be any of his concern. Even the possibility of magical influence would not have changed his opinion.

He wanted to be like the dragon.

Someone who burned bright with compassion and understanding and threw herself head long into righteous causes no matter how big the task or what it might cost her. Who could find herself far, far from home, gravely wounded and dedicate herself to defending strangers she did not know simply because she could.

He needed her so badly, at times like this, it hurt. An empty sucking wound in his chest whenever he acknowledged

(there it is, that glint in your eye. not so different, are we boy?)

He would never blame his Mother for the strength every lost child took from her. He just wished he knew how to be enough.

Rhaegar shook his head. "You both make it seem so simple."

Ser Whent gave him a concerned glance.

"What do we make simple?" Arthur asked gently.

The right thing to do.

"Being good," Rhaegar said.


The Wolfswood was not like the Kingswood.

The forest that surrounded the Red Keep in King's Landing was of tall broad leaf trees with a good portion being populated by shrubbery, vine, wild flowers and wild berries. The Wolfswood was dense with soldier pine, sentinels and other evergreen woods and the occasional oak and ash trees. Wisps of pale mist threaded through the old trunks. There was rarely any shrubbery, leaving the entire forest to be made of silent, stately foreboding trees and a blanket of snow on the ground, broken only by large stones like the forgotten pebbles of giants.

He did not intend to be quiet, but there was a muted quality to his voice all the same as if the trees around them were stifling sounds. Their horses snorted silently as they walked. His mare was draped in a quilted overcoat typically used for bedding during the coldest nights so he would not burn her.

"Viserys is some moons past his second name day and is already a handful," Rhaegar spoke. "He is Mother's pride and joy." Ever since she was allowed to be alone with him, as if she would murder her own son. He stopped understanding his father's fears years and years ago. "Have you any siblings?"

"None that have acknowledged any relation," Terendelev replied evenly.

"A bastard dragon then," Brandon drawled.

If he rode any closer, Rhaegar would have pushed him off his horse.

"No such thing exists," she scoffed. "Do you think dragons wed in temples before a priest with vows and a guest list?" She waved a dismissive hand. "Why bother with such things? If I was wanted, I would be approached to be taken."

Brandon went cross eyed.

Rhaegar ventured, "You know how to ride, dance, sew, manage an estate, city and war efforts, but dragons do not marry?"

Her bewildered glance was not promising.

"Yes?" She frowned. "I fail to see what relevance marriage has to any of that."

Rhaegar realized that he had not the faintest notion what was to be expected from her. "Nothing at all…"

"Dragons such as I are not like mankind," Terendelev offered gently. "What is the worth of a bloodline and legacy of name to those who will live for thousands of years?"

Thousands.

Balerion died of old age at around two centuries.

"How old are you?" He hesitated to ask.

"Nine hundred and seventy three," was the easy answer. Brandon yelped, turned his horse to skip to the side of them as he stared incredulously. "I have yet to finish my first thousand years and am expecting three to four thousand more." Terendelev raised a pointed eyebrow. "That makes me rather young."

"I - " Rhaegar stopped. "I apologize, Lord Brandon, but could you…?"

"Say no more!" Stark said gallantly as he kicked his horse into a canter to join Ser Oswell ahead of them.

Terendelev watched him with sharp eyes. "You are troubled by this."

"I have come to the realization that I have taken a great many things for granted," Rhaegar admitted. "What does a courtship mean to you?"

"An endless war a hundred years old has scoured the formality from Mendevian courtships." Her eyes darted to a small snow hare that darted out from behind a tree with the intensity of a hungry predator. "It could be three moons in length or three years and while marriage is welcome, it is hardly expected."

"And for dragons?"

"Does not exist as you know it," she allowed. "There are rules and negotiations, a singular gift exchange and the 'couple' may go decades to centuries without ever laying eyes on one another again after conception."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Ours are always with the expectation of marriage. Six moons before an announcement of betrothal would be a courtship of considerable length."

The dragon hummed. "The assumption would be that we are courting only because you do not yet have the permission of your father to wed or do not wish to announce it yet."

"Yes," Rhaegar said miserably. "I apologize for placing such expectations upon - "

"Rhaegar," she interrupted him gently. "I would not mind wedding you." His mouth fell open as he stared at her, daring to hope - "If it will smooth our path, then I have no outstanding objections. A few decades as your wife is an insignificant amount of my time."

A pit formed in his stomach.

He had no doubt the irrelevance of his lifespan was meant to be reassuring.

It seemed he had not quite understood what it meant that her father was a god either.

"And you do not want children." he mumbled.

An apologetic expression crossed her fair face. "I will not have any man's children. I have no desire to. I am a dragon and my hatchlings will be dragons. Not half nor merely blooded."

A fruitless, unconsummated marriage was a hollow one. It could be easily argued against for annulment. A second wife would only aggravate all who were not turned away by the first one and the legitimacy of the children could be questioned.

It would not be worth the vows.

The prophecy of the prince that was promised, the song of ice and fire stuck to the roof of his mouth. Who was he to insist on destiny to a dragon nearly a thousand years old who had gained the attention of gods? Perhaps it simply meant that she was to assist him. Perhaps she had been right to claim fate was broken.

Perhaps he had simply been fooling himself. "Is there no chance you could be convinced otherwise?"

Terendelev hesitated.

"It is not unheard of among my kind," she eventually told him. There was a faint trace of an emotion he never wanted to see on her face in his presence.

Disgust.

"It is, however, unlikely. You are no different from any other man in my eyes. I am sorry."

"I understand," Rhaegar said, nodding. "Please forgive my presumption."

It felt like

(walking around my keep with your head in the clouds like you are worth something - you are nothing without me rhaegar, you hear me?)

He knew failing expectations stung fiercely.

He had no words to describe what no expectations at all felt like.

"Nothing to forgive," the dragon replied.


"By the entire Seven hells and heavens, your pining is getting out of hand," Arthur told his prince.

Prince Rhaegar hurled his scavenged branches into the campfire. "I am not pining."

"And I am not the Sword of the Morning," Arthur drawled as he tested the set of his tent and gave the front left stake another solid whack with the wooden hammer.

What little sky could be seen through the trees was heavily overcast with gray clouds threatening snow. The sun had risen and now it was setting as they made camp on the shores of a small frozen pond that fed into a bitterly cold creek. The late meal had been simple, but filling and Rhaegar had managed to light the fire on purpose with his cheap flute.

And then proceeded to play the song of Jenny of Oldstones like they were attending a funeral, despair dripping from every note like a physical sensation. It even seemed to drag Arthur's own heart into a pit with heartbreak somehow.

Like the overly dramatic mummer Rhaegar could be at times. His new found talent with music only made it worse.

"What is it now?"

His prince's lips pursed. "She will agree to wed me."

"You do not sound pleased?"

"Because she simply does not care enough not to agree."

"Ah," Arthur said blandly.

Ouch.

"Leave it to a dragon to be unimpressed with a prince." It was the closest he would risk to 'I told you so' as he did say so. The dragon was a beast, not a woman and so did not hold the same values or ideals as they.

"Unimpressed," Rhaegar said with a bitter sounding chuckle. "Yes, I suppose that does sum it up nicely. My only consolation is that I need not fear another gaining her favor and she will have no children."

That was a relief, to be true.

Arthur glanced around to check on Brandon Stark's position by the pond. "Is the courtship to be called off?"

Rhaegar startled, looking up from the fire and hissing, "No!"

Arthur held up his hands in surrender.

"I just - " Rhaegar ran a frustrated hand through his pale hair. "I already presented her to Lord Stark and it is her that earned his support, to call it off now…" Arthur nodded understandingly. "And in the future, to be unpromised will do little else but raise the price for every lord's support of me."

"Like Lord Lannister." Arthur noted. "Fealty for a queen."

Rhaegar grimaced. "To be frank, I also do not want to. I may have little hope, but…" His prince clenched his fists at his side. "I could love her. Truly and utterly. Do you understand what I - do you…"

His prince trailed off helplessly.

He knew what this was born from. Arthur spoke as his brother then, not his Kingsguard, "You do not need to love your wife to treat her well."

Rhaegar looked at him, his face stricken.

'Unlike his father' went unsaid between them.

Rhaegar opened his mouth and then closed it without a word.

The journey continued the second day much like the first. When Rhaegar wasn't wailing his sadness on his stupid little flute, he and the dragon gave every indication of a prospective couple well pleased with each other. Asking each other questions about their respective kingdoms and traditions and a few lessons in High Valyrian. They were in the middle of comparing knightly training, because of course the dragon trained as a fucking knight, when the beast's head snapped to the side.

"Hold!"

Were she a dog, her ears would be standing straight up in attention.

Without a word, Brandon Stark's snow eagle took flight as he slumped in his saddle like he had fainted.

He straightened a moment later and leapt off his mount. "Off! Be ready!"

Dawn hummed in anticipation.

"What is coming?" Oswell hissed before they heard the thundering. The Riverlander blanched as he drew his sword.

Just like we practiced, Arthur thought. He held out a hand over Dawn's milk glass pale blade. Lightning leapt from his fingers and Dawn held it, crackling.

What bumbled into sight through the tall tree trunks were hideous. Squat, squalid bodies as big as a wolf swarmed towards them on four thin legs, a long hairless tail, buck teeth and round ears -

"Giant rats," the dragon said flatly. Then its face lit up with an unholy glee. "Giant rats!"

Giant rats with a carapace of cloudy green gemstone that screamed in his ears growing out of rotting wounds on their back like an infection.

"Kill it! Kill it!" Oswell was shouting as he kicked a rat back from Rhaegar who had yet to draw his sword like an idiot - what was he doing with the flute - Dawn was already cutting one down, the blade vibrating with contempt, when glowing bolts of blue light erupted from the dragon's fingertips to gore another. Another rat crawled over the corpse, foaming at the mouth, rabid.

A pillar of fire crashed down from the sky.

Just like that, the horde was culled from dozens to three.

The thundering had not stopped.

Fuck shit damn -

It was the sound of falling trees. Arthur had enough time to realize the rats had been running away from something when the thundering sounded close enough to make his head ring. He did not know who cried out when the shadow of several large evergreens fell over them. Arthur leapt for Rhaegar, heart in his throat as he tackled his brother out of the way.

His prince landed heavily.

As did the tree on Arthur's legs.

The sharp wet snapping pain drove the breath from his lungs. He stopped moving, stopped breathing when a crystalline tail slammed into the ground by him, kicking up snow and ice.

The entire creature was covered in sharp, jagged spikes of pale blue crystal. There were no eyes or nose or even a mouth, just a flattened clump of crystal growing from what could have been a snout on any other creature.

It did not seem to realize Arthur was even there. It was crouched low on a fallen tree trunk with its 'gaze' fixed on the dragon.

"Yes," the dragon said wearily. "Yes, this tends to happen too."