Chapter 11

It was his sister's wedding today, and Rhaegar Targaryen could not hate himself more for it.

When Magister Illyrio Moaptis had brought him and Daenerys to the safety of his manse half a year ago, Rhaegar had actually believed that they were finally safe. That they had found a haven at last. How naïve that thought had been. Two days ago, when he had been summoned in to Illyrio's dining room, the fat man had told him of a coming dothraki horde, that its leader, Khal Drogo, had heard tales of Dany's beauty, and wished to marry her. Rhaegar had scoffed at the mere suggestion, but was shocked when Moaptis said that he had already sent the Khal a message of acceptance. That by itself was enough to make him want to throttle the fat man, but it was Moaptis's reason for doing so that almost sent Rhaegar over the edge.

"Khal Drogo has one of the largest khalasars in Essos. He could, through marriage to your sister…."

At this, Rhaegar had surprised everyone, even himself, by slamming his fists upon the table and shouting, "I will not sell my sister to some barbarian warlord LIKE A PIECE OF FUCKING FURNITURE! How can you even suggest something like that?"

Moaptis, though momentarily startled by Rhaegar's outburst, continued. "….be persuaded to help you reclaim your throne."

Rhaegar had laughed at this. "The throne. Reclaim my rightful throne? My family, my bloodline lost any claim to that damnable scrap heap of a chair the day my father became king. It is a curse upon any who sits it. I say let Robert fucking Baratheon keep it. It will kill him off just as well as it did my father. Besides, what possible reason would I have to want to reclaim it?"

At this, he had turned to leave, but what the fat Magister said next to stopped Rhaegar cold. "Because you are a Targaryen."

When those words were spoken, Rhaegar had stopped walking. Illyrio continued.

"That innate desire to conquer, the hunger to rule over the teeming multitudes, both peasant and simpering lords alike. The need to be greater than any other man. These are what courses through your family's blood, your majesty. Theses desires were what drove Aegon the first to become a king. Those hungers were what spurred Daeron the young Dragon to conquer Dorne. Seven Hells, those needs were what made Daemon Blackfyre rebel and try to claim the Six Kingdoms for himself from his half-brother. These drives, these hungers, are the very foundations that have built your family's history since the times of the conquest. Just now, though you spoke derisively about the Iron throne and any idea of reclaiming it, in those amethyst eyes of yours, I saw a hunger for it, a desire to rule once again. You surely have felt that way at times. Has it not haunted your dreams, the need to rule, or, at least, to see your children and dead wife avenged? To lay their memories to rest. To have justice?"

Rhaegar honestly could not disagree with the fat man, as tears threatened to well up in his eyes upon the mention of his dead family, though that desire to rule was not the only thing of which he dreamed. ….he heard the beat of mighty wings, as strong as the northern wind, echoing across the open sky…. "I promise that I will return to you, and to the children, when this mad war is done."

He shook his head of the memories. "Perhaps I do wish to rule, like my ancestors before me, maybe I do wish for justice for my dead family. But these are simple fantasies, fantasies which will never come true. You know naught what haunts my dreams. Besides, I will not use Dany to further my own ambitions. She is my sister, not a piece of meat or a sack of gold."

"I will do it."

Rhaegar slowly turned around, to see Danaerys standing in the doorway. The last half year had been kind to her. Where once she was skinny, she was now slender. Where once she had been merely pretty, she was now beautiful. Her curves were that of a woman, her visage that of a goddess. Upon her face, though, was a determined expression.

"Dany…." Rhaegar began. She held up her hand.

"Rhae" her own nickname for him, "please, do not dissuade me. You brought me up on stories of our family's history, its deeds both great and wicked. Though you never said it, I could tell that you yearned for those days, when you were first in line for the throne, for the days when people did not spit upon you in the street and called you foul names. Please, you have done and sacrificed so much for me. Let me do this for you, let me help reclaim our family's kingdom"

Rhaegar was stunned. "Dany, I will not use you for ambitions of conquest."

"No brother, you are not using me for anything. This is my choice, my decision."

Rhaegar almost wept at that moment, and instead simply said nothing and walked out.

Rhaegar had actually considered fleeing with Dany in the night, so as to avoid her being shaclked to a savage. However, after the evening meal, and Dany had left the dining room, Illyrio had waddled over to Rahegar's seat and said, "As something to think about, should you consider taking off with sweet Dany in the night, I must say that when the Khal learns that his prize has been snatched from him, then he may turn his wrath upon the nearest target. Perhaps even this fair city. I am sure the screams would be heard for miles in every direction, Your Grace."

At that, after bowing before a deathly still Rhaegar, the cheese merchant had strode off to his lavish rooms, leaving Rhaegar to himself.

Later, when the dothraki horde arrived, and Khal Drogo came to collect his bride to be, Rhaegar has escorted Dany to the Khal. The man was every bit the image of a typical dothraki; tall, fierce, bronze skinned from years under the sun of Essos, his hair twisted into long braids tied off with bells at the end. With a whispered "forgive me" to Danaerys, he gave her hand to Drogo, who then preceded to lead her away. He declined to go to the actual wedding, though he would be travelling with Dany when Drogo's khalasar left tomorrow.

And so, here he was now, not five minutes later, seated upon one of the outer steps of Illyrio's manse, sullen and self-loathing.

At that moment, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Looking up, he was greeted with a peculiar sight. An elderly, long bearded man, dressed in simple brown robes, like those of a septon, which were patched and stained with various things. The man was swaying from side to side, probably an old drunkard. He then spoke. "Mind if I sit down, young man?" He slurred, in a voice that was rough and scratchy.

Rhaegar said nothing, but just shook his head, and the old man plopped down next to him upon the wide step. Up close, the man's breath stank of stale wine. For a good while, neither said a word, with the elder occasionally drinking from a wine skin he had been carrying. Then, the old man spoke again. "Quite a commotion those damned dothraki are throwing, aye?"

Again, Rhaegar did not answer, and simply shrugged. The man chuckled. "Not very talkative, are you youngster? Ah well, at the very least, would you like a drink?" At this he proffered the wineskin.

Sighing, Rhae took the wine skin, raised a sarcastic toast, and drank. To his surprise, it was Dornish Red. Not a vintage that one would normally expect an old beggar to be imbibing. But, he still relished the taste. As he drank, the old man said "So, the khal is marrying your sister, aye?"

At that, Rhaegar swallowed a bit too much, and spluttered, spilling a bit of the wine. The drunkard cackled at the sight. "Aye, I know who you are, Rhaegar Targaryen, he who they call the prince of cowards. I know of your sister too. If you don't mind me saying, the white hair is a bit of a dead giveaway, to say nothing of those purple orbs of yours."

Rhaegar turned to him sharply and said "What do you know, old man?"

"I can guess that you feel guilty, for giving your sister away to a barbarian like Khal Drogo. That is good, for if you did not, truly you would be less then scum."

"Perhaps I already am."

At this, the man harrumphed. "Young man, from what I have heard of you, I would say that you are anything but. If you would accept the advice of an old fool, than I would tell you that no matter what, always be there for your sister. There is much pain in your heart, pain that you must let go of, lest it consume you, her, and all those around you."

"….is that a threat, old man?"

The elder cackled again. "I don't know, is it?"

Disenchanted, Rhaegar handed the wineskin back to the man, and stood up to leave, when he felt the old one tugging upon his pant leg. "Please, before you leave, would you accept a simple good luck token, for your journey?"

Rhaegar wanted to refuse, but instead decided to humor the man, and nodded. The old man reached into his robe, pulled out something and quickly put into Rhaegar's hand. "Keep this with you, my prince. A dark road still lies ahead of you and your sister, much pain as well. This may help keep a light bright in the darkness."

Rhaegar simply shook his head, turned around, and left. As he walked back into the manse, he glanced down at what the drunk had handed him. What he saw was a surprise. It was a round, average sized medallion, small enough to fit into his hand. A fine chain was attached to it, so as to fit it over his neck. Surprisingly enough, both the chain and the medallion seemed to be made of platinum.

He saw that emblazoned upon the trinket was what seemed to be a noble dragon's head surrounded by seven small golden birds. An unusual item for a destitute drunkard to have, even more so for him to give it away. Shrugging, Rhaegar slipped it over his head onto his neck, and then hurried off to find a horse. He needed to get to Dany.

As he walked away, it occurred to Rhaegar that he never saw the man's face.