Wife of the Wolf, Husband of the Sun

Chapter Ninety

His mouth was flooded with the taste of copper and his head was throbbing in pain, it almost seemed like someone was banging a war drum inside of his head. Of course, when he stopped to consider the fact that falling from a war horse in full armor would more than likely end with a broken neck or a broken back or in fact both of those things, then he actually felt pretty well.

Rhaegar Targaryen rose to his feet and wished that he could command the world to stop spinning and that it would heed him, though of course he knew that it would not. His stomach seemed to be revolting against him and for a moment Rhaegar was sorely tempted to take off his helm and empty it on to the sodden ground of the banks of the Trident.

But there were worse things that having the smell of vomit in your armor and one of those things was an enemy taking the opportunity that he was helmless to come and cleave his head in twain and so he simply ignored the desire to be ill and forced himself forward, there was still a battle that needed to be won and he could not die before it was done.

He could not die here at all, he needed to survive. To ensure that the Prince Who Was Promised knew what would be required of him. Then and only then could he die, and he would go to the Stranger's embrace gladly. But not here, not yet.

His world had narrowed to the thin amount of vision that his helm allowed him and that small amount was very blurry indeed, Rhaegar blinked to try and clear it up so that he could see what was happening as all around him he could hear the sound of men fighting and dying.

When his vision cleared enough that he could make sense of what was around him, the first thing he noticed was his horse. It had been a beautiful beast indeed, a stallion whose father had been the son of the steed that Lord Ormund Baratheon had rode in the war of the Ninepenny Kings and whose mother had been a sand steed from Dorne, one from Sunspear's own stables which had been a gift from Princess Loreza when she had been trying to secure a match between Elia and himself.

His father had taken a great deal of enjoyment in presenting the horse to him on the day that Rhaegar was to ride out to take the Riverlands for his Father, it pleased the king to think that a horse that had been supplied to him, in one way or another, by both Baratheon and Martell could not be used against them in such a way. The lords and ladies of the court had cooed at the beast, and called it surely the finest steed that any of them had ever seen.

Of course, they were all so terrified of his Father and all so desperate to avoid the flames that his Father could have peddled out a one eyed mule with no teeth with flies buzzing around it and still they would have called it the finest steed that they had ever seen.

But it had been a beautiful horse and a strong one and it had served him well for the short amount of time that he had it. A Dornish throwing spear jutted out of it's side, the cream of it's coat around the wound was stained red with blood. There was something ironic in that, was there not? That a horse with blood from Dorne would wind up being killed by a Dornishman?

Regardless, his Father would not be pleased with him. No doubt he would see this as an excuse to punish him somehow, even if he did bring him a victory here while he did nothing but cower behind the walls of the Red Keep and fine new ways to play with his wildfire. Perhaps he would exile him for decade or so across the Narrow Sea, assuming that he did not have him burned first.

No, his Father was completely insane but he even he could not think that he could burn him and not face serious consequences for it, Rhaegar was still his son after all and kinslaying was still the greatest evil that any man could hope to commit and not even his Father could forget that. To be sure, that had not protected Robert or Stannis but they were only distantly related and the same could be said for all of Westeros, Rhaegar was his own son and that was not something to be overlooked.

If his Father wanted him gone, then no doubt it would come to exile and Rhaegar wondered if that might not be for the best in the long run. After all, his Father only had so many eyes across the Narrow Sea. He could take Lyanna and the babe in her belly and he could raise his son to be prepared for what was to come.

And of course, he would need to ensure that there would be at least one more child from Lyanna, the Prince himself and another daughter. Three heads of the Dragon, Visenya, Aegon and Rhaenys reborn only this time they needed to be born of Ice and Fire. Rhaegar was the fire of course, he was a dragon and Lyanna would be the ice, how could she not be when she was a daughter of Winterfell, a Stark. Who was more Ice than her?

Rhaegar was not mad and he was not a fool, he had no illusions about the fact that Lyanna must have hated him a very great deal. Rhaegar did not blame her for that, he had made her an object of scandal when he had crowned her at Harrenhal, he had murdered her Father's men, he had taken her as a captive, he had forced her to be wed to him and he had raped her.

Of course she would hate him, he hated himself for it. And yet, despite all of it he would do all of it again. Perhaps he was mad, perhaps he was a fool. He put so much faith in the words on a duty old scroll that no one had cared about that they had left it for anyone to find and read it but if the words that had been written on them were true, as he truly thought that they were, then it had to be done. It had to be.

And perhaps, one day, when all was said and done. When the world had been saved from the Long Night, when the fear of a never ending Winter never had to be worried about again, then maybe that day Lyanna would be able to find it in herself to forgive him. He hoped that she would, truly.

He wondered if Cersei would forgive him one day as well, though to be certain his first wife was full of pride that seemed to come with being a Lannister and like most prideful people she did not take well to when her pride was injuries and Rhaegar knew that he had harmed his wife's pride most grievously ever since Harrenhal.

She had certainly not seemed any closer to forgiving him the last time that he had seen her, to put it in the most favorable words possible.

He had rode back into King's Landing and he could not deny, his heart was lightened and his troubles were lifted if only for a few brief moments when he heard the smallfolk in the streets cheer for him. He could not say how long it would last for, but it reminded him of simpler times when love was given easily and it almost seemed like it would always last.

It was done for them, all of it. He had nightmares about the dark and the cold coming to claim them, he had to stop it and he would do whatever he had to do to ensure that his children could do so.

The cheers had been louder when he rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep, the lords and ladies and stable hands and kitchen workers all cheering for his victory against Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn.

Rhaegar had not seen it as a victory and in truth he still did not, a victory would be when the war was won in their favor and nothing else. A battle that ended in their favor was simply a step towards that larger goal and nothing worth calling him back to celebrate for. But, of course, his Father had disagreed with him and the rider that had come upon his encampment made it clear that his Father was not asking him to return to the city, he was instead commanding it.

He could not fight his Father and the rebellion both and so while leaving the majority of his strength behind to await his return Rhaegar rode back to the capital with as much speed as he could muster.

He was then brought into the throne room of the Red Keep where as always his Father sat atop the Iron Throne, leering down at all of them like they were naught but a group of particularly revolting insects. His father had made all the right noises, praising him for his honor and bravery and for a moment Rhaegar thought that he might be able to leave by the end of the night, or early in the morning at the very latest.

But then his Father called for his lady wife to step forward and Cersei Lannister obeyed. His lady wife had always been pale, and in black velvet gown she wore she only looked even more so, rubies that were ready as blood shone at her wrists and on her fingers and around her throat and on her bodice. Little Rhaenys, his first child and one born of fire and wildfire mixed and may yet still be a child of prophecy, clung to her mother's skirts.

But what nearly caused his throat to seize was that babe that was slumbering soundly in Cersei's arms. The babe seemed so very small and to Rhaegar's eye it looked like it could not have been born to very long ago, a week ago if that and Rhaegar looked at his wife in that moment and wondered if she should truly be out of bed and if her paleness was truly do to her dress.

As Cersei stepped closer he could see the babe in truth now, it was a boy and his hair was the color of white gold. His eyes were shut as he slumbered but he imagined that most babes, his eyes would be blue before they finally changed into either the brilliant emerald green of his mother or his own indigo. Cersei passed the babe to him, though Rhaegar did noticed that she seemed to sneer slightly as she did so.

Rhaegar had felt his stomach drop into the depths as he held the babe as he began to consider what all of it had meant and the terrible mistake that he may have made, if he had been wrong and that Cersei was the mother of the prince that was promised then that meant that he had kidnapped and abused Lyanna and started a was and killed tens of thousands for nothing.

For a moment, he had thought about laughing. Why not, it was all so funny. Let him laugh, let the lords and ladies of the court see their dragon prince descended into madness and be just like his mad father. They could all despair at the side they had taken, as the army that stood between them and the forces in the Riverlands was left leaderless.

But he hadn't laughed, he just kept staring down at the babe. He had only slept with Cersei once before he had left to take Lyanna from the Riverlands, could one time truly be enough? Oh, of course it was. He would not accuse Cersei of being unfaithful when he had no evidence, but why had she not said anything the last time he had been in the city? Of course, the one time that they had conversed with one another in the nursery had not ended well, nor had it begun well.

Someone asked what he planned to name the babe, they had all been waiting for him. For half a heartbeat, he thought of naming the babe Aegon but then decided against it. The was the name for the Prince That Was Promised and the prince had to be born of Ice and Fire, he had to be. He had to be. He had to be.

He settled on Aemon, if any Targaryen deserved to be honored then it was the one who had chosen a life of service when he could have been a king. And Rhaegar decided that this did not have to mean anything, it did not have to mean that he was wrong or that he had made a mistake. The Prince would need to be born of Ice and Fire, Lyanna would birth the prince.

Perhaps there was a mistranslation, perhaps sisters could actually be siblings. If so, then Lyanna's child could be the prince and Cersei's children the other two heads. He did not have to have made a mistake. In the end, that thought was what he needed to cling to if he was going to stop himself from walking out of the window of the tallest tower in the Red Keep.

He wished that he could have spoken to his mother about it but she had not been there in the capital, his Father had sent her and Viserys off to Dragondstone for their safety under an escort of guards lead by dear Ser Willem Darry. Rhaegar's own wife and her brother and his children had not been granted the same safety but Rhaegar well knew the reason for why.

If the King had sent his two snared lions away from the capital then he feared that he might yet lose the support of Lord Tywin, and for once that might not have been actual madness but a legitimate concern. Lord Tywin was likely not to be best pleased with the either of them and while he did not like thought of it, keeping Jaime and Cersei close for the moment might be for the best.

Another sin to add on to his back.

Thankfully, it seemed that the main reason his father summoned him back to court was to wait for Lord Tywin so that he could add his strength to his own host and two days later when Lord Tywin did finally arrive Rhaegar left the capital, with Ser Barristan, Ser Jonthor and Ser Lewyn left with him, he rode with a Lannister army to meet back up with his own, his farewell to his Lannister wife as cold and silent as she had been since he had arrived.

It was odd, a long time ago he might have rode with this army against his Father if things had worked out how they were meant to, if he had been a little faster, if he had been just a bit bolder. But more than enough tears could be wasted on the things that were, it would do no good to waste them thinking on things that might have been.

As they rode Lord Tywin kept him at a distance, he perhaps should have expected that. He was not bared from his meetings with his banner men at night, Rhaegar was the prince and the heir to throne and Lord Tywin would not have the right to bar him but there was something in the air whenever he was near Tywin, something that made it clear that he was not welcome.

Thankfully, they soon joined back up with his own men and they were able to stay away from one another until they breached into the Riverlands when they then spoke of the stratagem that they would use.

The rebels would no doubt try and stop them from crossing the Trident so that would be their battleground it seemed. It was decided that Rhaegar would lead the host, almost all of his strength from the Crowlands and a light smattering here and there of Westerlands soldiers while Lord Tywin would lay back in wait, when the rebels finally left themselves open and vulnerable to an attack the Lord of Casterly Rock would charge forward to break them.

It certainly carried it's own share of risks, but it also seemed the best option available to him.

Now, his horse dead and his head ringing as the battle waged all around him, he wondered if he truly should have been allowed to make any choices at all.

A war cry made him turn and he just barely managed to avoid the point of the Dornish spear, his armor would have protected him but if the spear had found one of the weaker parts of the armor at his joints then that would have been the end of him. The spearman was one of the Sandy Dornish to look at him, his brown skin had been burned even darker by the sun.

He was young as well, younger than Rhaegar at the very least, not more than fifteen at the most. He was going to die here, that was unfortunate. The boy did not know it, but Rhaegar did. He drew his sword as the boy made another charge at him with his spear, with very little effort on his part he slashed down on the spear, slicing it in half and taking one of the boy's hands with it and then, before the boy could scream, cut him down.

Of course, where one man fell another dozen seemed to come to him. More Dornish men of all sorts, some armed with spears while others choose swords and Rhaegar defeated them all, burly stormlanders that went down quick enough when you got them on their back. One was a Northman, screaming at him as he swung a morning star over his head. Rhaegar's blade ended in his gut.

And still all around him, many more men fell and died and bleed on the ground. It was hard to tell who was who on the ground, death had a way of making everyone look so similar. His arms ached and the taste of copper in his mouth only seemed to get worse with every moment that passed.

"Prince Rhaegar! My prince!" The voice was muffled from the helm and hard to hear over the fighting but when Rhaegar turned to see a man running to her in white armor and with a white cloak, he knew that it was Ser Barristan, his armor was stained red with blood and his cloak was equally soiled. He had a horse at the start of the battle as well, he did not need to ask what had happened to it. "My prince, the left flank is collapsing, we can not stay here. Ser Jonthor is dead and I've lost sight of Ser Lewyn, I think it would be best for you to retreat with me, my prince."

"No." Rhaegar shook his head and stepped forward, clenching his hand tightly around the hilt of his sword. "No, damn it. The plan can still work we just have to wait for an opening and Lord Tywin can charge. With me. All of you!" Rhaegar held his sword up high so that all the men around him could see, so that all of them could see their prince. "To me!"

A great roar went up in response to him and all the men, high and low, armored in steel and boiled leather, wielding castle forged steel or scythes for farming, rallied around him. Together, a bloody path was carved through but for each step that was taken there seemed to be a heavy cost to it. More and more of his men fell.

At some point, he had lost sight of Ser Barristan. He had not heard the man go down, it was odd to think that any man could kill Barristan the Bold, but even the greatest if men were still just men. And all men must die.

He pushed forward again and again, killing men when they got in his way. Where he was going, he was not entirely sure if the truth was to be told. But he would not turn and run, he could not. Something inside of him would not allow him to turn around.

A man in armor and a blue falcon surcoat meet him and it was a long and grueling fight, every single inch of him screamed his exhaustion. Thrice did the knight of House Arryn command him to yield and thrice did Rhaegar refuse, their blades clashed and clung until eventually Rhaegar was standing over him, bloody and bruised but alive.

As he moved over the knight's body, he thought that he heard a roar and when he followed it, for a moment he thought that he was dreaming as he saw what seemed to his eyes like a battle between giants. When his sense returned to him, he saw that one of the giants was in fact Ser Gregor of House Clegane, who Lord Tywin had suggested putting in the vanguard.

The other two men were near as large, one older and one younger, one with a great sword and one with a battle axe. Both wore badges with a roaring giant in chains and in that moment he knew them to be Umbers. The older one, the one with the axe, roared and lunged forward to bring his axe down on the Mountain but Ser Gregor was quicker than he had any right to be and stepped back which made the older Umber stumbled forward, leaving him with no defense against the sword that plunged through his side.

"No!" The roar the younger let out did not sound like something any mortal man could make and he pressed his assault against the Mountain, but while the Umber was large and strong the Mountain was larger and stronger than him and he met each blow with a practiced ease that Rhaegar knew meant that sooner or later the younger Umber would run out of strength and when that happened it would be the end of him.

He did not wish to be there to see it, and so he pressed on.

The crossing that they had been fighting over was where the fighting was the thickest, men bled and died everywhere and two armies stood ankle deep in the water pushing at one another and screaming at one another and cursing at one another and dying together. Their blood turned the water red, as red as the rubies on his breastplate.

"Prince Rhaegar!" It was not an ally that called his name then, though the voice was familiar enough. Eddard Stark strode to meet him, he had a deep cut over his forehead which was causing blood to run over one of his eyes and another deep cut on his cheek that for a moment, he mistook as the younger man having lost one of his ears.

Why he had seen fit to take his helm off, Rhaegar did not know but it would be the end of him. He smiled sadly, though Eddard would not be able to see it and readied himself to make as quick and painless an end as he could.

Eddard fought well, but there were clearly other wounds that he was not seeing on the younger man. His leg had been injured and it was almost far to easy to gain the upper hand of him. Their fight ended with them fighting in the shallowest parts of the ford and at one moment, Ned Stark lost his footing and felt back into the water, his sword lost in the tumble.

Rhaegar looked down at him and Eddard Stark stared back up at him, unflinching. He was brave, no man could deny him that. He rose his sword, when word reached that he was dead, the man who had crowned the young king in Storm's End, it might be enough to cause the rebels to weaken and for Tywin to charge and make an end.

Some heavy plowed into him from the side and Rhaegar let out a cry as his sword went flying from his grasp, his bones rattled beneath his armor and he bashed his head on the inside of his helm as he fell to the ground. Dazed as he was, he had no defense when other had tackled him ripped his helm off of him and stared down at him, with such hate in his grey eyes.

Brandon Stark stared at him for a long few moments and then wrapped his hands around Rhaegar's throat and began to squeeze, hard.

Rhaegar tried to fight, but he was so tired from all the fighting that he had already done that he truly had no strength left in him. He tried to call for aid, but he did not have the breath. His hands bashed against Brandon's chest, but even if the man had not been wearing a breastplate Rhaegar did not think that he would have felt it.

Where was Tywin, there had to be an opening now, surely? Why had he not come, where was he? What had happened? Where was the charge, it was so hard to think.

The world was turning so dark now, he could not see. He could hear though, he could hearing the screaming of men and horse alike, he could hear still clanging against steel, he could hear the sound of what had to be a mountain falling for all the noise that it made, he was certain that he could hear someone calling his name but they were so sad and he did not know them.

Soon, all he could see were the eyes. Brandon Stark's grey eyes staring down at him with such hate, but then the color changed. They were green as wildfire and just as deadly, then a pale green flecked with gold and disgusted, then indigo and cruel, a soft violet filled with sadness and disappointment, another shade of violet that were filled with misunderstanding, another violet set that had not even opened yet.

Black eyes that were sad, and then shut at the sight of him as the grey eyes returned in full force. Then another pair, and another and another and another. The black eyes were back then, and the sadness was gone. She would not look away as they grey eyes did their work, that almost seemed to shine in the dark.

And in the distance, in the darkness, now louder than anything else. The only sound that he could hear, was laughter. A thousand voices and one, all of them were laughing at him as a silver haired little girl with violet eyes danced in front of him, a doll dangling in her grasp and a crown of wild flowers in her hair..

Rhaegar Targaryen made one last noise, if he tried to say a name and that name was a woman's then no one heard it, and died.

End of Chapter Ninety

Welp. That's that.

This was a shorter chapter than most of my more recent ones, but I kinda think that it needed to be a little shorter than them as this chapter had a point to make and to get to it and it did all of that.

Well yeah, there are some things about this chapter that need to get answered but you're going to have to wait for the next rebel POV to get answers to that. The next chapter is either going to be a Cersei chapter or it's going to be a Jaime chapter but I haven't quiet deiced on that yet. Though, I think I am leaning towards Cersei.

Anywho, I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter and you will consider leaving a review, a follow and a favorite if you did. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome.

With much love and warmest regards,

DiscordantSymphony