Rhaegar Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, was used to waking up to an empty bed and an even emptier chamber. He could count on one hand how many times he had woken up with his wife next to him in bed in the last 20 years. Despite being a dragon, Rhaegar had to grow accustomed to cold chambers, not from the lack of firewood and furs, but between him and his wife.

Yet Rhaegar knew he had no right to voice discontent about the state of his marriage. After what he had done and the damage he had caused, he supposed he was lucky Elia managed to stand in his presence.

Even after all these years, he didn't know how Elia felt about his actions. He could make guesses and was sure he would be accurate enough in his predictions. Though his Queen would never confirm or deny, she remained dutiful. She never complained or showed any displeasure at the role bestowed upon her.

Rhaegar wasn't blind to the fact that his reign had started on the worst of foundations. He was acutely aware that the blame lay solely at his feet.

The Lords who sat at his tables wouldn't tell him about his choices. Even those most loyal wouldn't dare speak anything untoward about him throwing the realm into chaos over a woman. No matter his intentions—noble or not—he had caused blood to water his realm. The people he had vowed to protect from his father's increasing madness and the Long Night, he had made them orphans and widows. Rhaegar was painfully aware of the consequences of his actions.

No one would speak these truths to him outside of his good brother Oberyn, but despite her status, there was no protection for his Queen of such words. Although he was sure, such insults paled to what his actions brought her.

There were only so many tongues he could threaten to take. He didn't want to turn into his father because of his actions.

Yet his wife handled it with dignity. She never showed that she was bothered by their words or angry. His wife never raised her voice or hand at him when she had all cause to. Yet, the person whose anger surprised him the most was his mother.

To this day, like Elia, she never requested an explanation. However, she made her anger—displeasure—known as soon as she returned from Dragonstone. His cheek still tingled from the force of her slap. It was the first time he truly saw the dragon in his mother, and unfortunately, their relationship had never recovered.

His mother left the court shortly to find permanent residence on Dragonstone, raising his siblings, Viserys and Daenerys. He knew his mother had only stayed in King's Landing during that first year of his reign for Elia and his children's sake.

He was surprised that his mother had accepted a temporary role on his small council during the first year. During those times, he felt his mother said more to him than one-word answers to things.

Elia wasn't like that. She still engaged like a proper lady wife in public. Behind closed doors, he had been waiting for the inevitable blow-up, but it never came. She did her duties as always with no air dissatisfaction.

Then, he thought his marriage would implode once Elia had become pregnant with Mariah. It brought even more of a harsh reminder that all that he did was for naught. He had bled the realm for nothing.

He remembered even his mother saying that if Elia had time to recover from her first labor with Rhaenys, things mightn't have been so dire. Though he knew what his mother was saying beneath her words, the men in their family bled the woman for heirs.

Though he could say Mariah's birth was never intended, he truly never expected to have another child with Elia. Sure, most of the reasoning came from the Maesters' predictions, but because of what happened with Lyanna, he would ignore the Maesters' disclosing that they made another batch of moon tea for his wife.

And Rhaegar wasn't a fool by any means; in the first year, he never sought his marriage bed with Elia. He wasn't under any illusion that he would be welcome in her bed even if she would do her duty without complaint.

Rhaegar may be many things - foolish being the highest - but he wouldn't force his wife, especially knowing what his father did to his mother.

Physical intimacy was never an issue in his marriage. He knew the realm considered him bookish, and he wasn't one for brothels. Rhaeger wasn't pious by all means, but he was a man. He was - is - attracted to his wife.

However, after the year of abstinence, he had sought her bed. She didn't reject him. And he wasn't blind to the fact that the enthusiasm wasn't the same, but she seemed to accept his advances. However, he was painfully aware that she never went out of her way to initiate. So their coupling wasn't a lot, but enough for Mariah to be born.

Rhaegar didn't know how to feel when Elia had told him and watched as her stomach became more pronounced. He didn't know how to handle that this pregnancy could bring his wife's death or the fact in his darkest thoughts that Elia was always meant to be the mother of his three heads.

Then, he felt he was in a pool of regrets as he thought about what he had put Lyanna through. He could admit he was fond of the Stark girl. She was wild and spirited. And he had convinced himself he needed Ice for his fire. She wanted out of her betrothal with Robert, and he needed a third head. He didn't love her despite what the songs proclaimed. In fact, after the birth of the third child, he never planned on seeing the Stark girl.

Maybe it was cruel of him, but Lyanna was a means to an end. He was sure that Lyanna would state the same. He had only heard from the Stark girl once since he had married her to his friend Jon Connington. He knew there was no love in that marriage, but considering the North's reactions to Lyanna's actions and most of the realm, she deserved a peaceful life.

He knew his friend wasn't happy with the arrangement, yet he thought there was some contentment in the relationship. The few times Jon spoke of his wife, he would detail that she mainly spent time outside the castle hunting and riding. Jon wasn't a man to bestow praise often, but he would highlight that Lyanna did her duty well as the Lady of Griffin's Roost.

Though he imagined ripples in his friend's marriage despite his residence being in King's Landing when it was time to announce Elia's pregnancy to the realm, he saw it in how Jon would look at him. Yet, Rhaegar felt it was more betrayal to Elia to think or consider Lyanna's actions or feelings, especially when he hadn't seen Elia so happy since she had told him that she was pregnant with Rhaenys.

And with this pregnancy, she did have a healthy glow he hadn't seen from his wife outside of the glimpses she would show him when they were in Dorne or her brothers. He had thought that maybe this pregnancy would be the thing to bridge them together. He thought, in some ways, it did. He felt more present with the pregnancy than with his oldest two children.

He accompanied Elia to all her appointments, and even his mother returned from Dragonstone to be with his wife.

At birth, Rhaegar had never been so terrified for the fate of his wife. He knew the birthing bed wasn't easy for any woman. However, with Elia's health, it was even more precarious. He remembered all the blood and Elia's pale skin after Rhaenys' birth. Elia's frail grip in his hand as she struggled to open her eyes. She had assured him the birth wasn't too much for her despite the battlefield her birthing bed looked like.

However, the severity of the birth wouldn't be evident until afterward. Elia had been too weak to walk and was bedridden for almost half the year. However, a part of him felt that her recovery was affected by the fact their firstborn wasn't a son.

At Aegon's birth, Elia was placed in confinement once the swelling of her stomach became pronounced. Their marriage was shaky after the Tourney, and Elia never mentioned how she felt as she focused on the pregnancy. He didn't want to upset her, and he found himself in the ancient scrolls that belonged to his family or writing his Uncle Aemon.

He had expected the long labors and the looks of pity at Mariah's birth, though her birth had been the quickest and easiest. It was sudden. Elia had an intense craving for dragon peppers and had been snacking on them when her labors came. She wasn't able to make it to her chambers as she gave birth in the middle of the godswood in front of the oak imitation of a weirwood tree.

He remembered rushing down to the woods and seeing Ser Jamie try to preserve her modesty as a woman giving birth could have. But Mariah, in all her screaming glory, was there in her arms. Elia had the biggest smile as she held their daughter tightly.

And Mariah was her mother's image from the midnight hair and skin tone. She was practically Rhaenys' twin, except while his oldest daughter inherited his purple eyes, Mariah was born as the embodiment of her mother's homeland.

And Mariah was the child he was closest to, and he feared the day the illusion of him would shatter in her eyes as it did for Rhaenys and Aegon.

He could clearly remember when Rhaenys discovered what he had done to Elia. No longer was she the firstborn who always wanted to receive hugs or any of his affection. She no longer tried to be a presence in his small councils.

He could see the betrayal his daughter felt, or maybe it was always there. She had done her best to bury it as her nightmares did return. Her screams echoed through the Red Keep. Rhaegar didn't remember Rhaenys ever having trouble sleeping. His little girl was known to fall asleep in his lap. Aegon had always been the more fussy babe. His son had always preferred the comfort of his mother versus him.

Yet, with the return of Rhaenys's nightmares, Elia had told him the truth. That night, when the keep was attacked, Rhaenys had screamed for him. Considering the damage to his family quarters, he knew she had hidden under his bed. He didn't know about her terrors because Elia had her daughter in her bed. She would stay up all night trying to console their little girl.

If he were honest with himself, even as he returned to the Keep, Rhaenys would fight for his attention. When she truly needed something, she never asked for him. Only Elia could wipe her tears.

He watched as his daughter put the pieces of his betrayal together. He thought she was a dragon shedding her skin as she replaced the prominent sigils and reminders of his house with her mother's.

She had donned Dorne's traditional garments, which reminded him of Elia when he first met her all those years ago, before their betrothal, when he visited Dorne.

His son was harder to read. Aegon had always been a boy who could laugh easily, especially compared to him. Sometimes, he felt his son had inherited his Uncle Oberyn's temperament. His son knew how to read people—he could charm them like a viper, though he was dutiful. He knew what his role was in their family. He took his studies seriously and soaked every lesson he tried to give along with the small council. Rhaegar wanted to prepare his son for his role as King - something his father never did for him.

It filled him with pride as he watched his son, as a cupbearer, learn how decisions for the realm were made. And when Rhaenys had figured out the truth, Aegon didn't shout or show disdain as visible as his sister.

Even when he tried to pull his son aside, Aegon gave him a dismissive smirk and shrugged him off.

And how could Rhaegar defend himself when he swore he would never bring up the prophecies to his children? How could he defend himself from the songs sung of forbidden love between him and Lyanna when there wasn't love? It was all a transaction.

He remembered wanting Elia or his mother to help him figure out these murky waters of parenthood he was sailing in, but it was his burden alone.

When the door is opened without an announcement, his thoughts are broken. At first, he thought it was one of his wife's maids, but he knew they would knock. Instead, he found himself looking into the eyes of his youngest daughter, looking mischievous.

If his daughter is thrown off by his presence in her mother's chambers, she doesn't show as her feet patter further into the room.

"Morning, Kepa."

A smile graced his lips. Mariah was only up early in the morning if she was in the middle of one of her plots. She walked further into the room, and her eyes scanned for her mother before she climbed onto the bed. Rhaegar thanked the gods he had the foresight to place his trousers back on before he fell asleep.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. He inhaled the smell of oranges that clung to her skin. She wanted to smell like her mother; she had declared loudly in the keep when anyone asked her about the perfume she was wearing.

"You're up early."

"It's time to eat!" She announced. "Where's Muna?"

As if the Seven summoned her, his wife appeared from her chamber, already dressed for the day. Rhaegar can't help but feel disappointed about not sharing a bath.

"I'm right here, love," Elia replied softly.

She had chosen to wear more traditional Dorne clothing, which was more appropriate to the heatwave they were experiencing. Her long hair was in a very loose bun, and her gold hair clips were interwoven strategically.

However, despite knowing the castle is filled with guests, she is dressed more elaborately to break fast with those he assumes are only him and their children.

"Plans this early in the morning?" He knew he didn't hide his slight bitterness from his voice and the look Elia gave him.

"I want to ensure the kitchens are good and all the guests are okay."

"And which guests will you be dining with?"

"I was planning on breaking fast with the Royces from the Vale. I also heard that Lord Stannis Baratheon and his wife are in attendance."

Rhaegar can't hide his wince. He felt as if his past was always nipping at his heels. He knew there was no point in dwelling on things out of his control. Instead, he pressed a kiss to his daughter's head. "You behave for your mother now, okay."

Rhaegar sighed as he felt a headache forming behind his eyes. He truly didn't enjoy tourneys, but he did appreciate that they could bring the realm together peacefully—for the most part. It was nice seeing the Houses he usually didn't interact with, and he loved seeing how the smallfolk could enjoy the festivities, especially since it had been so long since he ventured into Flea Bottom to perform songs and drink with them.

He knew now, as the King, Ser Barristan would not allow such a thing to happen, nor would any of his Kingsguard.

But he would prefer to be in the Flea Bottom than have to listen to a poor attempt of some lord trying to plead their case for a betrothal to one of his children.

However, he could appreciate some of these minor houses being so bold with their proposals. However, it seemed it would be all for naught as he watched his oldest daughter—using her younger sister—mingle with the men from the North, in particular Brandon Stark's only son, Robb Stark.

Rhaegar could admit he didn't know how he felt about that. His council—notably Jon—always voiced that he needed to intervene or address the North's treatment of the Crown. As much as Rhaegar always valued Jon's advice and appreciated that even his wife, a woman of the North, did not impact his views, his friend didn't have the delicacy of handling this.

Rhaegar was more than aware that the force of the North that Ned had brought carried the weight of their victories during the Rebellion. Despite the Riverlands having the numbers, the North was a brute, strong force simply because they lived in harsh conditions. The North was his largest kingdom. He knew that even the Warden had trouble keeping them contained. He also knew they didn't have a full revolt because of Brandon.

As much as Brandon did not like him, he kept the Northmen in line, keeping the fires cool on another rebellion. Rhaegar also knew that if anyone wanted a Rebellion, people would seek the North as allies. It didn't help that Dorne, another independent kingdom, had ties to the North through the marriage between Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne.

Rhaegar knew that, unlike last time, Dorne would not let Elia be used to keep them complacent. However, he would never allow that to happen again.

But Rhaegar wasn't blind to the hostility that Brandon felt towards him. He knew that the Warden of the North didn't even talk to his sister once he had been released from the Black Cells and was given the truth.

Rhaegar had thought that fighting Robert had been a terrifying moment. His cousin was radiating with fury as he swung his favored war hammer. Rhaegar still had nightmares that his blood and rubies stained the Trident.

He knew Brandon would have called for combat if he hadn't been weak and malnourished from the black cells. He believed the only thing that kept the man from fanning more flames was Ned telling him about the newborn son who was heir to their house, motherless and needing a father.

Rhaegar knew he had to thank Ned a lot for being the envoy for Northern matters. Yet, he knew Ned was a son who didn't crave war. He just wanted his family whole. With Ned being married to Ashara, Elia was part of that family now—his children were dear to Ned and his family, so Ned cared more that their children didn't have to go through a war like they did.

It was clear that the North held no love or allegiance to him.
It made him think of the whispers of an alliance Rickard Stark had been forming with the marriages to the South. It had been part of why he had secretly sponsored the Tourney at Harrenhal. As much as the North did not care for the flowery words of the South, it didn't put them above politicking. So Rhaegar was curious about why the Warden would encourage interactions between their children outside to vex him.

He had thought of betrothing his daughter to Ned's oldest son, Jon, yet he had seen how the boy was utterly transfixed by his younger sister, Daenerys. In the few words spoken to him by his mother, she had even brought up that they planned to visit the Starks of Moat Cailin, especially as it had been some time since his mother had been able to see Ashara. Every visit was missed due to Ashara's pregnancies.

Rhaegar sighed. He was tired of thinking about marriages and didn't want to think about becoming a grandparent so soon.

He brightened at the sight of his wife returning to her seat. He thought his wife looked even more radiant as she aged. He stood to move her chair and took her by surprise as he briefly kissed her lips.

It was improper, especially for their station, but he didn't mind as he heard a few sighs and awes from the crowd.

Yet, he felt cold grey eyes in their direction that he elected to ignore.

He couldn't hide his surprise when Doran approached him, stating that Brandon Stark wanted a meeting between them before the dinner feast. Rhaegar wanted to remove the crown from his head and spend time with his youngest. He was eager to hear what she had done with her day, especially since there was no report of a prank she had set off or of the guards panicking about her sudden disappearance.

Yet, if Brandon was requesting an audience, it had to be important.

Only requesting Arthur's presence, he followed his brother-in-law to the Small Council room where Brandon Stark was already waiting with Prince Lewyn, keeping the man company.

Brandon did stand but didn't bother with a bow, "Your Grace, Prince Doran."

"Is everything okay, Lord Stark?" Rhaegar asked, choosing to ignore his fellow Warden's lack of courtesy.

"Us Northmen endure," the man responded as they sat.

Rhaegar kept his face blank as he eyed the man. Like their winters, the Northerns were always considered harsh, brash, and barbarous. He could see where those descriptions would come from, considering the man wasn't slim and slender like in the South. Even without their fur cloaks, men such as Brandon made imposing figures. He remembers seeing Brandon back in full health when he came down to the Tourney for Mariah's birth. Unlike Ned, Brandon was the same height as him, and Rhaegar knew that Brandon would be a challenge from strength alone. He recalled Prince Lewyn mentioning that Brandon was fierce with a sword after a trip Elia had come from in the North.

However, he watched as a friendly smile graced the man's lips. He remembered that smile at the Tourney in Harrenhal as the man greeted other noblemen.

"I requested this meeting to put forth an opportunity to join our houses," Brandon started.

Rhaegar felt his heart hammering in his chest. Brandon only had one child - a son. He couldn't imagine his child - his firstborn so far away.

"You never cared for anything below the Neck, and now you are offering marriage between my oldest niece and your son?" Doran replied as words failed him.

"I know with all your plotting, you fear another rebellion, particularly in the North," Brandon stated harshly. 'Besides it to assuage doubts of loyalty to the crown. My son and Princess Rhaenys seem to get along fine. I don't see any harm in the match."

"You mean outside that you have no respect for the Crown," Doran answered.

Brandon looked affronted. "I have respect for the Queen and all of her children. Prince Lewyn can attest to the hospitality all Northerners gladly give to our Queen."

"Except for me," Rhaegar said, finding his voice. "What is to say about your detest for me won't bleed over to my daughter. Or what of your bannerman."

He watched as Brandon's eyes turned cold, as he had imagined the Wall was. "If you forget, my wife was of Southern blood. Sure, some will be unhappy, but they also know that without our Southern neighbors, our winters would be even more harsh."

"It sounds like you should be courting someone from the Reach rather than the capital," Rhaegar retorted. He didn't miss the look Doran threw him or Lewyn.

A cruel smirk crossed Brandon's face. "Prince Doran, I would like to formally apologize for the role the North played in the disrespect they showed towards your homeland. In all these years, I realized the North hadn't fixed that error, and I hope to provide some remedies."

Rhaegar could tell even the stoic Doran was taken aback by Brandon's words. Rhaegar didn't think that Doran or Oberyn had forgiven him for his role in the rebellion. Doran may sit on his council and provide great words of wisdom, but he knew underneath Doran's amenability, he would never forget his slight towards his sister. He knew Oberyn was only cordial due to Elia's interference.

In fact, the wound of the rebellion was never really dealt with between him and Doran, and now, sitting with Brandon and Doran, maybe he made a mistake by not laying things bare for him to face his judgment.

"From my understanding, Lord Stark, you had no role or done any ill-will to my kingdom."

"But my blood did," Brandon countered. "And as much as the North suffered, the actions of my blood left a mother and her children defenseless and innocent Dornish blood to be spilled."

Doran looked taken aback by his words. "Lord Stark -"

"Enough!" Rhaegar shouted. Of course, Brandon looked thrilled at receiving such reactions. "Don't forget, I am your King."

"So was your father."

Rhaegar rose, but Doran, being of reason, took control of the room. Rhaegar didn't miss Prince Lewyn's hand on the man's shoulder. It wasn't one of warning but of comfort - commodory. "Please, let's compose ourselves as the men of our stations should reflect. We are not children squabbling in the sand."

Rhaegar huffed. "If this is your way of starting a marriage negotiation, you are doing a rather poor job."

Brandon ignored him. "I would have Robb fostered in Sunspear until the wedding. Sunspear is closer to the capital, and it would give the two time to get to know each other. In addition, Dorne and the North are similar in holding their culture and customs sacred; I believe we could find more common ground. That said, I would like to send men to learn to fight in the sands, and in return, I could host men as well to learn to combat the cold. The only thing I truly ask for is lots of sand to make more glass gardens and for the marriage to occur under the Old Gods in Winterfell."

Doran was quiet as he took in Brandon's words. Never had a marriage between the North and Dorne for a major house. They were two of the most independent Kingdoms the realm had, and both were known to resist dragons.

"Seems like you are negotiating with Dorne rather than the bride's father," Rhaegar countered pointedly.

"To be blunt, your Grace, what do the Crownlands have to offer the North? All your goods come from the kingdoms supporting you. Besides, my son marrying your daughter binds us to your house - your dynasty."

"And if I say no?"

"Pity, the Queen seemed agreeable to the match as your Princess."

"You spoke to the Queen about this?"

Rhaegar watched as the man closed his mouth. "We did."

He tried to recall if Elia ever mentioned such a conversation with the Lord, but she didn't. In fact, outside of saying that Ned had shown up with his two sons, it only meant her lamenting that Ashara couldn't attend with their two daughters. He briefly recalled her mentioning that Ned was delayed as Ned and Ashara's youngest daughter, Arya, had tried to hide in the wagons being brought down.

There was no conversation about her talking with Brandon Stark about marriage of all things.

Rhaegar stood, causing Doran and Brandon to stand as well. "I will think about your offer, Lord Stark; you shall have my answer before the end of the Tourney."

Rhaegar wouldn't classify himself as a jealous man, or he tried not to. He was aware of the privilege of being the Crown Prince provided him, even with a fanatic father, as he had. People always seemed to forget that his father's decline mentally didn't exasperate until his capture at Duskensdale. He wondered if Ser Barristan Selmy regretted saving his father.

Yet, he didn't indulge in jealousy. He also never experienced jealousy, especially regarding his wife.

He never questioned Elia's loyalty to him, especially at the beginning of their marriage. Despite how dismissive the Lords and nobles were of Dorne or his wife's features, he knew beneath their words they would not hesitate to offer themselves to his wife for pleasure and the opportunity to ruin her reputation.

He knew eyes coveted what he had when his wife would wear her more traditional garments to court. After all, despite three pregnancies, his wife had retained her slim figure, and with this last pregnancy, Mariah had caused her legs, butt, and breasts to fill out even more. This pregnancy had caused Elia to look healthier than she did at 24.

He knew Dorne was more open with their sexuality and sexual freedom. He knew his wife didn't feel distaste for things that the Seven frowned upon, given her brother's broad of bastards.

Yet, with everything he had done, would his wife seek comfort from another man or woman?

He had to admit his wife had very loyal handmaidens. He believed even someone like Varys had trouble keeping an eye on his wife. Even then, his Queen had a court, and he knew they were carefully selected. He knew each woman would never betray their Queen's trust. He knew that they would keep any of his wife's affections she held for another close to their chest.

Yet, he wondered if she did.

He knew she noticed his behavior at the table as she tried to engage in conversation with well-wishers. Again, she did not mention correspondence between her and Stark.

It made him think about all her trips North. He knew she would mention his presence a few times, but not enough for him to believe that Brandon would go out of his way to speak with her. He felt any interactions Brandon would have with his wife would just be vexing to his King.

After all, he was aware of Brandon's reputation when he was younger—heard about many of the maidenheads he had taken from Lyanna's lips.

He could imagine the Wild Wolf of the North attempting to flirt and show affection to his wife. After all, how else could the man pay him back without starting a war?

The Targaryen king didn't leave his seat even as Mariah begged to speak with the Starks again. He observed silently as his wife was dragged by their daughter's hand to the table containing the Northmen. Rhaenys followed shortly afterward and sat next to Robb Stark. He watched with bated breath as the two stood after receiving a nod from Elia, with Ser Jaime following.

He took a long sip of his wine as he focused on Elia speaking with Brandon, their daughter between the two of them. Gone was the confrontational man he had spoken with hours ago, and instead of a man entertaining his young daughter.

Gone was the propriety of a princess as the girl stood up from her bench and howled like an infamous dire wolf. Brandon was laughing before he joined her and was scolded by their Queen. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him as Brandon and Mariah held a similar smirk of accomplishment. It was the impish look he had seen so many times he had debated if his daughter would become the incarnate Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen. Maybe it wasn't a dragon within his daughter, but a wolf.

His belly filled with dread.
Elia would never. It was wrong of him even to entertain such a notion. Even with all he had done to her, Elia would never be so cruel. Because of his sins, he knew better than to entertain such vicious thoughts. His mother had told him he was a fool for following fickle prophecies—a fool whose price almost cost him his family.

While Elia had their daughter in her lap, Brandon's cool gaze met his, the bastard had the nerve to smile.