Edge

Dragonstone

"Lord Brandon Stark is said to be raising an army against the King, your grace."

Rhaegar's eyes snapped open and he sat up from his bed, the loud waves of the angry sea beneath them startling him awake. That or it was the words that his grand-uncle at the wall had written to him that replayed in his mind, even in sleep, that woke him.

He turned his head, Arianne moved in her sleep uncomfortably, but she did not wake. His movements startling her enough to turn away from his body and move closer to the cradles that lay next to her. His children, Visenya and Valerion, both stayed asleep as well. Visenya was a light sleeper, so small noises tended to wake her, and she'd scream the castle down until she was calmed down by either the wet nurse or her father. Arianne was at first unhappy her daughter did not want her when she was upset, but quickly realised it might've been a blessing to only have Valerion clinging onto her.

Rhaegar stood from the bed slowly, knowing the sun would be up soon enough and his duties would wake up shortly anyway.

As he dressed, he couldn't believe the words that Maester Aemon had written to him. There was no outwardly cry that Brandon was calling his banners, there was no messenger to Dragonstone nor Kingslanding that he'd heard of that had informed them. Perhaps he was gathering numbers, testing out who would side with him and who wouldn't. Aemon hadn't told him who but Rhaegar concluded the Northmen, the Tully's and Baratheon's by marriage, apart from them he did not know anyone else.

All he knew was that he needed to make sure his children were in a safe place, but where exactly would that safe place be? It certainly wasn't Dorne, Elia had made that much clear. Writing a very distressing letter to Rhaegar detailing her anger at his naming Valerion his new heir. In hindsight, she was right, but Aegon would have Dragonstone. That would be enough ... wouldn't it?

He couldn't appease both sons with the title to the Throne and Arianne had insisted on Valerion being named his heir.

"He is your dragon is he not? He is the purest of the two, closest in relation to the Throne," Arianne reminded him, playing with Valerion's hair as she bounced the babe on her back after his feeding. "And he was a gift from the gods Rhaegar. You cannot deny it is his birthright."

He shook the thought from his head, planting a small kiss on Arianne's cheek before leaving the room. He had a voyage to plan, all the way back to Kingslanding.

...

"Isn't it marvellous?" Rhaegar muttered to Arianne, she was running her hands along with Throne, the very same one that many Targaryen's before Rhaegar had sat on. He was currently sitting in it, awaiting the private audience that someone, gods know who had requested of him. Arianne stood beside him, both their ruby crowns gleaming as the sun caught onto the dark red colours.

The doors swung open; a hooded figure entered holding a basket in her hand. Both Rhaegar and Arianne knew that whoever it was, they had to be of some importance. The woman took her hood off, revealing the pale face of Lyanna Stark, now Baratheon.

Arianne squinted and stepped forward, "Lyanna?"

"Hello," Lyanna awkwardly responded, bowing to the two. She felt as if she were a beggar, but she really had no choice. Arianne choked, unsure of what else to say.

"Lady Baratheon," Rhaegar nodded back, "to what do we owe the pleasure? Last we heard you were lost from Storms End."

"I wasn't lost," Lyanna responded truthfully. "I left," Arianne's face looked to ask why "because I hate Robert. And no one believed me when I said I hate Robert." There was a silence as Lyanna gathered her words. It had taken her so much to actually get here, she didn't know exactly what she'd say. "I came here asking for...for...," she moved closer to the Throne, basket still in hand. "Will you take him. Even as a ward?" Her eyes were desperate, her question was directed to Arianne.

"That is your son?" She asked, looking down at the black-haired sleeping boy in the basket.

Lyanna nodded. "He is no bastard; he is Robert's son. But I don't plan on returning to Robert, so I am asking you to take him. As a foster, as we took you," she reminded Arianne. She bit her lip, looking to Rhaegar for a response. "You can change his name, pass him off as Rhaegar's bastard-."

"He is your son Lady Baratheon, and you are asking me, your Prince to take him as my bastard?" Rhaegar said, standing from the Throne slowly.

Lyanna looked down at the boy, Jon, she had named him Jon. She had told herself she wouldn't cry but couldn't hold her tears back. She had been alone for moons, she had given birth alone, nursed him, alone, fed him, alone. The thought of taking him back to Robert, the thought of even answering Robert's questions, she couldn't do it. Arianne's words brought her back from her thoughts.

"Lyanna, you cannot leave your legitimate firstborn with us," Arianne said, as much as she wanted to help her it would not be good for anyone involved.

Lyanna scoffed stepping away from the two. "I should've known you wouldn't help me." She covered Jon back up with the blanket and made to leave the room. "You, Arianne, should know charity of all people."

"Where are you going?" Rhaegar called after her. "You are the wife of my sworn lord; you are to be returned to Lord Robert. Especially now he is Lord Paramount." Her ears rang; Robert was Lord Paramount? "His father has passed," Rhaegar said sensing her confusion. She ignored him, turning around and making her way out of the double doors that had led her into the Throne Room for their short interaction. "You are not leaving. I will call Lord Baratheon here to come and take you home."

Arianne looked at Rhaegar, surprised at his words. Lyanna stopped walking, knowing a command from the Prince was one that could not be rejected. She watched as Lyanna was led away by a few guards. "Why didn't you let her leave?" She asked Rhaegar, resting her hand on the Throne.

"Because, because there is talk of Brandon calling arms against the crown. If it is true, this would only give Robert the more reason to fight against us. I have worked too hard at winning the lords I have for it to be pulled under from me by a wife who dislikes her husband."

Arianne sent him a glare, unhappy with how he had described Lyanna. "She left for over a year Rhaegar. Over a year. Do you think that there is some ground to her hate?"

"Lord Whent," Rhaegar began.

"What?"

"Do you think he came up with the idea to hold a tourney of that size? Do you think he had the funds to hold a tourney of that size?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arianne responded, folding her arms over her chest.

Rhaegar pointed to himself, pressing his index finger to his chest. "I am that one who told Oswell Whent to tell Walter to hold the Tourney. I am the one who supplied the winning purse, of which I used to pay Walter for his services. I am the one who grovelled for days with the Reach, Dorne, the Iron Islands, the Crownlands – any and everyone who would listen I would speak to."

"You are speaking of treason. The same treason you spoke when you told Julian he was tasked with killing the King," Arianne reminded him.

Rhaegar moved closer to her, causing her to move back a little. "And yet here we are. I am only trying to do what's right Arianne."

"You are trying to manipulate people to do your bidding," Arianne whispered back at him, wary of the size of the room and its ability to carry voices.

Rhaegar, who had now cornered her to a jagged edge of the Throne, felt his blood boil. Why was she so insufferable!? "Pardon me for thinking you didn't enjoy watching your foster father burn to the crisp."

She felt her eyes well up and tried to push past him, but he was as hard as the stone behind her. "Watch yourself."

"You watch yourself. You are my wife, not my advisor. What I do, I do for the good of everyone Arianne."

Her temper and perhaps her jealously that arose from the pits of nowhere got the best of her. She had never realised she was a jealous person, but something about Rhaegar brought it out in her. "And what would change if you were King?" Arianne looked up at him, her eyes challenging his own.

"I would give the people peace of mind, I would make the Seven Kingdoms prosper, as they once did under my forefathers."

She raised a brow, "will you do that before or after you are done hiding from the King?" Arianne asked him, pointing her finger left to right as she did so.

"Arianne," Rhaegar warned her, he wasn't an angry man, he never was and he never would be, but sometimes she'd push him to his limits. She had a knack for cornering him until he had no choice but to lash out at her. Rhaegar did not want that to happen this time.

"Are we doing to pretend like you aren't his son? You believe he has gone mad and you are not on your way to his own madness?"

He bit his tongue, not wanting to say something he'd regret in the future. "Laying eyes on you was the biggest mistake I ever made."

"There you see, what a gentleman you are," she moved her foot to stand on one of the lower granites of the Throne. Looking down at Rhaegar, Arianne said, "you are not gentle. You are caught up in a prophecy that you found in a book. You fade in and out of melancholy because it suits you to. You are a little boy, given everything in life, and too scared to save your own people."

He slapped her. Arianne held onto cheek as it stung. Rhaegar had not meant to do it, but her words rang true and he couldn't take facing the disappointment he was becoming. Arianne, who was always one to hold her own ground, slapped him back. "You slapped me!" Rhaegar exclaimed, touching his now red cheek.

"You slapped me!" Arianne responded, pointing to her own.

He huffed, "I do not have to explain any of my actions to you, Arianne. None of them."

"Then why am I your wife?"

"To give me three dragons."

"And what if I can't? As Elia couldn't? Will you get rid of me then as well? Will you get rid of Visenya and Valerion? Try again with another woman?"

He slapped her again, this time on the other cheek. Arianne did not hold back this time, hitting his chest as hard as she could and kicking his legs – her own dress betrayed her as it got caught on her shoes.

Rhaegar wasn't enjoying the woman she was becoming, with little to no guidance from Rhaella in Dragonstone, she had become unruly and far from the woman he had fallen in love with in Harrenhal. But he had to admit, no matter how much talking they did of their current political predicament, no matter how much he thought and stressed, they always found a way to turn anything and everything into sex.

As they were doing now. "I," she balled her hand into a fist and hit his chest, "am," and again, "not ... some ... weak ... whore!"

Rhaegar turned her around, her small hands giving him little to no pain, just annoyance, and bent her over the Throne. It was probably at that moment that many of those in the room around them, from Nymella and Penelope who were stood by the door quietly, to the guards who were stood in different places of the room, knew it was time to leave. Rhaegar and Arianne did not take notice as the doors shut once more, he lifted her dress up and his trousers down. "No, then what are you?"

"I am Arianne Sand of House Targaryen, first of her name. Mother of your dragons," Arianne cried out, unashamed by her wanton moans.

"And who am I?" Rhaegar moaned, holding onto her hips roughly, licking his fingers and placing two into her. She could not speak, only whimpering out a few words along the line of his name and titles. This would be Baelor, a dragon convinced in the heat of anger and passion.

Maybe he did think too much of the prophecy?

...