The Dragons' Rebirth

BY : StarLight_Massacre
Category: A through F > A Song of Ice and Fire
Dragon prints: 19457
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire; all rights go to J. K. Rowling and to George R.R. Martin respectfully. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.

Author: StarLight Massacre

Title: The Dragons’ Rebirth

Rating: M, but it will change to R in later chapters in certain scenes.

Story Warnings: A Song of Ice and Fire canon warnings. Slash, violence, incest, language, blood, torture, mutilation, imprisonment, death threats, mentions of non-explicit rape, minor warnings, Mpreg, caesarean birthing, miscarriage, character deaths.

Pairing: Rhaegar Targaryen/Haradarian ‘Harry’ Targaryen

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire; all rights go to J. K. Rowling and to George R.R. Martin respectfully. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.

Summary: The blood of the dragon has been failing over the decades and various wars, rebellions and fights have whittled the family down to just five remaining members. An ancient prophecy from old Valyria that was unearthed by the oldest Targaryen Prince leads to forbidden love and perhaps to true love too. Secrets and subterfuge, war and madness plague the Targaryen family, but the dragons do not so easily die off and with strength, perseverance and a few choice alliances, the blood of the dragon will strengthen again and it will lead to the rekindling of the royal family and to the fated rebirth of the long lost dragons.

Additional Notes: Just a small reminder that the Song of Ice and Fire universe does NOT have seasons as we do, summer could last for a year, winters have lasted for ten years, and also, they don’t use ‘month’ instead they use the phases of the moon and a full month would be called a ‘turn’ instead. So in this fic, every instance where month should be, I’ve stuck to canon and used turn instead. Except in the cases where the character is counting the ‘months’ in which case they will say X moon. For example November would be the eleventh moon of the year. It’s not precise, but there’s little else I can do when they didn’t have months or seasons to follow.
I’ve aged up some characters as I’ve needed to, particularly Ser Arthur Dayne, who I know is mentioned as being a peer of Rhaegar Targaryen, thus he would be near the same age as him. I’ve aged him up by only a few years to suit the purpose of this fic to add him to the Kingsguard at the beginning of the fic and not later on, but it is a minor change that doesn’t affect the story too much.

Chapter Warnings: Minor mentions, child birth, death threats, mentions of imprisonment, character death.

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Preface

 

Ser Barristan Selmy remembered well the day that the second Prince had been born, on the thirty-first day of the seventh moon in the year 264AC. It was a very unusual occurrence because birthing was a private event and such things were done behind closed doors with only a Maester present, but the second Prince had been different from the beginning.

He had been born in The Great Sept of Baelor, in front of a huge congregation of nobles and smallfolk alike who were there for a blessing on the holy day of the Mother. Barristan remembered it well, and a little fondly too, as he, and his six other sworn brothers, had been present too as all three members of the royal family had been in the Sept and they were sworn to protect the royal family. King Aerys the second, his heavily pregnant sister-wife, Queen Rhaella, and their young son, the five year old crown Prince Rhaegar, his silver hair reflecting the light streaming in through the crystal windows.

It had been a normal congregation as the High Septon blessed all those who had come in the name of the Seven and then it had gone from normal to very abnormal as Queen Rhaella had gasped loudly and then screamed.

The Kingsguard had reacted immediately, he remembered proudly, but there was naught that could be done as the Queen slid slowly down to the floor, fluid pooling underneath her as she screamed again and again in the deadly silent Sept and people craned their heads to try and see what was happening.

Barristan remembered well that it had been Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander, who had yelled for Grand Maester Pycelle to be found and brought to the Sept. He remembered that it had been Ser Oswell Whent who had picked up the five year old Prince Rhaegar as he cried for his Mother, trying to reach for her, and he remembered Queen Rhaella pulling up her beautiful gown, exposing herself, and there had been a small head between her legs.

The babe was two turns premature and coming out much faster than Barristan would have expected. He had heard stories told of babes taking hours to come out as their Mother’s laboured, sometimes overnight, to bring the babes into the world, yet the second Prince was taking mere minutes to arrive, too soon, too quickly, but the babe had chosen his entrance and he had chosen it to be bloody. Bloody and silent.

Queen Rhaella had pulled the baby free of herself in a torrent of blood and fluid, almost as gruesome as the battlefield, and the babe hadn’t cried. Fearing the worst, the Queen had quickly turned the babe over, only to see two huge, blue eyes blinking up at her. Barristan remembered those big, blue eyes. The babe had looked as surprised to have been born as everyone else had been, as if the swiftness of his birth had shocked even him.

 

‘A boy.’ Queen Rhaella had said quietly, softly as she cradled the silent babe to her breast, bloodying her gown further without caring.

 

The Septas had attended to the Queen and her newborn son, while the High Septon had praised the babe loudly and profusely, exclaiming that the gods themselves had blessed the babe. That the Seven, particularly the Mother upon whose holy day the babe had been born on, had accepted him and that his birth was a sign of great things to come.

 

‘What will you name him, my Queen?’ Someone, one of the smallfolk, had called out from the back of the Sept.

 

The Queen had smiled and with barely a glance at her brother-husband, she had answered. ‘Haradarian. His name will be Haradarian.’

 

Those present in The Great Sept of Baelor had cheered loudly, the High Septon had done Haradarian’s blessing then and there as he was cradled, naked and bloody, in his Mother’s arms, still blinking those big, blue eyes around curiously, almost confusedly as if he had no inkling of where he was or what was transpiring around him.

Grand Maester Pycelle had come running, puffing and panting to attend the Queen and her newborn and he had declared, after a thorough examination, that while very small, Haradarian was robust and healthy, though he would need to be fed up a little bit.

Barristan remembered the jet black hair, wet and gooey with blood and mucus, he remembered Prince Rhaegar touching his baby brother reverently, with soft, chubby fingers, but most of all he remembered the eerie silence and those big, blue eyes. It was such a strange occurrence, a baby being completely silent after being born and peering around, as if already learning and having thoughts, that it was imprinted clearly upon his memory.

Those big eyes had turned a shade of dark, emerald green within weeks of his birth and the turns that followed afterwards were tense and strained as the Queen tried to protest her innocence and her fidelity to King Aerys, who did not believe that the boy was his.

 

‘How can he be next to Rhaegar?’ The King had demanded, pointing to his oldest child with his silver hair and his dark purple eyes.

 

‘He is yours, Aerys! I swear it on the Seven!’ The Queen had beseeched. “Baelor Breakspear had dark hair and eyes! His brother Maekar was silver haired and purple eyed, it has happened before, please, do not say such things of your own son!’

 

The King had acquiesced and he had welcomed his second son into his heart wholly, if a bit belatedly. It was assumed that it was mostly due to the boy being praised as a gift from the Seven above, and the smallfolk praying for him and blessing him at the Great Sept. They adored their new Prince, who had been born almost before their very eyes, in the same room as them, and as a result the altar for the Mother had not been visible for several turns after Prince Haradarian’s birth as it overflowed with blessings, lit candles and tokens of love and health. But none of the tension between his parents, nor the acclaim of the smallfolk, had bothered the young Prince Haradarian in the least, not in those first few weeks after his birth, nor the years that followed. All Barristan could remember of that time was laughter. A high, bright giggling laughter that accompanied Prince Haradarian wherever he went from the very moment that he woke up in the mornings.

Barristan had been patrolling the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast numerous times and often the first noise to break the silence of the early morning was a bright, happy giggle to signify that the youngest Prince was awake for the day. Haradarian had been laughing since he had first learned to laugh as a young babe of just a few turns.

The boy was always happy, he was always laughing, a deep contrast to his melancholic brother Rhaegar, who was always so serious and broody for one so very young.

Barristan remembered the sweet songs too, on guard, following the young Prince through the gardens or the godswood as the boy sung sweet, happy songs that lifted the hearts of all those who heard him as he picked flowers to take to his Mother.

Haradarian rarely ever cried and if he did, it was usually caused by pain. He would never forget when the little Prince, just five (or had he been six?) years old at the time, had fallen down the serpentine steps. His loud, hysterical cries had summoned the Kingsguard like moths to a flame, the four of them who had been in White Sword Tower, just opposite the serpentine steps over a courtyard, had dropped everything and had run to the wailing Prince, who was being fawned over by a fifth member of their sworn brotherhood, the one who had been guarding him at the time of his fall. Those huge green eyes had been screwed shut as fat tears fell without pause down chubby, red cheeks as the Prince held out his grazed hands for inspection, his knees and chin had been bleeding too he remembered, and Haradarian had howled his pain and tears as five grown men had tried to comfort him and get him to please just stop crying, to please go back to singing sweetly and smiling and laughing as always.

Those sweet smiles had never stopped, that sweet singing hadn’t stopped and even now, as a boy of one-and-ten, Prince Haradarian was always smiling, always laughing and singing, he was always so happy. He was special. He had been blessed from the very moment of his unexpected birth in The Great Sept of Baelor, the very gods had blessed him and he knew that Haradarian Targaryen, the first of his name, was going to do great and extraordinary things during his life. Those big, green eyes promised that it was so.

 

276AC – 277AC

 

Prince Haradarian ‘Harry’ Targaryen sat in the wooden stands with the other highborn Lords and Ladies who were in attendance, watching the games unfold before them. He was perched on a plump cushion, eagerly watching his older brother, Rhaegar, participate in the tourney at Lannisport. He was eleven years old and his older brother was just turned seventeen; he would be twelve on the next turn, long before Rhaegar turned eighteen.

The tourney was being held to celebrate their baby brother, Viserys’, birth three turns ago, early in the third moon of the year. Neither their Mother, Rhaella, nor their baby brother were present for the tourney, but Haradarian had been allowed to come with Rhaegar and their Father, King Aerys the second, though he was strictly only allowed to watch. He was too young, and far too skinny, as of yet to take part in a tourney, not even just the jousting. He would have been unhorsed with the first lance, he was certain of it, if not outright killed by the blow.

He was sat by the right side of his Father. The host of the tourney and the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister was sat to his Father’s other side, his two, ten year old children, Jaime and Cersei were at his side. He and his Father had two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Oswell Whent, stood directly behind them as Harry sat on his knees, holding onto the rail in front of him, cheering his brother on.

 

“Sit correctly, boy.” His Father barked at him and Harry sighed, sitting back on his bottom and dangling his skinny, twig like legs down towards the floor that he couldn’t yet touch.

 

His brother noticed his subdued demeanour and easily understood its cause and he walked right past the wooden stand on his horse and he stopped for a moment, right in front of him, and Harry darted up, bent over the rail and reached down to throw his arms around his brother’s neck.

 

“Win for me!” He declared fiercely. “And be safe!” He added almost as an afterthought.

 

Rhaegar laughed happily, his dark purple eyes glittering with happiness and mirth, his silver hair tied back to keep it out of his face as he jousted.

 

“I shall.” Rhaegar told him. “For you, brother.”

 

“Make sure your squires have tightened your armour. I don’t trust the little runts.” Harry sniffed.

 

“You should be my squire.” Rhaegar told him. “Though Myles and Richard are doing adequately.”

 

“I don’t want to be your squire.” Harry stated simply, stubbornly.

 

“You’ll never be a knight.” His brother warned him.

 

“I don’t want to be a knight. You know what I want to be.” Harry told him determinedly and Rhaegar looked a little uncomfortable at his declaration, but he touched Harry’s jet black hair gently and pushed it out of the way of his green eyes.

 

“I wish I’d never shared that prophecy with you.” He said quietly, for his ears only.

 

“I’m glad that you did. It gives me more time to prepare.” Harry replied easily. “Now go and win for me!”

 

Harry sat back down as Rhaegar trotted off on his horse and he curled his knees back under him, holding onto the rail again. He smiled as Rhaegar looked back at him and smiled that devastatingly handsome smile that Harry loved, the one that made all the women in the Seven Kingdoms swoon.

He wondered to himself if it was a weakness in the Targaryen bloodline that meant that they all fell in love with their own siblings or if it was just him, but he did love his older brother, very deeply, as more than just a brother. More so since Rhaegar had come to him years ago to tell him that he thought that he was spoken of in a prophecy. That he was the Prince who was promised. That he would, somehow, bring back a new age of the dragons, the last of which had been very stunted and sickly and had died over a hundred and fifty years before.

Harry had his own interpretation of the prophecy, he had studied the words of it at length, and he was certain that he needed his big brother by his side to bring back the dragons. The prophecy mentioned two ‘dragon breeders’, a pitch haired Prince and his silver haired rider. Him and Rhaegar.

It was of course, very common for Targaryens to wed brother to sister, their own parents, Aerys and Rhaella, were brother and sister and their parents, Jaehaerys and Shaera, Harry and Rhaegar’s grandparents, had been brother and sister too. The latter had married behind their Father, Aegon’s, back as they had fallen in love with one another, the former had been forced to marry each other by their parents to keep the blood of the dragon strong. But never had Targaryens, or anyone else for that matter, married brother to brother, it wouldn’t result in any children, and thus couldn’t preserve the blood of old Valyria.

But this prophecy, if the meaning was to be taken as literal, meant that he could have children, that he would be instrumental to bringing back the dragons, with his own body no less. Which would mean that he could have children. It was all very confusing, as the prophecy was thousands of years old and it written in High Valyrian too. It came from old Valyria, way before the Targaryens had gone to Dragonstone even, in order to escape the coming Doom prophesised by Daenys the Dreamer.

But he had told Rhaegar that he thought that the prophecy meant them both as soon as he’d thought of it, he pointed out that the prophecy mentioned the silver haired rider to mirror his black haired brother. Rhaegar had studied it at length himself, for weeks even, and with a very pale face, he’d come back to him and he’d agreed with his interpretation. Which meant that he and Rhaegar had to lie with one another like a man and a woman would. No other man would work, it had to be the silver haired Prince. His rider.

Rhaegar had held him off by saying that he was too young, that he was only a boy still and he would be until his sixteenth name day. So until then, they were still just brothers, yet that didn’t stop the heart from wanting what it wanted and Harry wanted Rhaegar and he suspected that his brother wanted him too, but didn’t want to admit it aloud, not yet, not while he was still so young.

Harry sighed and he bent right forward to rest his head on his hands so that he could better watch Rhaegar in his pitch black armour and his red cloak.

 

“Why are you not taking part, my Prince?” Cersei Lannister asked him politely.

 

Harry was forced to take his gaze from his beautiful brother to look at her, on the far side of the stand with three people between them, and answer her ridiculous questions instead.

 

“I am but one-and-ten.” Harry said simply. “It would be very unwise for me to take part, especially against Rhaegar. He’s going to win.”

 

“He is very impressive.”

 

Harry cut a sharp look at the ten year old girl and he took note of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes as she gazed at his brother and a spike of hideous jealousy stabbed at him. He wanted to rupture both of her eyeballs so that she couldn’t look upon Rhaegar. She didn’t deserve to look at him, only he could be with Rhaegar, no one else. He swallowed hard and he controlled himself. He was a member of the Royal family, he had to be better than everyone else.

 

“He is magnificent.” He countered easily.

 

“You seem very close to him.” Cersei’s younger twin brother, Jaime, told him.

 

Harry nodded easily in agreement. “I am. Are you not close to your sister?”

 

“We are, but you and Prince Rhaegar are not of an age together.” Jaime carried on.

 

“I am only five and a bit years younger than him. That is not such a large gap.” Harry brushed away blithely. “We enjoy much of the same things. It was he who taught me the high harp and High Valyrian and we practice with shield and sword on most days. We are hardly ever apart.” He said truthfully. “Now that Viserys is born too, when he’s older, he will join Rhaegar and I and we will teach him as Rhaegar has taught me.”

 

“Does Prince Viserys favour Prince Rhaegar or yourself?” Jaime asked and Harry saw both older men, his Father the King, and Lord Tywin, who were sat between him and the Heir of Casterly Rock, turn their heads to stare at the ten year old.

 

Lord Tywin looked aghast at the boy sat next to him, his Father looked angry. Harry’s ‘odd’ colouring was a very sore spot to be touched upon, he had even accused his Wife, Harry’s Mother, of infidelity. She had sworn on all Seven gods that it was not true, that Harry’s colouring was from further back in the Targaryen tree. Baelor Breakspear, she insisted, had been dark of hair and dark of eye and he was still a Targaryen, he had had a silver haired brother, Maekar, and his blood ran through all of their veins. It was not impossible, she implored, settling her brother and Husband down somewhat, but it was still a very sore, insecure spot for anyone to just prod at out of the blue, even just a curious ten year old boy.

 

“Prince Viserys favours Rhaegar. As a babe only three turns old his eyes are, as yet, still blue, but I’m sure that they’ll turn purple in the coming weeks.” Harry answered easily. “I’m just very special.” He continued with a smile. “I was born in the Great Sept of Baelor on the holy day of the Mother and my colouring marks me for a higher purpose, it was fated that I would be born and that I would have a silver haired brother beside me. There have been black haired Targaryens before me, as there will be after me. It is not so unusual.”

 

He turned back to smile at Rhaegar, who was indeed getting his armour checked over by his squires and that pleased him greatly, that Rhaegar listened to him and valued his opinions. His brother’s decorated black stallion was stood still by his side, dressed in red to give the illusion of the sigil of their house, in their house colours, and as he watched Rhaegar talking, his mouth moving, Harry subtly licked his lips, his tongue not coming out to do so, instead he rolled his lips into his mouth to lick at them, as he watched his strong, beautiful brother.

He wanted to be his brother’s bride and he didn’t care what anyone else thought of his wants and wishes. He was a Prince, Rhaegar was the crown Prince and they were above the comments and thoughts of the smallfolk and even the Lords of the realm.

He looked to his Father for a moment and he took in a deep breath and looked back to Rhaegar. His brother would make a better King than the one sat beside him. Rhaegar had confided in him of his plan to try and get their Father to hand over the crown and Harry fully agreed. Aerys the second had had his time and he was little more than a paranoid, old man who was prone to bouts of erratic madness and an overprotectiveness that was stifling. He was becoming unstable. Rhaegar would be a better King and Harry would be King beside him, as his bride.

He sighed happily at his daydreaming and he once again put his arms on the rail and bent forward, bottom in the air as he bent forward on his knees to better see Rhaegar.

 

“Sit properly!” His Father commanded. “You are a Prince, not a commoner of Flea Bottom.”

 

He wished that his Father had not come as he once again sat down primly and properly. King Aerys had originally refused to come as Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, was hosting the tourney and as of late they were not getting along very well. He wished that he was brave enough to say something, but Rhaegar had coached him in his youth to hold his tongue with such delicate matters. He said that sometimes it wasn’t brave to always say what was on his mind, but more intelligent to stop and think things through first and decide that it was not wise to say such things aloud.

So he took Rhaegar’s lessons to heart and he smiled politely, biting his tongue so that no words would slip past and he said nothing. He put his back straight, his shoulders back, his hands in his lap and he tucked his ankles together as his feet didn’t yet touch the floor and it was seen as ‘common’ to let his legs swing back and forth. He tucked them in tight, his knees pressed together to fight the natural urge to kick them back and forth under his chair with his excitement.

He looked like a maiden this way and he hated it. All small and slender and delicate, he’d looked into a mirror, he knew what he looked like with his black hair haloed around his head in a mass of tufts that didn’t lie flat or stay straight and his large, green eyes and delicately featured face. It was why he wore his hair short, unlike Rhaegar, who wore his hair long, just below his broad shoulders. If he had worn his hair long, he truly would have looked like a maiden.

His garb didn’t help matters either, a black silk doublet that had long, tight sleeves and was inlaid with rubies to form his house sigil of a three headed dragon on the breast that was cinched at the waist and paired with tight black breeches with soft leather ankle boots that were folded over and studded to the back of his heel with two large rubies to each boot, one on either side of his ankles. It was too warm to wear his flame red cloak, so he’d left it off.

He wished that he was as tall and handsome as Rhaegar, who was so masculine despite being beautiful too, that he could wear his hair long, but he wasn’t. He was small, dainty and ‘pretty’ more than anything else. Beautiful, Rhaegar called him. He loved it when Rhaegar called him beautiful, it made him feel warm and happy. Very loved and appreciated by his big brother, who was also called beautiful by the people of the Seven Kingdoms.

He cheered on Rhaegar for the first day of the jousting, where his brother had unhorsed the two Lannister starting champions, Tygett and Gerion, Tywin’s younger brothers. He was perversely pleased about this after Jaime had questioned him as such and the girl, Cersei, had started fluttering her eyes at his brother. His future Husband.

Rhaegar rode around the tourney grounds in victory as that day’s winner before dismounting his huge black destrier and Harry stood and he took measured steps under his Father’s heavy gaze, down from the wooden stands and he hurried over to Rhaegar, who was mud splattered and triumphant in his pitch black armour.

 

“Haradarian.” He said happily as he caught sight of him, throwing an arm around him and hugging him close carefully, so as not to dirty Harry’s clothing.

 

“You were amazing!” He said happily as he craned his head back and peered happily up into Rhaegar’s dark, indigo eyes.

 

Rhaegar cupped his cheek before moving his hand up into his hair and he ruffled it.

 

“Let me get out of this muddied armour and get dressed, we’ll talk more over the feast.”

 

Harry nodded, but he followed his brother into his champion’s tent with his youngest squire, Myles Mooton. He sat in a chair and watched happily as Rhaegar had his armour carefully removed and then had his sweat dampened and muddied clothes stripped until he was wearing just his linen smallclothes.

 

“Leave us, Myles.” Rhaegar said simply. “I can clean and dress myself.”

 

“Yes, my Prince.” Myles said respectful, before he nodded and hurried out, brushing the tent flaps as he did so.

 

Harry made sure that they had fallen back into place, just the merest slit of light to be seen between them, before he smiled, and now alone, he blatantly let his eyes rove over his brother’s muscular frame. He licked his lips again, this time, he didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing and he did it obviously, so that Rhaegar couldn’t miss the action.

 

“Stop it.” Rhaegar cautioned him. “Such a look on your young face is conflicting me. We must wait until you are at least fourteen, Harry.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with looking upon your bared body in such a way, I am twelve upon the next turn and I appreciate the view.” He said with a smile. “If I am to be your bride, it’s only natural that I get to see you bare.”

 

“Shh!” Rhaegar said hurriedly. “Guard your tongue, brother!”

 

Harry just continued to smile, though the intensity of it dropped off a little, and he stood up to approach his brother. He let his hand run teasingly over the muscles of Rhaegar’s stomach and then moved around to his back. He pushed his hands up that strong back to Rhaegar’s strong, broad shoulders before he slipped them back down and wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing his face to his brother’s back and he sighed sadly. Rhaegar’s body was perfect, truly a work of art and crafted out by hard work and even harder training.

 

“I hate it when you shout at me.” He said quietly.

 

“I…I did not mean to upset you, Harry.” Rhaegar said softly, sincerely, placing both of his own hands over Harry’s on his stomach. “But we must be careful. Only for the next few years, until we’re married. They can’t do anything when we’re married. No one can force us to marry another if we are married together and only Father can null our marriage and only if he still sits the Iron Throne.”

 

Harry nodded. “I know. I should not have said such things aloud where others could hear. I’m sorry.”

 

Rhaegar turned around and wrapped him up in his arms, kissing his brow gently.

 

“You are still only young, Haradarian, such things are to be expected and it was unfair of me to be so sharp with you, let us put it behind us and be more careful in the future. Come now, I need to dress.”

 

Harry let go of Rhaegar with an unhappy sigh and he went to pour himself and his brother some wine as Rhaegar washed himself off with a cloth and a bowl of water before he dressed himself in his Princely finery.

Harry handed Rhaegar a goblet of wine and he sat back in his chair, savouring his own.

 

“I saw how you were sitting.” Rhaegar told him with a smile. “You almost put me off of my stride.” He chuckled.

 

Harry blushed pink. “I did not mean to. It is simply more comfortable to me.”

 

“Or so you say, I can see the appeal, but find no comfort in it.”

 

“You’ve tried, haven’t you?” Harry laughed.

 

“Silence you.” Rhaegar smiled at him adoringly.

 

The two of them finished their wine before they had to leave the tent and go and socialise with the other Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Harry stuck close to Rhaegar’s side.

 

“Watch out for Lord Tywin’s daughter, Cersei.” Harry warned quietly. “I almost ripped her blonde hair out of her head when I saw the way she was looking at you.”

 

Rhaegar chuckled. “You are the only one for me.” His brother told him quietly. “No one will be able to turn my head now that I have you. We will be married, we will have children and we will usher in a new age of the dragons.”

 

“I suppose we could always adopt Viserys as our son.” Harry said thoughtfully.

 

“If he lives.” Rhaegar sighed, eluding to their one stillborn sister and their four dead baby brothers, one of whom had been stillborn and the other three, Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys, who had all lived for less than a year. All of their dead siblings were younger than the two of them, but between Rhaegar and Harry were two miscarriages and there had been another miscarriage six years after Harry had been born between their brother Daeron and their brother Aegon.

 

“No matter, if he doesn’t, we can adopt the child of one of the other Lords, perhaps a second son, and we’ll raise him as ours.”

 

“The prophecy says that we’ll be able to have our own children.” Rhaegar told him.

 

“It’s too unclear, I’m not as sure as you are on High Valyrian, it’s a very difficult language to read. I don’t really understand what it means. It seemed to me like we’d only have baby dragons.”

 

“The dragons shall have babes.” Rhaegar quoted loosely. “With you and I being the dragons, we’ll be able to have children together, Haradarian. I don’t know how, but we will, we’ll find a way, but we do not need to think of such things just yet, not for another couple of years.”

 

Harry nodded, more settled and he followed Rhaegar into Casterly Rock through the entrance known as The Lion’s Mouth and they made their way to the Great Hall. From there he had to try and ignore the way that the daughters, sisters, nieces and even the wives of the Lords come to Lannisport for the tourney sidled up to his big brother and tried to seduce him, for marriage or even for just the one night, none of them cared as long as they got the dragonseed. Rhaegar was all smiles and laughs, but Harry bit his tongue and he smiled too. He knew that his brother loved only him, as he loved only Rhaegar. This posturing was necessary, they were Princes and it was expected of them to be in high demand and completely social at such events, especially as they were both so private and closed off outside of such public events. They liked to keep themselves to themselves, and to each other, but at such public events, they were considered public property and they had to deal with this attention, with this demand for their conversation or talents. It was exhausting, and at times annoying, but it was one of their duties as Princes and they had to smile through it and put aside their own feelings for those of their people.

It was very amusing, however, to watch Rhaegar’s face when one young woman, a pretty maid born of Hightower, though he recalled correctly that she had married the Heir of Highgarden several years ago, approached Harry and tried to stand practically on top of him as she engaged him in conversation. Obviously she didn’t fancy her chances with Rhaegar, who was all but surrounded by women and girls, and instead she chose the second best option, the second born Prince who wasn’t in such high demand as he was seen as too young for such flirtations and thus was easier to get closer to. She was the first person to ever try to flirt with him and it was equal parts amusing and disturbing to him, as he’d never been subjected to such attentions before. But Harry rather thought, from the look on his brother’s face, that Rhaegar was going to lop her head off with the decorative dagger that he always kept on his belt.

 

“It’s Alerie, isn’t it?” Harry asked politely, rather liking that Rhaegar was getting a taste of his own medicine for once.

 

He didn’t often get much attention from the ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, as he was still just a young, pretty boy who looked more like a maiden himself, especially next to his big brother, and it was always Rhaegar that they fawned over. Tall, handsome and muscular with his silver hair and deep purple eyes and brooding personality, it helped him that he was also a very talented jouster, a highly skilled musician and highly learned and intelligent too. He was hardly ever without a book or some ancient scroll to hand, it had been how he’d found the ancient prophecy from Valyria in the first place. But he was every woman’s fantasy come to life and they flocked to him.

 

“Alerie Tyrell? Daughter of Lord Leyton and Lady Rhea Hightower and wife of Lord Mace Tyrell, you have a son together, Willas if I recall.” He asked politely, but of course he recalled perfectly. He knew all of these Lords and Ladies and he knew personally of young Willas Tyrell. He liked the small boy.

 

The maid blushed brightly and she nodded. “Yes, my Prince.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you. Are you enjoying the tourney thus far?” He inquired politely.

 

She nodded eagerly. “Oh yes, my Prince. I was disappointed to learn that you would not be participating.”

 

Harry smiled easily and watched as she blushed a brighter shade of red.

 

“Alas, I am still a shade too young for my Mother and Father’s liking, Alerie. I may call you Alerie?”

 

The maid nodded happily, looking like she was going to swoon at his feet. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as bad at this socialising as he’d first thought he was.

 

“I have been told that I am not to participate until I have passed my fourteenth name day. My Father also dislikes the thought of Rhaegar and I participating at the same time, just in case something happens to us both.”

 

Alerie Tyrell clung onto his every word as if it were law and Harry rather liked the experience, he liked it even more when Rhaegar excused himself from the crowd of women around him and came over and settled a large, possessive hand on his lower back, his strong fingers making their presence known by pressing in firmly.  

 

“Haradarian, we must be seated with our Father.” Rhaegar said sternly, leaving no room for disagreement.

 

Harry smiled, it seemed that Rhaegar had had enough of Alerie Tyrell talking to him.

 

“Of course, Rhaegar. Forgive us please, Alerie.”

 

The girl nodded, having been robbed of her ability to speak, either from prolonged contact talking to him, or more likely because of Rhaegar’s appearance, but he didn’t know and he didn’t ask. He didn’t much care with Rhaegar’s hand on him, steering him towards the top table where they were to be seated with their Father and the Lannisters.

As soon as the Kingsguard saw them, two members strode over to escort them to the table, which made it easier for them to get through the crowd of women and girls. Once they made it safely to the table Rhaegar sat in the chair next to their Father and Harry sat next to Rhaegar. Lord Tywin was to the other side of the King and his two children were to the side of him, Jaime first, despite his daughter being older. All male heirs were seated before daughters.

Harry took a deep drink of his goblet of water before he joined in the feast which was being served before them by blushing, staring servant girls.

 

“She was a married woman, Haradarian.” Rhaegar told him under his breath.

 

“I know. I was just talking to her.” Harry answered as he pulled a piece of chicken apart and popped a chunk of it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “It’s never stopped you before if they were married or not.”

 

“I don’t encourage them!” Rhaegar said sternly.

 

“I said and did nothing encouraging to her, she’s married and I like her son, Willas. He might only be a boy of two, but he is very bright, he’s walking properly and he’s talking, I was amazed. I might take him as a squire.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to be a knight.” Rhaegar told him.

 

“I don’t, that doesn’t mean that I won’t be.”

 

“Then become my squire. I will knight you, you know that I will.”

 

Harry sighed. “Brother, you are frightfully intelligent, but sometimes I wonder when you say such stupid things. You should know why I don’t want to be your squire!”

 

Rhaegar fell silent and Harry recognised his brooding silence. He was thinking…hard. That made his heart throb with love. Rhaegar didn’t brush aside his thoughts or feelings, he cared for him and he would sit here and think about it until he came to the realisation that Harry did not want to be inferior to him, he wanted them to always be equals. He would be his brother’s bride, but he would not suffer to become a mere woman. He was not now, nor would he ever be, a woman. They would be equals, two Kings, not one above the other. He wouldn’t stand for anything less.

He ate and drank his fill, he smiled and clapped politely at the performers, musicians and singers and then Rhaegar was hounded to play his harp by the guests. His brother did not look very impressed to have his brooding interrupted, but he put his personal feelings behind him as he picked up his gold, silver stringed high harp and plucked a few of the strings to loosen his fingers and then he stood, just in front of the high table, facing the guests below him and he played the saddest song that Harry had ever heard him play. It was obviously a representation of how Rhaegar was currently feeling and he hated that he had saddened his brother so much as he was almost moved to tears by the sad song played out masterfully on the beautiful high harp. Rhaegar was so incredibly talented, he would never be able to compare to his older brother.

A quiet sniff had Harry turning and spotting Lord Lannister’s daughter, Cersei, crying her eyes out. Most of the other ladies in the hall were also crying, but when Rhaegar had finished, taken a small bow, and come back to his seat, it was Harry’s shoulder that he touched, Harry’s hair that he ruffled. It was Harry he looked at, no one else.

 

“I understand.” He said simply. “You will not be my squire, but if you wish, I could find someone to take you as their squire in my stead.”

 

Harry smiled joyously at Rhaegar and he fleetingly touched his brother’s knee with just the top joint of his fingers, not his whole hand lest someone see.

 

“Thank you for understanding, Rhaegar.” Harry said softly. “I did not mean to upset you, but I cannot be lesser than you are.”

 

“I do understand.” Rhaegar said firmly. “I never wanted you to be lesser, or for you to ever feel such a way. We are equals, my brother, and we always will be.”

 

Harry smiled and, his heart buoyed, he stood to play his own harp, as black as Rhaegar’s armour, the strings the same silver as those on his brother’s harp and he played from his heart, a very pleasant, joyous song that made him smile, even as he had his eyes closed so that he could focus on his feelings and his fingers floating over the strings to form a light, happy melody.

It was a long, upbeat song and he filled it with his love for Rhaegar, his happiness and joy before he finished slowly on a lingering high note. He stood still and silent for a moment, he took a deep breath, inclined his head to the applauding crowd and then he moved to sit back next to Rhaegar.

He was not as good a musician as Rhaegar, but he was better at singing than his brother as Rhaegar had found that he didn’t have the voice for singing now that he was older, but he was passable with the high harp as Rhaegar had taught him himself.

 

“That was beautiful.” Rhaegar complimented him.

 

Harry smiled. “I had to make up for your gloomy song.”

 

Rhaegar smiled. “I was feeling unhappy when I played.”

 

“After what you said to me, I was feeling very happy.” Harry finished.

 

The feast carried on easily and so did the rest of the tourney. The next day Rhaegar defeated four more knights, the day after he fought valiantly and defeated three more knights and on the day after that, he toppled another three. Before long it was the last day of jousting and Harry was, naturally, once again sat in the crowd, wearing black velvet this time, the three headed red dragon of house Targaryen took up his entire chest in red embroidery and he was wearing his favourite black leather boots with the rubies at the side of each ankle bone. They were the only boots that he’d ever wear if given the choice.

He watched happily as his big brother toppled knight after knight, their lances breaking numerous times as they both kept their horses. Then Rhaegar faced off against Ser Barristan Selmy and Harry was worried for the first time. Ser Barristan was a formidable opponent and as the second to last tilt, he had more than proved himself in this tourney.

 

“Knock him off, Rhaegar!” He called out happily, stood up and bending right over the rail so that his brother could hear him.

 

Rhaegar turned to look at him and smiled, giving him a small wave. Harry grinned easily and waved back. He almost giggled as he lifted his feet off the floor by taking his weight onto his hands and pushing himself up and further over the rail to better see Rhaegar.

 

“My Prince!” Prince Lewyn Martell called out and almost dived over the back of Harry’s chair to grip the back of his doublet, just in case he fell.

 

Harry laughed. “I’m alright.” He said cheerily, though from the look on Rhaegar’s ashen face he had been just as worried at his antics as the Kingsguard were.

 

Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne was a member of the Kingsguard and instead of becoming Ser Lewyn Martell, despite being a very able knight, he remained as Prince instead, but he did his job admirably, even putting himself and his body on the line just the same as his six other sworn brothers, as he proved when he subtly rubbed his ribs from where he’d bruised them against the wooden chair he’d thrown himself on to grab a hold of Harry.   

Overall Harry was glad that his Father was not here today. He had left the tourney grounds yesterday afternoon and today, he hadn’t even bothered coming, so Harry wasn’t oppressed under his thumb and he could sit and behave how he pleased.

Lord Tywin didn’t look very happy either, he noted from the corner of his eye. It was hardly surprising really, because if Harry fell or so much as scraped a knee, King Aerys would definitely hold Lord Tywin responsible, but Harry was still a Prince and a mere Lord couldn’t tell him what to do, not even the Hand of the King or the host of the tourney.

 

“Be more careful, my Prince.” Prince Lewyn told him, patting his shoulder.

 

“Okay.” Harry said with a grin. “Come on, Rhaegar!” He yelled out a moment later.

 

He watched eagerly as the two men took up their tourney lances from their squires and Harry’s heart was almost in his throat as the two horses charged at one another. They passed by without incident, both lances broken and as the horses trotted back to their respective ends, Myles Mooton was readying another lance for Rhaegar to take for the next charge.

It was fast paced, but the afternoon started slipping away with every pass and every broken lance with no winner. Harry screamed his throat hoarse for Rhaegar, all but beaming at his brother with every small pause the two knights took for a few swallows of water handed to them quickly by their attentive squires. Rhaegar always looked at him in the stands at every break and it made Harry want to kiss him.

It was only after nine broken lances apiece that Rhaegar finally managed to unhorse Ser Barristan Selmy by pure chance and Harry leapt up and screamed his happiness, all but jumping up and down in his excited joy.

 

“Well done, Rhaegar!” He yelled loudly.

 

His brother heard him and he turned his head. He wheeled his horse around and he came to the railing, taking off his helm as he did so. Harry bent back over the railing and wrapped his skinny arms around his neck.

 

“I’m so proud of you.” He declared. “So proud!”

 

Rhaegar laughed and pulled him right over the rail and into his lap, sitting Harry in front of him. Harry squeaked at the move and then laughed as he turned and sat astride the horse as he was meant to. It meant that he was sat right in Rhaegar’s lap…if only his brother wasn’t wearing such heavy armour. Harry remembered vividly when he did this back in Kings Landing only a few turns ago, when Rhaegar had been wearing only thin breeches. Rhaegar hadn’t put him in his lap like that since. Harry grinned at the memory and let out an evil chuckle.

 

“You’re remembering that day, aren’t you?” Rhaegar asked him.

 

Harry laughed louder. “You know that I am. It seems that you are too.”

 

“We wait until you’re fourteen.” He said sternly and he said it as if it were a mantra. As if he needed to remind himself that they had to wait until he was fourteen too.

 

“I know, I know. We could have our first child in a couple of years though. I like thinking about it, imagining what they’re going to be like, if they’ll look exactly like you. How my pregnancy might progress and how I’ll handle it.”

 

Harry heard Rhaegar’s breath hitch and his brother’s arm tightened on his chest as he stopped his horse by his tent and then swung himself down and caught Harry around the waist as he did the same.

Harry was set on his feet and he soaked up the roaring, cheering atmosphere. There would be just one more bout and Harry swallowed at the next listing, because it was Rhaegar against Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. The most formidable knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Harry followed Rhaegar into his champion’s tent as Ser Barristan Selmy’s was taken down and replaced with Ser Arthur Dayne’s in a timely fashion. Harry peeked out to watch them working as Rhaegar drained several cups of water and switched his clothes before donning his armour once more, helped quickly by his very efficient squires, Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth. Harry’s face fell when he saw King Aerys making his way to his seat in the crowd, Ser Oswell on guard behind him.

 

“Father has come to watch the final tilt.” He told Rhaegar.

 

“I was wondering where he’d went, he’s been enjoying the tourney thus far, despite initially not wanting to come.”

 

“You know that he didn’t want to come because he didn’t want to sit next to Lord Lannister. He doesn’t want to talk to him or be seen with him either, he’s suspicious of Lord Tywin, the real ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” Harry snorted.

 

“That Ilyn Payne had his tongue ripped out for that slur against our family.” Rhaegar reminded him.

 

“So he should have!” Harry replied angrily. “I would have taken his teeth and lips too.”

 

“That is because you are completely without mercy, my little brother.”

 

Harry scoffed. “Mercy, for such a man as to slur our family? Nothing is as important to me as family. Mother, Father, you and Viserys.” He said simply. “I hold love for everyone in the Seven Kingdoms, brother, but none for one such a man as to slur our family.”

 

Rhaegar considered his words carefully, before he nodded. “You are right, of course, sweet Haradarian. I believe I feel the same way. I suppose this makes me as merciless as you.”

 

Harry chuckled. “We are not completely without mercy, Rhaegar. But if one cannot defend the honour of their own house, one has no business ruling the other houses. It is imperative that we uphold the Targaryen honour and such slurs are ruinous to our reputation. It cannot ever be allowed to stand or to go unpunished.”

 

Rhaegar nodded and he touched his back gently. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget how young you are when you speak like an ancient Maester.”

 

Harry turned, catching sight of Rhaegar’s squires and he stood back a step, putting some unwanted distance between them. He made a show of checking out his brother, taking in his armour, his tall, broad body and that beautiful face.

 

“Newly knighted and already up to the champion’s tilt. I hope that I’ll become as fine a knight as you one day, brother.”

 

“You won’t be anything if you don’t squire for someone.”

 

Harry did his almost giggle again. “You’re a knight now, Rhaegar. You could knight me right now and it would be binding.”

 

Rhaegar laughed. “I could, but I won’t. If you want to be a knight, you will be a squire first, as all knights have been before you. As I was before you.”

 

Harry sighed. “Following the arse of some stuck up, saggy goat who thinks he has even half a chance of being a member of the Kingsguard and will take huge pleasure in ordering me around like a servant.” Harry sighed heavier. “Maybe I don’t want to be a knight after all. I might go and forge some links for a Maester’s chain instead. “

 

“You want to become a Maester?” Rhaegar actually looked betrayed and Harry touched his bare hand gently.

 

“No, not a Maester, I just want to forge some links. Prince Lewyn was telling me of his youngest nephew, Oberyn, who went and forged a few links without becoming a Maester. I could do the same.”

 

“You want to be away from me?” Rhaegar asked sadly.

 

Harry pulled his brother’s head down. “It would only be for a year or so and only if Father allows it. I’m most interested in medicine. It might help with birthing our children, I don’t have the right parts, Rhaegar. It might help us stick to the minimum age too if I weren’t here to tempt you.” He said with a pointed look.

 

“I’d miss you.” Rhaegar said, utterly devastated.

 

“I’d miss you more than words could ever describe, Rhaegar. I love you.” He said under his breath. “But I can’t keep my hands from you. I want you, even now. If you didn’t continually stop me, I’d have already lain with you. I don’t want to wait another minute, though I know that we must. I’d be back before you know it and it’s only if Father allows.”

 

“I will speak to him myself if need be. If it’s something that you want to do, I will see that you get to do it.”

 

Harry smiled. “It won’t be for long, Rhaegar. I won’t take any oaths, I will not become a Maester proper, I just want to learn.”

 

Rhaegar sighed. “Well, how can I stop you?”

 

“You can’t, but Father can.”

 

“My Prince, are you ready?” A voice called loudly from outside.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry to have brought this up now, you need to concentrate.” Harry said worriedly.

 

“I am newly knighted, this is one tilt that I am like to lose.” Rhaegar smiled. “I got lucky in the tilt against Ser Barristan, I am not like to do the same with Ser Arthur. I’ll be happy if I stay seated after the first charge.”

 

“I am still very, very proud of you. Remember that.” Harry said firmly. “Do your best, Rhaegar. I’ll be in the stands, cheering you on.”

 

“I saw you every time I wheeled around, you kept me trying even harder than the last lance.”

 

Harry grinned. “I’d kiss you for luck if we were alone.” He said before turning and leaving Rhaegar’s tent. He heard his brother cursing behind him and he giggled, making his way back up to his chair.

 

“Father, you’ve come!” He said happily. “Rhaegar has done so well!”

 

His Father smiled at him and pulled him into a short kiss, which surprised Harry. His Father was not entirely without love. In fact he loved them all so much, he just loved Harry less than Rhaegar and Viserys, because of his black hair and green eyes. His Father must have been in a very good mood to show such public affection towards him.

 

“I have been told that he has reached the champion’s tilt. I had to come and cheer him on.” Aerys said, ignoring Lord Tywin on his other side, even going so far as to turn slightly more towards Harry, putting his back to the Lord of Lannister and his two oldest children.

 

Ser Oswell Whent was stood beside Prince Lewyn Martell once more, behind his Father, and Harry sat primly on his cushion, smiling proudly as Rhaegar emerged from his tent looking splendid in his pitch black armour and the red painted three headed dragon of house Targaryen over his chest.

Harry cheered along with his Father for Rhaegar, but after twelve broken lances apiece, Rhaegar toppled from his horse and he landed very hard on his back. He did not move to get up, or at all. Harry gasped and he was up before the crowd could shout in surprise. He ran to Rhaegar, getting to him just as his two squires did and it was he who unbuckled Rhaegar’s helm and pulled it off of his very still brother as gently as he could.

His heart pounded in relief as he saw Rhaegar’s dark purple eyes looking up at him, a little dazedly, blinking rapidly, but he was alive and that was better than what Harry had been thinking a moment before.

 

“Are you okay?” He asked a little tearfully.

 

Rhaegar chuckled, a little breathlessly as he was winded, but Harry took it as a good sign.

 

“I’m alright.” His brother told him. “Just a little winded, that was a hard fall.”

 

“Can you stand, Rhaegar?” Their Father asked, having immediately moved to where Rhaegar lay, but at a calmer pace than Harry’s flighty run.

 

“Try sitting up first.” Harry encouraged, helping Rhaegar to ease himself upright.

 

Ser Arthur Dayne, instead of celebrating, had come charging over to check on Rhaegar when he hadn’t immediately stood up or moved after falling. As a member of the Kingsguard, it went directly against his oath to have harmed a member of the royal family. Harry had no idea what happened to a member of the Kingsguard who killed a member of the royal family as it had never happened before, but he assumed torture and then death, accident or no.

It was Ser Arthur who helped tug Rhaegar back to his feet and the crowd cheered happily, and with no small amount of relief too, that their favourite Prince was unharmed. Rhaegar smiled and waved, walking unaided and Harry breathed out heavily in relief himself. He would have gone completely mad if he’d watched his love die before him like that.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

 

There was no celebratory feast to mark the end of the tourney jousting that night. Harry didn’t really understand what had happened, but his Father had gone from happy, proud and even excited, to being worried about Rhaegar, relieved that he was truly fine and unharmed and then back to happy again and then he’d become very, very angry. He had stormed into the solar, connecting the rooms that Lord Tywin had given them for the tourney, and he’d told them to pack their belongings immediately and be ready to leave at day break, he had then disappeared again with two members of the Kingsguard. He and Rhaegar had been woken up before daybreak and King Aerys had taken them both, as well as the Kingsguard, from Casterly Rock and they had started the trek back to Kings Landing the very next morning, before the sun had even fully risen.

Harry was almost asleep in the saddle of his palfrey, he had wound the reins around his wrists, just in case he did fall. He had been up late that night, trying yet again to find ‘Lord Tywin’s Bane’…his dwarf son, Tyrion. He’d never seen a dwarf before and he was so very curious and he knew that the boy had to be at Casterly Rock, but he hadn’t been able to find the three year old, not even the hint of a room for the grotesque and he’d really wanted to see him before he’d left. He yawned again and slumped further in his saddle.

The next he knew he was falling and someone grabbed the top of his arm and hauled him hard, another hand touching his waist as that arm wound around him to tug him onto another horse. He blinked and he turned his head to look at Ser Gwayne Gaunt’s rather unimpressed face. He was sitting sideways on the knight’s lap, having been plonked there to prevent him from falling and most likely breaking something or even braining himself on a rock.

 

“Thank you, Ser.” He said sleepily, rubbing his gritty feeling eyes.

 

“Are you alright?” Rhaegar thundered over to ask, wheeling his horse about to ride next to them, so close that his knees knocked into Harry’s lower legs.

 

“I’m okay. Just tired.”

 

“What were you doing last night when you were supposed to be sleeping?” Rhaegar asked curiously.

 

“None of your business.” Harry said.

 

“You weren’t sowing some dragonseed in Lord Tywin’s daughter, were you?” Rhaegar teased, knowing as he did how strongly Harry disliked the ten year old girl.

 

“That’s disgusting!” Harry complained loudly, completely aghast at the mere suggestion, much to the amusement of Rhaegar and the few Kingsguard members who could hear them and weren’t up ahead with the King.

 

Rhaegar laughed happily. “I suppose it is still a little soon for you to start making bastards.”

 

“I’m not ever going to have a bastard child. I won’t live through the shame of it. All of my children are going to be with the one I marry. I swear it now, before all the gods with you as my witness.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with practising beforehand, Haradarian.” Rhaegar told him with a kind smile.  

 

Harry considered that seriously. “Practice is one thing, making bastards is entirely another.” He said firmly. “I want no bastards to my name.”

 

Rhaegar looked at him and nodded, understanding that Harry was talking to him just as much. Neither of them would have bastard children.

 

“I suppose painting the back of them with dragonseed will be just as satisfying.”

 

Harry blinked. “What?” He asked, not understanding.

 

Of course his brother and the Kingsguard laughed at him again, all except Barristan Selmy, who looked strangely proud.

Harry huffed before he settled in against Ser Gwayne Gaunt and he yawned widely before he curled up as comfortably as he could in the other’s lap and, uncaring of what he looked like or what anyone else thought, he went to sleep. He really needed it after his late night searching Casterly Rock while avoiding the guards, the servants and especially the Kingsguard. He wondered again where Tywin had kept his dwarf son while the tourney was being hosted at Lannisport and he wondered if he’d actually been in the dungeons. Surely not even Tywin Lannister would have locked a three year old up in a dungeon, but Harry truly had not been able to find him and not through lack of trying either. He’d only been curious, he’d never seen a dwarf before and he wanted to meet one. Perhaps one day he would get the chance to meet young Tyrion Lannister, but the opportunity had passed him by this time as they headed back to Kings Landing from the tourney earlier than had been planned.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ X

 

It was only several days later, after they’d arrived back at Kings Landing, that Harry learned what had upset their Father on the last night of their stay in Casterly Rock as he raged and ranted to his sister-wife while they supped together in the royal solar.

 

“How dare he think that I’d marry my Heir, my Rhaegar, to my servant’s daughter?!” He complained as he tore at a loaf of bread as if it were a living creature. “My Rhaegar and that stupid girl of his! As if she is the least bit worthy of the blood of the dragon.” He laughed, a short, angry and harsh sound. “Trying to tell me that it’s time that my son settled down and married, as if it’s any business of his!”

 

Harry shared a panicked look with Rhaegar, who was as calm and as peaceful as ever. He’d known that this would be an issue, that Rhaegar, at seventeen, was going to be expected to marry and start having Heirs of his own. If only he had been born closer to Rhaegar, then they might already be married. There wasn’t anything that anyone could do when they were married.

 

“Then…then do you know what he said? He told me that our Haradarian needed to marry! That Haradarian and his daughter were of a similar age.” King Aerys carried on, oblivious to the uncomfortable silence around him as everyone tried to eat. “I reject his daughter, not once, but twice! I told him that he was an able servant, but that I would not be marrying my sons, my Princes, to my servant’s daughter!”

 

“Haradarian is far too young to be thinking of marriage.” Their mother agreed as she rocked their baby brother. “What next, is he going to suggest that you marry off our Viserys to someone of his liking too?”

 

King Aerys looked at the babe and scoffed. “I’ve had enough of that man. I should never have gone to that tourney, as I’d planned in the beginning. He wasn’t holding it to celebrate my son’s birth, he was using Viserys as an excuse to try and swindle a marriage for his daughter to my sons! No, my sons will marry properly, I have no daughter for Rhaegar, so we’ll have to find a woman suitable for him. Rhaella, we must try for a daughter to be Haradarian’s wife.”

 

Harry swallowed and he sent another wide eyed, panicked look to Rhaegar, trying to beg his brother to do something, but Rhaegar was eating just as peacefully, as if he couldn’t hear their Father’s rantings. He did notice Ser Barristan standing at attention a few paces away from the table however, watching him, and Harry tried to school his panic and smoothen his expression into something more neutral. He needed to learn to control his emotions and his facial expressions better, or else he could put himself, and others, in danger.

Rhaegar had the right of things however, their Father did nothing. He did not call for all maidens in the Seven Kingdoms to be brought before Rhaegar. He did not mention it again since that one rant at Tywin Lannister’s gall to suggest his own daughter for Rhaegar and then for Harry after being rejected and he relaxed a little as he rested on Rhaegar’s chest in a small, stolen moment in the dead of the night.

 

“I’m so worried that I’ll lose you before my fourteenth name day.” He said sadly.

 

“You won’t, Haradarian. Father isn’t about to marry me to anyone who he sees as unworthy and as he sees all the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms as servants, he won’t marry either of us to their daughters. He’ll send someone to Essos to find Valyrian blood for me to marry to keep the dragon blood pure and even if he and Mother do have a daughter, it is going to be years before she is flowered and ready for marriage and children. We do not need to worry so much.”

 

Harry nodded and he swallowed, slipping his arms around Rhaegar’s neck and tightening his thighs around Rhaegar’s waist as his brother stroked his back gently through Harry’s sleeping tunic.

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this, you’re too young.” Rhaegar sighed, but he made no move to dislodge Harry from his perch on his chest.

 

“I know. I was just so worried, Rhaegar.” Harry said softly, squeezing tighter for a moment. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to marry my sister, I want to marry you.”

 

“We don’t have a sister.” Rhaegar chuckled. “Only Viserys.”

 

“Maybe if we marry each other he can marry any sisters we have.” Harry said thoughtfully.

 

“Maybe by the time that we have a sister, it won’t matter and they can marry whom they please.” Rhaegar told him.

 

Harry smiled. “Perhaps, but I won’t have anyone interfering, Rhaegar. I love you.”

 

“I love you as well, Haradarian.” Rhaegar told him, placing a kiss to his brow. “Are you still thinking of going to Oldtown?”

 

Harry nodded silently. “I don’t want to be apart from you, of course not, but all I want is to marry you, right now. Today, so that no one else can.” He sighed. “I need a large distraction and perhaps some distance so that if it does not distract me adequately, I can’t come and touch you like this.”

 

“Will you wait until after your name day?” Rhaegar asked.

 

“Another turn won’t make much difference. I’ll stay for my twelfth name day. Then I’ll go to Oldtown if Father allows.”

 

“He should, he has Viserys and I here to secure the bloodline and perhaps more children here after if Mother and Father are trying for a daughter.”

 

“He’s obsessive of poor Viserys as it is. I can’t believe that he has his food taster suckling the wet nurse before he’ll allow Viserys to feed. I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he has another child.”

 

Rhaegar shook his head. “All those dead babes is playing on his mind recently. Jaehaerys was poisoned by his mistress. He took that hard.”

 

“Mistresses are more trouble than they’re worth!” Harry spat. “You had better not take any when we’re married. You can practice all you like beforehand, as long as you don’t sire any bastard children, but afterwards, you’ll have just me until the day that we die.”

 

Rhaegar laughed. “You know that I don’t frequent brothels, brother. I have no taste for it. I prefer simpler pleasures than the complications added by other people. You and I are much alike in that respect.”

 

Harry nodded and calmed himself. He didn’t like many people either and much like Rhaegar had in his youth, he preferred reading and playing the high harp. Hawking, riding and fishing too. Though with Rhaegar being older, he’d been more interested in a sword and shield at an earlier age than Rhaegar had as they had practiced and sparred together.

 

“I best be getting back.” Harry sighed. “Just in case I’m found missing and some well-meaning servant sends Father into another panic.”

 

Rhaegar sat up with Harry still held to his chest and he kissed his forehead lingeringly.

 

“Take care back to your rooms and remember that I love you.”

 

“Pleasant dreams, Rhaegar.” Harry smiled as he kissed his brother’s cheek innocently and stood up, padding his way back to his own rooms that were just down the corridor from Rhaegar’s rooms.

 

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Of course the best made plans were often waylaid and Harry’s was no different when, eight turns later he was still arguing his case for going to the Citadel. After Rhaegar had gotten involved, their Father had finally given in and allowed him to go to Oldtown as long as he took a personal guard with him. But those plans had crumbled when his Father, rapidly slipping further into madness, was taken prisoner at Duskendale by Lord Denys Darklyn early in the year 277AC.

The crown had been having problems with Duskendale for a while, as they refused to pay their taxes and insisted that port fees should be made lower so that they might thrive as they once had. Lord Denys wanted a charter for Duskendale and when he was refused, he’d taken the King hostage.

It had started with an invitation to Duskendale for King Aerys, it had ended with one member of the Kingsguard, Ser Gwayne Gaunt, dead and the King taken prisoner, barricaded within the Dun Fort, the ancient seat of house Darklyn.

Harry, who had only just been approved to travel to Oldtown with Prince Lewyn Martell as his personal bodyguard, had immediately stopped packing and preparing to travel and he’d delayed his plans and rode immediately to the walls of Duskendale on the far side of Blackwater Bay with Rhaegar as soon as they’d heard the news.   

Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, was stationed there with a very sizable host of men, surrounding the entire of Duskendale and holding it under siege.

 

“What’s happening?” Harry asked, swinging down from his horse, only just twelve years old and facing the very real threat of losing his Father, mad and erratic though he might be, but it didn’t matter. Aerys was still his Father, he was still family and this insult could not be allowed to stand.

 

“Perhaps, my Prince, this is not the best place for you.” The Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister, suggested not unkindly.

 

“I need to know how he is.” Harry said worriedly as the remaining Kingsguard surrounded him and Rhaegar. If King Aerys was killed, then Rhaegar would be the King. He needed to be protected. “How did this even happen?” He demanded, very upset.

 

Rhaegar touched his shoulder and then inched his hand across to hold the back of his neck comfortingly.

 

“Father should never have come here.” Rhaegar told him. “It was foolish to personally treat with a hostile force. If he’d wanted to have settled this matter himself, then he should have invited Denys Darklyn to Kings Landing, not accepted an invitation to Duskendale.”

 

“He should have listened to Lord Lannister in the first place!” Harry cried out, almost in tears from frustrated emotions, half of which he couldn’t even name. “What use is there in having a Hand if you don’t use it?!”

 

Tywin looked pleased and that had been Harry’s intention. If he and Rhaegar were to rule, they couldn’t afford to alienate any of the Lords of the realm. They needed all of them to be behind them, but King Aerys was doing his very best to stomp Tywin Lannister into the ground, making the Lord of Lannister hate all Targaryens. Harry couldn’t allow that, so he was attempting, and at least partially succeeding, in showing that he and Rhaegar didn’t feel the same way as their Father.

Rhaegar turned to him and bent a little to get on his eye level…Harry was still only a boy of twelve and Rhaegar was a tall, broad man at almost eighteen.

 

“Everything is going to be fine, Haradarian.” He said gently.

 

“I can’t lose him. I’ve never lost anyone before.” He confided softly, though still loud enough for the few who were close enough to hear him.

 

“We’ve lost four brothers and a sister.” Rhaegar told him.

 

“That’s not the same! They were babies, they didn’t do much of anything. They didn’t speak or think or move and half of them were born dead. They were babies that barely had a chance to live before the Stranger took them as his own, this is Father! He’s been there for my entire life, Rhaegar. I don’t want to lose him so soon!”

 

“We won’t.” Rhaegar told him, clasping him to his chest with his strong arms and Harry calmed down immediately. “Duskendale can’t possible hope to come out of this favourably. The Darklyns sealed their fate as soon as they took Father and threatened his death. They would not dare.”

 

“And if they do?” A member of the small council, a man completely loyal to their Father, who had rode out with them, demanded.

 

“Then we have a better King ready and waiting.” Tywin said, raising a hand to indicate Rhaegar. “But the Prince is correct, I too believe that the Darklyns wouldn’t dare to kill the King. They would have no hope of achieving anything other than their own deaths if they did so.”

 

“They lose their only hostage if they kill Father.” Harry said, blinking his unshed tears away, thinking about it, his quick mind racing through his rapid thoughts. “They’d have no bargaining hostage to hold against us. We could hold this siege until the whole of Duskendale starve behind their walls if they killed him.”

 

Harry smiled then, his bright, beautiful smile that attracted attention like a moth to a flame.

 

“Rhaegar, they can’t kill him!” He said in joy. “Their only hope of achieving anything is if we give in and accept their terms because of the threat to Father! But we don’t have to because they can’t kill him.”

 

Rhaegar smiled at him and touched his head, cupping the back of his skull before getting eye contact with him.

 

“Go back to Kings Landing, Haradarian. Be with Mother and Viserys. I will stay here and handle this foolish situation. You need to rule Kings Landing in Father’s stead while I stay here. Can you do that?”

 

Harry nodded decisively. “I shall. Write to me often, so I know what’s going on. I’ll protect Mother and Viserys until you and Father return.”

 

Rhaegar smiled so proudly at him that Harry’s chest swelled. He loved this beautiful man and he wished that he could hold him, kiss him goodbye, but he couldn’t. Not here in front of all of these people. Not just yet.

Harry travelled straight back to Kings Landing with his favourite guard, Prince Lewyn Martell. There he informed his Mother of what was transpiring and he played a bit with his brother Viserys until he retired for the night.

The very next morning, after he’d broken his fast, he took the head of the court and listened to the grievances of the smallfolk and passed his judgement as he saw the right of things. He was but a boy of two-and-ten, five turns from being three-and-ten, but it had been said before that he had the intelligence of an ancient Maester.

He became known to the smallfolk as Haradarian the Heart as he chose justice and the love he held for the people over playing favourites and he doled out punishments fairly. So fairly that he ignored the unspoken hierarchy of status, wealth and even noble blood and passed his judgement as he saw the right of things, even peasants over their landlords and a homeless scrounge from flea bottom against the Commander of the city watch about him sleeping every night against the mud gate to escape the rain and wind. He executed no one in his scant several turns of ruling Kings Landing, he hadn’t seen the need to take the lives of others so easily, so uncaringly.

He attended his duties without a single murmur of complaint. He was only twelve, but he had a duty to his family and to the people, so he woke up extra early every morn, he broke his fast just as dawn was breaking, he dressed in his best clothing and he attended to the people of Kings Landing with Prince Lewyn by his side at all times for his protection.

It took half a year for the fall of Duskendale and only then it was thanks to the bravery and boldness of Ser Barristan Selmy, who, as he heard from Rhaegar’s own mouth, had scaled the walls of the town in the black of night, disguised himself as a beggar, stole into the Dun Fort, all the way down to the dungeons and he’d freed the King before charging back out again on stolen horses, cutting down anyone who stood in the way, all the way back to the walls of Duskendale where Tywin Lannister’s archers kept the way clear for them to escape the confines of the town. As soon as the King was out and safe, Lord Darklyn had opened the gates of Duskendale and he’d surrendered, there would be no mercy for him however. None at all. They couldn’t risk anything like this happening ever again. Lord Darklyn had to be made an example of and he had been.

Though at that time Harry could never have even fantasised about the horrors that his Father, the King, had in store for Duskendale. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he had known, but what had happened to the Darklyns, even to those not involved in the kidnap plot of the King, haunted him almost as much as the husk of the man he’d once known and loved that had been saved from the dungeons of the Dun Fort.

The damage had already been done long before he’d been saved, King Aerys was little more than an unkempt madman who was not sleeping and complained under his breath that the Darklyns had dared to strike him and strip him of his royal raiment before imprisoning him like a common thief. He had had all of them, every single Darklyn of birth, not just in name, aunts, uncles, cousins, every single distant kinsman, put to death and making extinct the Darklyn name. Not even the Darklyns good-family, the Hollards, had been spared the fate of their married family and they had been put to death too, all except for one, a mere babe named Dontos Hollard whom Ser Barristan Selmy had claimed for himself as a boon to repay his bravery of personally saving the King’s life at great risk to his own.

The cruellest fate by far, however, was saved for Lord Darklyn’s wife, Lady Serala, the Lace Serpent of Myr. The one who was said to have started the defiance of Duskendale with her poisonous pillow talk into Lord Denys’ ear.

Rhaegar had refused to tell him what had been done to her, but Harry had found it impossible not to learn of the grisly details when all of the King’s men were talking about it within the Red Keep. The Lady Serala had had her serpent tongue, as well as all of her womanly parts, torn out before his Father had burned her alive. He felt sick whenever he thought of it, such a punishment, and for a woman too, was much too barbaric for his tastes, but his Father had changed, he was no longer the man who Harry had grown up with. He was cruel and mean and not in the least bit loving or affectionate any longer.

His Father became increasingly unstable in the days and weeks after Duskendale and he wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him. He refused to wash or cut his hair or nails. He refused any ointments when he cut himself on the Iron Throne and he became known as King Scab as he was always covered in them.

He was suspicious of his Queen and he was convinced that Rhaella and Rhaegar were in a conspiracy with Tywin Lannister to have him killed so that Rhaegar could take the Iron Throne from him. He held Rhaegar, his once beloved son, in utter contempt. He had prevented Harry from celebrating his thirteenth name day and it had passed as if it were any other day, as he had also forbidden everyone else, even his own Mother, from acknowledging the day of his birth.

King Aerys took his new mean disposition and evil temperament out on Harry with a single minded determinedness to crush him under foot, to utterly destroy him and he wouldn’t even allow Harry to so much as speak in his presence, cutting him off with a snarled order as soon as he opened his mouth to say anything, that was if Harry was even allowed in the same room as him in the first place. Not content to stop there though, no, his own Father kept calling him the false Targaryen and he had started insisting that Harry was not his son. That he was a bastard boy pretending to be a Prince and that he should be imprisoned for his crime of impersonating a member of the royal family.

The only one that he truly cared to be near these days was Viserys, who was not yet two years old and his young, impressionable mind was being infected with the madness of King Aerys.

Today was just one step too far in his mind though, he had been as patient as he possibly could, recognising his Father’s trauma after being imprisoned and held captive for half a year, but he was at his topmost limit, especially after his uncelebrated name day and his forced removal from his Mother and brothers, Rhaegar in particular, whom he was forbidden from seeing or speaking to. It was too much for him to handle and so, after being told that he wasn’t allowed to eat with the family yet again and being ordered to scavenge for scraps in the kitchens like a mangy, stray dog, Harry ran sobbing, tears falling down his cheeks, from the royal solar to his bed chambers as his once beloved Father viciously turned on him, declaring him unfit to be near any ‘true Targaryens’.

His own Father had dubbed him Haradarian the Hideous to spite him after he’d heard the people calling him Haradarian the Heart once he’d gotten back to Kings Landing after his imprisonment.

Swallowing hard as he reached his rooms, Harry packed a light bag and took up his dagger, which he wasn’t allowed to wear in the presence of the King. Only the Kingsguard could arm themselves around the King these days as his Father had formed a phobia of knives and swords after cutting himself so often on the Iron Throne.

He was going to Oldtown, to the Citadel, as he’d planned before the debacle at Duskendale. Rhaegar was planning to sail to Dragonstone and he had asked him to go with him, but their Father had heard of the plan from his new hired spider, Varys, whom he paid to whisper the secrets he found out into his ear and King Aerys had forbade Harry to go to Dragonstone, so Rhaegar hadn’t gone either. The conditions in the Red Keep were becoming dire, neither he nor Rhaegar could stay here, not with the Mad King as unstable as he was. He was a breath away from having Harry burned alive and Rhaegar disinherited in favour of Viserys.

He wrote a cryptic letter to Rhaegar and he left it wrapped around the hilt of Rhaegar’s own dagger in his brother’s rooms. He knew that his brother would not leave it behind and as such he was like to find it.

He didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t take any Kingsguard with him, not that they would have been able to come. The King hadn’t given Harry any protection in weeks and he had commanded all seven of the Kingsguard members (including Ser Gwayne Gaunt’s replacement Ser Jonothor Darry) to ignore him and to not speak to him and to leave him if ever there was any trouble. They were to protect the true Targaryens and leave him to his death if such a situation arose.

Harry took his own horse, a beautiful, well-bred palfrey that he’d had for years, and he rode out of Kings Landing and he knew that he would not be back for years to come. The hardest part about riding off was leaving his beautiful Rhaegar behind, but out of the two of them, Rhaegar was like to survive the madness of the King. He, with his hair as dark as a moonless night and his eyes like summer grass, was more likely to be cut down or burned alive by the mad King’s cruelty and shattered sanity. The hints were coming thicker and faster, the barbs crueller and more hostile and Harry had been living in fear of his life, that fear was only growing with each new morning. He couldn’t live like that any longer, so he was leaving for Oldtown. With any luck, and the will of the Seven, his Father would be dead by the time that he was ready to return.

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A/N: This fic is completely finished, so I feel absolutely no guilt in posting up a new WIP. I took a break from my other fics for a bit to write this one and it has taken me just nine weeks to write it, from start to finish to posting it up today, which is a serious accomplishment to be honest. This is the shortest chapter out of all six, so there is a lot more to come for this fic and I hope that I’ve done it, and the fandom, justice.

But I hope that you all like it as I post my first foray into this fandom. Updates will come weekly, as I want to make sure that each one is perfect and there are six chapters in total, five and an epilogue chapter. I’d like to remind you all to please take note of the warnings, they are important and I will reiterate that this fic IS an incest fic, which if you’ve read The Song of Ice and Fire Series isn’t actually that big of a deal due to canon events, but it can be a bit shocking if you’re new to the fandom. Thank you very much for reading, I hope that you’ve enjoyed the experience and the next chapter won’t be too far behind this one as it is already written, I just need some time to sort everything out and make it as perfect as I can and sort out my next updates.

 

StarLight Massacre. X



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