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Rhaegar loved nothing more than being at Summerhall.
Even in its ruined state, he still found it beautiful. It was the place of his birth, and yet .. smallfolk and highborn lords and ladies alike would remember it more clearly as a place of tragedy, for the death of a Targaryen king was a regrettable affair.
As the prince situated himself beside his harp, he did as he was always accustomed to doing; he surveyed the environment, noticing the small details, the places most heavily damaged and their direct opposites, the areas that seemed as they were nearly thirty years prior, unscathed. He thought about what his mother had told him, how Ser Duncan the Tall had saved both herself and her newborn baby, only to return to the burning castle and never reemerge. Rhaegar loved to read, and he had long been curious about the circumstances of his birth, consumed by a desire to know all he possibly could.
The visits to Summerhall were of a countless amount, but he had never before brought his brother and his children to the ruins.
Viserys, a boy of seven, was full of volatile energy, bouts of playfulness that could rarely be controlled. The two brothers spent little time together, though not by intention. The younger prince found his place in King’s Landing, at the side of his mother, and Rhaegar seemed to often be elsewhere .. tourneys being one reason. When the pair was given an opportunity to be united, Viserys spent the time begging the future King of Westeros to play games with him. If the young boy grew bold enough, he would demand to practice swordplay, a mischievous smirk spread across his lips. Rhaegar would set aside whatever he was working on and reach for his brother, cup his cheek, and offer instead to tell him stories of their family. Any of his choosing and the princeling would hear it; Rhaegar knew them all. The boy always loved the stories filled with battles and brave heroes, and of course, dragons. Viserys would prance about the room as the Prince of Dragonstone spoke, pretending that he was Aemon the Dragonknight or Daeron the Young Dragon, though instead of Dorne he was conquering, it was a stray cat. Details of the Dance of Dragons made him angry, though he could always be soothed with the Field of Fire.
And his children … oh how Rhaegar adored his children. Rhaenys with the lovely features of her Martell mother, her dark hair and her olive skin. The girl had a laugh that could bring a smile to any face, even those as full of melancholy as her father’s. Those close to him witnessed how his demeanor changed when Rhaenys was in his arms. Fingers caressed her soft hair, light kisses were pressed to the top of her cheeks. On numerous occasions, the pair had fallen asleep together in his chambers, looking more peaceful than anyone had ever seen them before. Aegon, his precious babe, his prince that was promised, the future of his house, the boy who mattered most, the one who would change everything. Maybe he didn’t look powerful now, swaddled up and crying for his mother, but Rhaegar had never been more sure of anything in his life. This child, with his Targaryen features, was his purpose.
The three of them were together now, playing in the open grass surrounding the ruins. Viserys was holding Aegon, perhaps not in the ideal way that a wet nurse would, but the prince had faith in his little brother; the prince who was promised could not be ended by something as trivial as a bump to the head, that was impossible. Rhaenys waddled after her uncle with arms outstretched, begging the older child for a chance to hold her brother. Viserys did not, apparently, share the same faith that his brother held, as he selfishly pulled the babe closer to his own chest, defiantly telling the girl, “No!”
Rhaegar wondered what his son would say if he was able to speak. Knowing he would get no definite answer, attention was turned back to the beautiful instrument at his side. Sad dirges were always the selected style of music, and today would be no different. His fingers lifted up to the strings, feeling the tension within them for a few moments before he began to play. The song was played as though he was only performing for himself, with no intention of drawing an audience. Rhaegar did not need approval; all he craved was to feel a connection to this place.
That did not stop Rhaenys from hearing the sorrowful notes that drifted over to her ears. Her head turned, and another one of her darling smiles appeared on her face. She abandoned the cause of embracing her brother and began making her way over to her father. Rhaegar could only guess what game the children were playing at, but he could catch Viserys proudly exclaiming, “There’s no one to save you now, I defeated your brave knight!”
Even the thought of Summerhall could not prevent Prince Rhaegar from smiling when he saw his daughter walking towards him, giggling whenever she stumbled. He held his hands out for her, and as soon as she was in proximity, the girl was raised onto his lap, only forcing out more bubbly laughter. Rhaegar brought his hands back out in front of them, hovering before the harp, silently giving her permission to follow his lead.
A kiss is pressed to the top of her head.
“Will you play me something, sweetling?”
With an enthusiastic nod, tiny hands grabbed hold of long, slender fingers and gently tugged them towards the strings. A happy expression never left Rhaenys’ face as she made her first move, a single pluck at the closest string to her. After that daring move, she became more adventurous, exploring as much of the instrument as she could as fast as her little hands could manage. The result was far from perfection, but Rhaegar adored it regardless.
“Your turn!” The princess declared when she finished her song.
“As you command, my lady.” The humor caused Rhaenys to burst into another fit of laughter and wrap her arms around her father, getting as close as she could.
Another song began, just as melancholic as the first, though the girl was too young to understand that yet. All that mattered to her was that he was playing beautiful music.
“I think I liked the princess’ song better.”
Rhaegar knew the voice instantly. He had been wondering when Lyanna Stark would make her first appearance.
“She’ll be better than me one day.”
Lyanna smirked and strode closer to the father and his happy daughter, who seemed to hold no fear regarding the stranger that was approaching. The prospect of meeting this new person excited the young princess. They rose to join their new companion.
The Lady of House Stark did not look particularly like a lady in her present state. She donned riding clothes and certainly had been wearing them for a longer duration. Dirt covered the pants and boots, and her brown hair was pulled backed into a style much better suited for someone of the masculine variety. Rhaegar suspected that she even had a suit of armor stashed away behind some foliage; how else would she have made such a journey unnoticed?
She knew there was not much time for them to spare together, and she had known this when she had departed from Storm’s End. Herself, her father, and her brothers had been guests under the Baratheon roof. Lyanna wasn’t sure just how much more of Robert she could have endured. The boy was persistent, she would give him that, but she was not so easily seduced. His will was strong, but hers was stronger. Soon enough, riders would be out searching for her. Let them look, she had told herself. They’ve never found me before.
Viserys, apparently still existing with the spirit of the Dragonknight inside him, detected the threat of an invasion and came bounding over, Aegon looking terrified in his arms. The babe was quickly taken from him, this time successfully.
With his arms free, Viserys crossed them over his chest and cocked an eyebrow.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
Rhaegar wore a subtle amused demeanor as he looked between his brother and his lady.
“This is Jocelyn Storm. She’s a mid-wife from a village nearby.”
Lyanna tried her best to swallow her pride. She admired his intelligence and capability in crafting an alternative identity for her, though she wished she didn’t have to be a bastard, let alone a bastard in such a dreary occupation. What mattered was that Viserys believed his brother. With a clenched jaw, she forced a grin.
A hand that had previously been hidden behind her back was revealed and between her fingers was a gorgeous rose, colored with shades of orange and yellow. The flower was presented to Princess Rhaenys, and the girl took hold of it as though it were a prized possession, a valuable gift she would never let go of.
“Careful of the thorns, Princess.”
The She-Wolf moved her gaze to the eyes of the Prince of Dragonstone and a smile came to her lips, with a playfulness that reminded Rhaegar distinctly of Viserys.
And the prince saw how swiftly Rhaenys had warmed up to Lyanna. His daughter was a cheerful child, and in this moment that characteristic seemed heightened. He couldn’t have known whether it was the chance to leave the Red Keep, the song she had performed by herself, or if it really was the northern girl who had created such infectious happiness.
It pained Rhaegar to know that her true identity could not be revealed to the children, and to Viserys, at least not for the time being. It was too dangerous, and he knew that.
That did not stop him, however, from handing both the little prince and the darling princess over to this strange girl. She struggled with the weight at first. That was interesting to Lyanna. She had held swords before; what was so difficult about two royal children?
“Play her a song!” The request from Rhaenys should have been expected. And without hesitation, it was to be carried out. Rhaegar calmly moved back towards his precious harp, and sat in front of it, hands instantly raised into playing position. All he needed was his audience.
The Tragedy at Summerfall had one benefit; the fires that had meant doom for King Aegon and his son had created a perfect seating arrangement for this situation. Lyanna found a bench that had not previously existed and placed herself and her new acquaintances not so far from the harp. Viserys, not one to be excited by music, returned to the field of grass to resume his conquest of all the nearby shrubbery and stones.
“Do you have a song you would prefer, my lady?” The question seemed to be posed to both the Lady of House Stark and the Princess of House Targaryen. An answer came from the latter.
“The one with Jenny!”
Jenny of Oldstones. There were many a song written about Jenny, though Rhaegar knew which one his sweet daughter was referring to. Ladies always loved to hear it. The prince knew it unlikely that Rhaenys was aware that Jenny’s husband had died in the very castle that they found themselves at now. The irony still resonated with him all the same.
He began to play, and this time his voice accompanied the lovely melody. Prince Rhaegar would never brag about his prowess, but others would do it on his behalf. His voice was undeniably gorgeous.
And as he sang, he watched Lyanna, how she smiled as she played with his children, how she swayed with Rhaenys and cradled Aegon so carefully, just as carefully as he would. The two made sounds of happiness, from happy gurgles to words of praise, and no sweeter sounds had ever reached Rhaegar’s ears.
With Lyanna, everything could be in reach. Together, they could raise a little Visenya and teach her how to read, how to ride a horse, how to talk to the other lords and ladies at court. She too would become a darling of King’s Landing.
The dragon would have three heads after all.