The Last Dragon -Rhaegar's Story

The Champion

The day could be mine, I feel it.

It is just as hot as the rest of the days, but today, I feel invincible. Yohn Royce, Brandon Stark and Arthur Dayne, all fell before me. Moreover, it as not so much as my skill as much as my brain. I used the sunlight to my advantage. Taking time to observe their fighting techniques also helped. But I still have one opponent to defeat.

Ser Barriston Selmy eyes me like a prey, slowing walking his horse. I see his sword and the way he holds it. Taking in the scene, I dart my horse towards him, trying to disarm him instead of hurting him. Adrenaline flows through me like fire and I change my action at the last moment, twisting my arm to disarm him. But like me, at the eleventh hour, he jerks his horse sideways and I end up poking him in his biceps. He snarls but circles back.

We circle once and charge. Forcing my attention back to my opponent, I notice ser Barriston holds out his sword his hands. It must be injured from the previous  fight.

And in that moment when we finally crash, I let my instincts take over. Swords clash, I grunt from a hit and when I return to my senses, Ser Barriston is disarmed. I level my sword to him and seven hells break lose.

"Prince Rhaegar!"
"Champion!"
"Prince!"
"Rhaegar!"
"Rhaegar!"
"Rhaegar!"

I scan the crowd till my graze lands on a grey eyed lady. She smiles up at me and finally I face my Father, the King.  He nods in approval, drinking his wine while everyone around him cheers for me.

I sigh in relief. The thing is, I lied to my Father about the Knight of the Laughing Tree, saying that the sheild was all we ever found. That he vanished into thin air. And thus my Father is convinced that the Knight was an enemy. Well, at least he never know about Lyanna.

"Champion," Lord Whent's voice ranges loud. "Present the beauty laurel to the lady you chose, and name her the Queen of Love and Beauty!"

Another round of applause ementrates,even louder than before.

A young boy runs towards me, handing me the laurel of the white winter roses. I stare at them for a moment. Blue as winter frost. Beautiful in an icy way. Just like Lyanna Stark.

Still filled with adrenaline, I walk my horse to the Stark and lay the laurel in her lap. I point my sword point at her. "Lady Lyanna Stark, I name you the Queen of Love and Beauty."

The silence that follows deafens me. I finally look around and see the cheer die from the audience's faces. My Father frowns at me. The Stark brothers look at me in shock. Robert Baratheon's face tunes into a  snarl in anger. Elia, oh Elia, stares at me, stunned. And Lyanna...her eyes are still fixes to the laurel in her lap, disbelief on her face. When she looks up, her eyes could burn me into cinders.

Oh fuck, why did I do that, I ask myself. Closing my eyes, I dart into the sables as quick as I can. Depositing my horse and my Targaryen helm, I race into the palace and into my alloted room, shutting the door tightly shut.

Leaning against the door, I see the moment again, as all the smiles died. What was I thinking?! Or, in this case, not thinking!? How could I do this, dishonouring Elia, my dear Elia? What would she think of me? And Lyanna...I should just forget about her. For now, for ever. But I just can't. I can still see her behind my closed eyelids.

And then I realise,  I do not regret it. Yes, it is fitting that my victory should belong to Lady Lyanna. It was the thought of her that brought a surge of energy in me. That she was watching me made me win this jousting. So, I do own my victory to her. Presenting the laurel to Elia who have been dishonest.

"Da," a voice whispers. Opening my eyes, I see Rhaenys standing on the bed, her features reminding me of Elia's Dornish ones.

"Rha," I reply and pull my daughter into a hug, squishing her slight frame. I hold her, and realise that if the prophecy has to come, it will. None of this would happen if it wasn't meant to. It is this thought that relaxes me.

"Da," Rhaenys says urgently. I release her and see that she is pointing to the wooden bed. Placing her onto my shoulders, I walk is towards little Aegon, sleeping restlessly.

"Rhaegar!" Dreading the moment, I turn to an angry Elia, banging open the doors. "Do you care to tell me what that was  about, my husband?" And she just stands there, her arms crossed, her features fuming.

I release my breath. " Does it matter, my dear Elia?" I want this day to just end.

"Yes, it does!" She shouts loud enough to wake the dead. "How can you?" She eyes me while I hug Rhaenys, turning her away from her mother. "You know the traditions, or have you forgotten that in the face of that Stark girl!?"

"Elia," I say in my softest voice.

"Rhaegar!" She cuts me off. " At least you could have told me! Then at least," her eyes turn shinny, "I would have known."

"My Lady," I try again. "I am sorry for dishonouring you. I really am."

"My husband." Now she sighs and holds me face in her hands. "It is not you presenting the laurel to another that hurts me as much as it hurts that you keep things from me." She charges, taking Rhaenys from me, placing her onto the bed. She turns to me. "Why did you not tell me about Lyanna?"

"Because there is nothing to say." Which is the truth. "I just admire her spirit. She is the Knight of the Laughing Tree. That is all!"

"Is it?" Elia stares at me. "I see the way you look at her, and believe me, if you think that, you are fooling yourself." She gives me another look and then dashes out the room.

The silence is only broken by the children's snores. Am I? Fooling myself by believing that?

I reflect back on my actions, finding the shewolf , seeing her spirit, our eyes meeting at the feasts, her smiling at me, and finally the laurel.

Yes, I admire the lady. But I suppose it is more than just that I feel when I see her. I desire her. The dragon must have three heads. Could she be the one?

Only one way to find out..

-------------------------------------