What If Rhaegar and Robert Were Warded With Ned Stark in the Vale

What if Rhaegar and Robert were warded with Ned Stark in the veil? Let's explore the depths of it in the video. The great hall of King's Landing is alive with the marrynt of a grand royal feast. Torches flare in the sconces against the stone walls, casting dancing shadows over the crowded longts. Noble children shriek and tumble through the hall, chasing one another with scraps of food in their hands. Lords and ladies laugh loudly, toasting and shouting happily. Amid the celebration, a boy sits alone on a low bench near a pillar. His small hands cradle a nearly ancient leatherbound book. His eyes, sharp and focused, trace lines of history and legend. He does not even notice the other children playing and laughing around him. Rhaegar Targaryen, crowned prince of the realm, is still young, but already distant from the simple pleasures of life expected from a child his age. Lord Aaron, Lord of the Veil, observes Rhaegar quietly from near the hall's entrance. Where most children would be a tornado of shouts and shves, the young crown prince is absorbed in quiet intensity as he reads his book. Jon takes a step closer, curiosity drawing him in. Why do you sit here alone while all the other children play, my prince? Rhaegar startles, lifting his gaze slowly. His pale violet eyes widen as they meet Jon's calm gaze. For a moment, he studies the man, unsure and guarded. John kneels to his level. >> I am a prince, as you said, my lord. I cannot play when there are more pressing matters. I must study and prepare. >> Why, that's very dutiful of you. I believe even princes deserve a chance to play, though I admire your dedication. Few children your age take duty seriously. H tell me, my lad, can you guess my house? >> House Aaron? You wear white and blue in the fashion of the veil, and everyone in this hall seems to regard you with great respect. >> Well, that's something. You'd be correct, my boy. I am John Aaron, and I have the pleasure of being the Lord Paramount of the Veil. And it seems you aren't too absorbed in that book. If you've noticed the reactions others have had to me, tell me, what are you reading? >> A book of prophecies, old tales, and histories some do not believe are truthful. I believe that someone must remember them. And if that someone must be me, then so be it. >> A fine choice. Tell me that. Do you wish to see the world? Reading about it is one thing, but take it from a man who's going gray. Traveling is another thing altogether. The two continue to speak quietly in that secluded corner of the hall. Drawing the occasional glance, but no one lingers long, allowing the two a degree of privacy. Rhaegar admits a willingness to travel and see more of the realm that will one day be his. In that lingering conversation, a quiet bond is formed between the two. Rhaegar's own father had never taken such an interest in him and his interests, and John Aaron has no children of his own. By the time the two politely end their conversation, John Aaron has made up his mind. He, as he departs from Rhaegar secluded corner, he turns his attention to the decorated high seat presiding over the entire hall. There, Aries II enjoys the festivities with an easy smile and a pleasant demeanor. Still young, Aerys Targaryen is unmarred by any signs of madness, save for a tendency towards lofty ambition. Jon waits for a lull in the festivities before speaking to the king. Your grace, may I speak privately? Speak, Lord Erin, but make it quick. This is a time for festivities, not anything bothersome or trivial. Thank you, your grace. It concerns Prince Rhaegar. I have admittedly taken a fondness for the boy. He is polite and studious. I believe he deserves a chance to see more beyond the court. House Aaron has long been loyal to your line, and I can assure you he would receive only the best tutors and education in the Erie. That is an interesting offer, but tell me, do you believe I cannot raise Rhaegar myself? Surely the Red Keep is sufficient for him. I did not mean to imply that at all. I merely wish to offer your heir a different perspective and freedom and adventure that comes with living in the veil. He could even be warded with the other young heirs his age to forge stronger bonds for your kingdom. I have a potential betroal in mind to my niece Miranda Waywood. She is of an age with your son. H I like the sound of this, Lord Aaron. Very well. You may leave at the end of the moon's turn, and you will be well supplied and given the company of a knight of the king's guard as well. Jon assures Aries that he has made the right choice, and that he is sure Rhaegar will make him proud. Rhaegar watches from a distance, looking at John Aaron with awe and surprise. He has never had a true parental figure to guide him with Aries distance and and Raela withdrawn. But here he finds a man offering his mentorship freely. The days that follow are a whirlwind of preparation. Rhaegar gathers his possessions with careful deliberation. Jon oversees every detail of what the boy packs and which members of the court he chooses to attend him, ensuring that the boy is ready for the long journey north to the Vale. Harlon Granderson of the King's Guard is selected to accompany them. An old but loyal knight who has served the King's Guard for most of his long life. On the day of departure, Rhaegar pauses at the gates of the Red Keep, looking back at the city that has been his entire world. He sets his chin high, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in his chest. Jon stands beside him, steady, almost fatherly, offering reassurance without words. The red keep fades behind them as they ride north toward a future that neither boy nor man can fully surmise, but one that will shape the fate of the realm. The eerie rises like a white jewel above the veil. Its towers piercing the sky. Sheer cliffs plunge away into endless mist, and the high halls echo with wind. For a boy raised in the fast-paced chaos of the Red Keep, it is another world entirely. Along the high mountain trail, goat herders live simple and humble lives. Singers and poets flock for the beauty of the mountains of the moon and its valleys and sings sad and beautiful songs. Rhaegar Targaryen grows into its rhythm. Each morning he rises before the sun, his silver hair catching the faint light as he bends over scrolls and tomes. John Aaron watches him from a distance, noting the boy's insatiable hunger for knowledge. He has tutors, but often Rhaegar surpasses them, asking questions about histories, legends, and the stories of old kings that leave men six times his age fumbling for answers. On the days when his studies are finished early, Rhaegar walks the high paths of the veil and looks out on the verdant valleys below. He strums his harp on quiet evenings and studies under the toutelage of seasoned veilment bards and poets. Jon is pleased with his ward's diligence, though he still worries after the boy's isolation and solemn demeanor. The prince still carries himself like a grown man, burdened by decades of responsibility, the weight of duty pressing on his every movement. That changes the day another pair of wards arrive at the eerie. Robert Baratheon bursts into the courtyard like a thunderclap. Broad shouldered even as a boy, he laughs as though the world itself exists to amuse him. His black hair curls wild around his face, and his blue eyes are bright with mischief. Within an hour of arrival, he is wrestling squires twice his size, scattering chickens and demanding a feast as though he were already lord of the castle. Ned Stark is his opposite in every way. Quiet, solemn with the gray eyes of the north. He lingers in Robert's shadow. He listens more than speaks, absorbing everything with a seriousness uncommon in boys his age. His voice is soft, his manner restrained, yet there is a steadiness in him, an unspoken strength that John Aaron recognizes immediately. Rhaegar meets his fellow wards in the great hall of the eerie. He is standing by the hearth, readying himself to approach Eddard Stark when Robert begins striding toward him without any hesitation. The Baratheon boy grins, clapping Rhaegar on the shoulder with a force that nearly makes him stumble. >> So, you're the prince, eh? You may have been here longer, but I don't think that will give you leave to try and boss me around. Whenever we cause trouble, it will be his equals. You hear me? Rhaegar stiffens at the rough familiarity in Robert's actions. No other courtier would dare approach him in such a way given his status. His eyes flick to John Aaron with uncertainty, but the veil lord merely gives an encouraging nod. >> It is an honor to meet you, my prince. Forgive Robert. He knows little of boundaries and less about sense. >> Robert barks out a laugh at that. Strangely, Rhaegar finds himself beginning to smile as well. >> We are wards together. Please call me Rhaegar. There is no need for formalities. >> The words surprise even him. He has never invited such closeness before. Life at the eerie begins to settle into a new pattern. Robert is a storm, always moving, always laughing, always challenging squires and stable boys to bouts of wrestling or sword play. He trains hard but plays harder. Quick to anger and quicker still to forgive. Ned trains beside him, quieter, but just as disciplined. Where Robert charges, Ned observes. Where Robert boasts, Ned considers. They are opposites yet inseparable. Rhaegar watches them at first from a distance, harp in hand. But slowly, inevitably, he is drawn in. Robert drags him into the training yard, thrusts a practice sword into his hands, and roars with delight when the prince proves more skilled than expected. Ned shares his thoughts on the lessons of honor Jon imparts, and Rhaegar finds himself listening, weighing Ned's quiet wisdom against his own booklearned knowledge. One night, the three sit together by a hearth. Robert tells Body jokes he scarcely understands, laughing until he chokes. Ned listens with a faint smile, occasionally shaking his head. Rhaegar strums his harp, his music weaving through their voices. The three heirs of the realm feel bonded in a way no one could have predicted. John Aaron observes with satisfaction. This is what he had hoped for. The forging of bonds stronger than blood. Each boy is different, yet together they balance one another. Rhaegar's intensity softens their company. Robert's recklessness is tempered, if only slightly, by Ned's steadiness, and Ned, drawn into their circle, begins to discover warmth beyond the cold reaches of the north. Still, there are moments of tension. Robert mocks Rhaegar's harp, calling it a ladies toy, though he always grins when the prince plays. Ned sometimes grows wary of Robert's endless brawls, his temper tested by his friend's impulsive nature. And Rhaegar, though fond of them both, cannot always hide his disdain for what he sees as wasted hours when duty and destiny call. Yet the arguments never last. Something deeper holds them together. A bond of brotherhood and kinship. One evening, a storm rolls in over the veil. Lightning flashes against the peaks, thunder shakes the halls, and rain lashes the windows. The three boys sit together in the high chamber, the hearthfire crackling. Robert is sprawled across a rug. Rhaegar recines in a plush chair, and Ned sits the furthest from the hearth, uncomfortable in the heat. >> Listen up, you two. One day, I'll be the greatest warrior in the realm. Even kings will shudder at the mention of my name. >> Strength is not all there is to ruling, Robert. A lord must protect his people and guide them with wisdom and solidarity. >> You sound like an old man already. Damn you, Ned. Rhaegar plucks a string on his harp, the note ringing clear, his gaze drifts toward the storm outside. >> Strength and justice are two sides of a coin, my friends. But there is even more beyond them. Purpose. Without knowing his purpose, a ruler is directionless, and strength and justice become meaningless. >> The other two glance at him, curious, but unsure. Rhaegar does not explain further. He returns to his music, the storm's fury blending with the melody until the chamber feels like the heart of the world itself. John Aaron stands in the doorway, watching unseen. He feels a quiet pride stir within him. Three boys, so different yet bound by something stronger than chance. They do not know it yet, but they are shaping one another. And in shaping one another, they are shaping the realm. Years later, the wind is sharp in the eerie's courtyard. Banners snap against the cold mountain air as the household gathers to watch the prince depart. Rhaegar stands tall, cloaked in Targaryen black and crimson. His silver hair shining like a blad's edge in the sun. His time as a ward has ended. Dragonstone awaits him as the crown prince. Ned and Robert watch the coming departure of their fellow wart and brother and bond, if not blood. Before the horses are brought, John Aaron draws him aside. The lord of the eerie carries a long cloth wrapped bundle. His weathered hands are gentle as he unties it, revealing a sword, steel gleaming bright, forged in the veil's finest forges. The hilt is wrapped in dark leather. The pommel is set with a falcon in flight alongside a dragon huneed in blazing red rubies. This is Rhaegar's first true sword, and he takes it delicate in his hands. A prince must have a blade worthy of his station, and a man must have a blade worthy of his heart. Rhaegar holds it reverently, testing the weight of the blade in his grasp. I I do not know what to say, John. The blade is absolutely marvelous. You do not need to say anything. Know only this. I think of you as my son. The same is true of Robert and Ned. The seven did not see it fit to bless me with children. But in the three of you boys, I found my family. Rhaegar swallows heart. He feels moved in a way that even he cannot put into words, poetic as he normally is. Robert comes bounding over, curiosity written across his face. Hey, give me your sword. Rhaegar hesitates only a moment before handing it over. Robert gives it a few experimental swings, his movements clumsy but strong. The blade whistles in the cold air. He grins, eyes flashing with mischief. >> This is a damn good sword. Take care of that blade, Rhaegar. End of yourself. The prince nods. He looks from Robert to Ned, then back to Jon. A smile flickers across his lips, rare, but genuine. Dragon stone looms black against the sea. The fortress is unlike the eerie, grim, volcanic, heavy with the sense of salt and smoke. Here, the boy must become the man. Rhaegar throws himself into his duties as the prince of Dragonstone. At night, he walks the walls with his men, listening to the waves crashing against his fortress. He studies governance, the administration of lands, and the command of men. But at night, when the burdens weigh heavy, he remembers the veil, Robert's laughter, Ned's quiet council, Jon's steady hand on his shoulder. Letters pass between them, carried by fast ships and raven wings. Robert writes of the Stormlands and its legendary storms. He writes of Storm's End and how quickly the folk of his realm have taken to him as their lord. He rarely even writes about his two younger brothers who are both curious about his time with the prince in their own ways. Ned writes of the north and his place beside his elder brother and father. He wishes Rhaegar good fortune in the passing years and urges him to remember all that they learned together as brothers. Rhaegar writes back faithfully, his script elegant and precise. He tells Robert of the seaws of music played in Dragonstone's echoing halls. He tells Ned of the burdens of command, the lessons of ruling. In every letter he signs says, "Your brother, never as his title." Marriage follows swiftly. Miranda Waywood arrives on Dragonstone. Her beauty modest, her manner clever and kind. Their match is a quiet affair arranged years past by John Aaron and Aries Targaryen. Though not love at first sight, there is respect. In time, there is even warmth. When their son is born, Rhaegar holds the infant close, marveling at the sight of his heir. Silver hair crowns the child's head, but his eyes are dark as the stony cliffs of the veil. Rhaegar decides to name the child Edric after his brother in the north. The boy will be known as Ned growing up, just as his uncle Eddard was. Word is sent to the Eerie Storm's End in Winterfell. Robert writes back in Jest, demanding the next child bear his name instead. Ned writes with quiet gratitude, deeply moved. John Aaron replies with pride and well-wishes for his niece Miranda. The boy grows strong in his cradle and for a time all seems well. In the red keep shadows lengthen. The defiance of Dusk andale comes and passes. With the bravery of Barrist and Selme, the king is rescued from the clutches of the darklands. Though he returns different than before. When Aries sits the Iron Throne once more, a madness seems to seep into his veins. He mutters in counsel, eyes wide, fingers twitching. He hears whispers in the walls and sees treachery in every shadow. When he speaks of his heir, his voice turns sharp with suspicion. He speaks of how Rhaegar grows too fond of servants who are beneath him. He whispers of how his heir should favor his own blood, not the Starks, Aarens, and Baratheonss who bear no blood of his own. John Aaron would make him a puppet, and Ned and Robert would betray him as soon as it became convenient for them. Counselors murmur caution, but Aras hears only betrayal. His gaze burns, restless and paranoid. >> Jean Aaron, he dares play the father. He steals with mind by right. He thinks himself clever, hiding his talents. But I see them. >> Rhaegar feels it from afar. Letters from King's Landing grow colder, rarer. When he visits Court, his father's eyes linger too long, filled with something like hatred. At time, Aries praises him, declaring him the realm's shining jewel. At others, he rails against him as though he were an enemy plotting his ruin. One evening, Rhaegar walks alone in Dragonstone's courtyard, moonlight, silver on the black stone. He holds the falcon- hilted sword Jon gave him, the weight steady in his hand. He remembers Jon's words. I think of you as a son. He remembers Robert's booming laugh, Ned's quiet counsel. He thinks of Edric sleeping soundly within the keep. The prince wonders how long he can hold all of these bonds together. duty to his father, loyalty to his brothers, and his love for his wife and son all seem to conflict. The realm is clearly unhappy with the rule of his father, and some have begun to look to him as a more stable and viable option for rule. Rhaegar soon hatches an idea. With the aid of a secret correspondence with his foster brothers, when the time comes, the fields of Harrenhal stretch wide beneath spring skies, bright with banners from every corner of the realm. Knights polish steel until it gleams. Squires run with armfuls of lances. Lords and ladies gather in silks and furs. Songs already call it the grandest journey of a generation. Rhaegar rides into the lists with Robert and Ned at his side. John Aaron watching from the stands, pride in his eyes. To see the prince and his sworn brothers together is to see something new for the realm. Dragon, wolf, and stag bound not by politics, but by true loyalty and brotherhood. A unity rare in Westeros. For Rhaegar, it is more than spectacle. It is an opportunity. In whispered meetings beneath the towers of Harrenhal, he speaks with trusted lords of the realm's decay under Aries. The Mad King grows erratic, cruel, and dangerous. The lords nod grimly, some pledging quiet support. A vision begins to form of a realm remade in Rhaegar's own image. On the second day, the mystery knight rides. He is small of frame with mismatched armor and a shield painted with a laughing Wirewood tree. The knight of the laughing tree unhorses three egg arrogant squires and disappears into legend before dusk. Aries is outraged and unsettled by this, claiming that the knight intends to humiliate him or even assassinate him. He orders him found and his head be brought before the king. Whispers ripple through the camp. Some say it was a hedge knight, others a murmur trick. But Rhaegar's keen eyes noticed what others do not. Such as the way Lord Rickard Stark's daughter vanishes from her father's tent and returns only after the night is gone. That night, he finds her in the Godswood, her face pale in moonlight, dark hair loose about her shoulders. Lyanna Stark does not flinch when he steps from the shadows to confront her. You rode today, my lady. You onehored three arrogant squires, one after the other, then disappeared like mist fading on a lake. And if I did, my prince, >> you risked everything. Discovery could mean your death at the hands of my father. Why did you ride? >> Because they tormented poor Howland. No one else would stand for him. And so I did. >> Rhaegar studies her, the fire in her eyes, the fierce justice that blazes brighter than any jewel in the court. For the first time, prophecy and song pale before the living truth of her. He is a married man and knows she is promised to his brother, Robert. And yet you were magnificent. >> Other men would call it folly. They would say I was foolish and should learn my place. >> Then other men do not see you as I do. Lyanna Stark. The words hang in the air between them. Heavier than steel. She looks away and for a heartbeat they are silent, hearing only the rustle of leaves. Yet something is shifted. They both feel it. The turnney blazes on. Rhaegar winds bout after bout. his falcon hilted sword flashing in the sun. In the final tilt, he unhorses Sir Barrist and Selme to the roar of the crowd. Tradition demands he crown the queen of love and beauty. Robert, beaming, expects it will be Miranda Waywood. The court watches, breathless. Rhaegar wheels his horse, trotting past Miranda to the far end of the field where the Starks sit. He halts before Lyanna Stark and tenderly places the crown of winter roses at top her head. The world stills and gasps echo from the stunned crowd. Brandon Stark roars in outrage while Robert and Ned look on in silent disbelief. They cannot believe this betrayal from their friend and foster brother nor comprehend what has urged him to act so foolishly. John Aaron is confounded and concerned for his niece who has been shamed so publicly. And Lyanna Lyanna cannot look away from Rhaegar, nor he from her. The storm breaks sooner than expected. After the journey, John Aaron is summoned to King's Landing. He goes without fear, believing his loyalty beyond question. Rhaegar, Ned, and Robert watch him depart, unease gnawing at their hearts. In the Red Keep's throne room, the trap is sprung. Aries sits hunched on the Iron Throne, hair wild, nails long, eyes fever bright. You, you called yourself father to my son, my heir. I know how you plot to steal him from me. You corrupt my heir and turn him against his own blood. All soon you can sit a puppet upon my throne. >> John stands tall, bewildered, but unbowed. I have done no such thing. I have served you loyally, as my house always has done. Your son has grown into a fine man and a worthy prince, one any father should be proud of. You lie as easily as you breathe, John Aaron. You dream of your blood on my throne. You would see me cast down so I will see you die on this very day like the treacherous wretch you have proven to be. I demand a trial by combat. If you truly doubt my worth as a vassel and man of my word, then let the gods decide who is just between the two of us. I'm so glad you said that. My champion is fire. Before the court can react, pyromancers are summoned. John Aaron is dragged, screaming to the courtyard and bound to a stake. Green flames rise high, curling his skin, singing his hair, and devouring him as he cries out the names of his sons. >> Robert Rhaegar. >> When the flames finally die, nothing remains of the Lord of the Veil but ashes. Word spreads swift as Raven's wings. In Dragonstone, Rhaegar smashes his harp to pieces when he hears grief twisting into rage. Ned's quiet sorrow hardens into ice. Robert roars for war, vowing to rip the mad king from his throne with his bare hands. The three brothers, Dragon, Wolf, and Stag, gather once more, but this time their laughter is gone. They speak of the atrocity Rhaegar's father has committed. For a time, the crowning of Lyanna is forgotten by even Robert as the three sons plot vengeance for the death of their foster father. He was an innocent loyal man. Now he is Ash and the king grows matter by the day. They grasp hands, their shared grief forming their bond a new. The death of John Aaron becomes the spark that sets the realm a flame. His py is scarcely cooled before ravens wing their way across the seven kingdoms, carrying word of the mad king's cruelty. In the north, Lord Rickard Stark answers his son's call with the full strength of Winterfell. Banners longfolded or shaken out, revealing the gray direwolf on fields of white. Blacksmiths toil through the night, reforging weapons dulled by peace. Farmers bring their sons to Winterfell's yard. Boys scarcely old enough for swords, yet eager to march for justice. The chill winds of the north carry their howls southward, a storm of iron and ice. In the Stormlands, Robert returns to Storm's End with fire in his heart and vengeance in his blood. His bannermen hardened by the constant battering of sea storms flock to his side. Great galls push out from shipbreaker bay. Crests painted a new in black and gold. Robert's host thunders to life like the rolling seas that bird them. Each night and lord bound by loyalty to their young and charismatic overlord. In the north, a slow rolling avalanche. The Stormlands are a tempest, violent, swift, and unstoppable. Across the narrow sea winds, Dragonstoneone too stirs from its brooding silence. Rhaegar, now its prince, unfurls banners bearing the three-headed dragon. The great fortress of black stone, forged in dragon flame itself, has long been thought a relic of another age. Yet from its ancient halls march soldiers drilled to perfection, veterans of old campaigns, sailors hardened by treacherous tides. Though no dragon lives to lend its fire, the houses's name still carries weight enough to make foes tremble. In the veil, Dy's Aaron has assumed the role formerly belonged to John Aaron. With the old falcon gone, the veilmen look to Dany's for guidance. He is no John Aaron, but his grief steals him, and word of his kinsmen's brutal death drives him to call his banners. From the mountain strongholds of the mountains of the moon, proud Valemen knights pour forth to confront the mad king. Men whisper that the veil has never mustered such a show of strength since the days of the Andals kings of old. And so four hosts begin their march born of grief, loyalty, and wrath. They do not march as scattered rebels, but his brothers bound by shared loss. At every campfire, John Aaron's name is spoken with reverence. His wisdom lingers like a guiding hand. In Robert's fury, in Ned's quiet resolve, in Rhaegar's measured command. Each young lord has learned something from him. And now those lessons shape the war itself. As the hosts march, the Reach and Dorne declare quietly for the king, though only muster half of their military each and march slowly. The Westerlands and the Iron Isles remain completely silent with no ravens leaving Castle Rock or Pike. The Riverlands waiver only briefly before throwing their full support behind the Starks due to their marriage ties through Brendan Stark and Catelyn Tully, who have only recently been wed. The storm of banners converges on the capital slowly. Word of rebel victory spreads as fast as ravens can fly. Many castles yield without a fight as half-hearted royal hosts are shattered before throwing down their armies and surrendering. The mad king grows more frantic with every report, pacing the halls with his once monstrously overgrown nails chewed down to the quick. Servants whisper that he no longer sleeps and that he has begun muttering to shadows no other man can see. The rebel leaders each make names for themselves. Robert smashes through the Royalists with his mighty hammer, while Ned Stark fights a bloody path south alongside his old older brother. Rhaegar's fleet sails from Dragonstone, engaging briefly with the Redwin fleet in the Valyrian scrapes. Engaging briefly with the Redwin fleet in the Valyrian scraps before pushing through to Blackwater Bay and closing in on the capital. In the throne room, Corgier stands silent as Aries screams for wildfire. He commands his pyromancers to fill every cellar, every sewer, every passage beneath the city with green fire. His plan is plain. If this city cannot be his, it will be no one's. Jaime Lannister, still the youngest of the king's guard, kneels dutifully before the Iron Throne, but his gaze flickers with unease. He hears the whispers, sees the jars of wildfire carried by hooded men, and wonders what oath weighs heavier, loyalty to a mad king or to the realm itself? At last, the rebels encircle King's Landing. The Goldcolaks waiver, their loyalty thinned by hunger and fear. Small folk watch from shuttered windows as the greatest host in living memory camps upon their doorstep. The Mad King refuses to surrender. Instead, he commands the wildfire to be set. He orders to burn them all. His voice crackling like kindling. Pyromancer's bow trembling and ready to obey. It is then that Jaime moves. With sword unshathed, he crosses the throne room in a wild flash of steel. Pyromancers fall in unrecognizable heaps, their blood pooling upon the marble of the throne room. Then, in a precise and swift motion, Jaime Lannister's blade pierces the mad king's back as he tries to run. He garbles out a surprised squawk before another stroke of Jaimes sword causes him to collapse at the foot of the Iron Throne. His life's blood leaking onto its gnarled iron steps. The court stands stunned. Silence fills the hall, broken only by Jaime<unk>'s heavy breathing, his golden hilted sword dripping red. When the rebel banners reach the gates, they do not find a city in flames, but a court in shock. Rhaegar strides into the red keep, clad in black plate trimmed with crimson helm beneath his arm. He looks upon the body of his father, still sprawled where Jaime left him, and his expression hardens with a grief too deep for words. Yet, he does not order punishment. Instead, he calls Jaime forward and demands he speak before lords and soldiers alike of what transpired. Jaime kneels, hesitation warring in his eyes. After a moment of silence, he tells them all of the wildfire, the king's cruel command, and the madness that would have consumed a million souls if it had been followed. Now the whole realm knows of Aries plan, and of the hero who prevented it from coming to fruition. Rhaegar turns to the assembled rebel leaders and holds up Jaime<unk>s arm. He acted not in treason, but for the good of the entire realm. Had Jaime Lannister not acted today, my father would have burned a million souls to death along with my mother and brother and the entirety of King's Landing and the Red Keep. Let him not be known as King Slayer, but as a hero. In that moment, a boy knight becomes a hero, and the throne of swords receives a new heir. Rhaegar ascends, not as a conqueror, but as son and avenger. His coronation is swift. For war leaves no room for ceremony. He takes the Iron Throne with Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon at his side. The brothers of the veil who have become his shield and council. The lords kneel wary of fire and blood and ready to bend the knee to a king who promises them a calmer dawn. For a brief moment, peace hovers. The mad king lies dead. The wildfire unlit, and the banners of rebellion fly now as banners of victory. Yet even in triumph, shadows stir. In whispers across the city, the people wonder if dragons can truly change their nature. In Robert's clenched jaw, in Ned's silent gaze, in Rhaegar's distant eyes fixed upon prophecy. The seeds of another storm are already sown. The realm exhales, but the breath carries the taste of smoke. As Rhaegar takes his seat upon his new throne, its monstrous barbs cast shadows that stretch across the entire court like some terrible black cage. The new king's black and ruby plate armor are set aside for velvet robes. Where Aries reigned in madness, the new king rules with calm and resolve. The lords of Westeros breathe easier under his presence, though unease lingers like smoke after a fire. For a time, it seems as though the realm might heal. Ned Stark is granted the lordship of Mo Kalin by his father. As restoration efforts are begun for the crumbling fortress, Edard Stark takes the hand of Ashara in marriage. Robert continues to rule Storm's Ent, though there is no sight of his bride to be, and he grows more and more distant and furious. Dy's Aaron is confirmed in his role as the new Lord of the Veil. Rhaegar sends letters to the Reach and Dorne, pardoning their parts in the war and urging the realm to fall into a lasting peace. But in the quiet of his chambers, Rhaegar broods over parchment and prophecy. The old books he once read in solitude return to his hands. Their cryptic verses circling in his mind. The dragon must have three heads. The song of ice and fire must be sung. His marriage to Miranda Waywood has given him Edric, bright and beloved, but the boy alone is not enough. The words burn in his thoughts. Not one, not two, but three. The answer comes to him in the form of a wolf maid. Lyanna Stark, fierce and untamed, had already stolen his heart at Harrenhal. Her laughter lingers in his memory, her defiance kindled like fire in his chest. And now, as king of the realm, he cannot deny the truth. She carries his child, a child of Stark and Targaryen, and of fire and ice. To him, it's not a scandal, but a necessary step toward salvation. The court, however, does not see prophecy. They see betrayal. When Rhaegar stands before his lords and proclaims his intent, the hall explodes in fury. Gasps echo through the vated ceilings as he announces that Lyanna Stark shall be his second wife. He speaks of love, of duty, of the child already growing in her belly, but his words cannot soften the blow. The North is torn between pride and unease. The Stormlands tremble with outrage. Robert Baratheon, once his sworn brother, is betrayed before all of Westeros. The court fractures. Some whisper that Rhaegar's boldness is the first side of the same madness that claimed his father. Others argue that Targaryenss have taken multiple wives before and that Rhaegar is merely restoring an ancient custom. Yet none can ignore the wound inflicted upon Robert. His betroal is broken, his honor cast aside, his dearest friend replaced by his rival. Robert does not remain in the city. He storms for the Red Keep. Hammer in hand, his fury carried south to the Stormlands. There he calls his banners a new, this time not against Aries, but against the very brother he once loved. His words are simple. Rhaegar has betrayed oath and friendship alike. And he must be deposed for the sake of the realm. He names Edric Targaryen, the trueborn son, his rightful heir, a boy untainted by scandal, who might yet be saved from his father's folly. The north lies conflicted while Dorne and the Westerlands see a fresh opportunity for a more pliable king who's not yet been betrothed or promised to any house. Tywin Lannister proposes perhaps opting for the older and more stable choice of Viseris Targaryen, but Robert denies him. The boy lingered too long in his father's madness, while Edric is still young and untainted by Targaryen madness. The Veil remains loyal to the king. They have not forgotten Rhaegar's time in the Veil and the sweet sound of his songs. The reach humbled by Rhaegar's mercy, fold in line as well. The realm divides as swiftly as it had healed. In the north, Ned Stark finds himself caught in a snare of blood and loyalty. Lyanna is his sister. Robert, his sworn brother. Rhaegar, the man who fought beside him as kin. His silence weighs heavier than his sword. But his armies march all the same. Bound by oath to Robert's cause. The two great houses meet not far from the trident, where the waters have already run red in other lives. The land groans beneath the weight of men and horses of banners snapping in the wind. The stags black and gold face the dragons red and black. The wolf and falcon poised between. The battle crashes like thunder. Rhaegar commands his knights with calm precision. His black armor gleaming as he rides at their head. His men fight with the loyalty of those who believe in a just king. Yet Robert's host is a storm given flesh. He charges at the vanguard. Warhammer swinging with the force of a mountains fall, breaking lions wherever he passes. Ned's wolves press on the flanks, shields locking, spears thrusting, as disciplined as the snows of Winterfell. The clash rages for hours. Banners burn. The cries of dying men pierce the den, and the trident's waters churn with blood. At last, the brothers find each other amidst the chaos. Steel meets steel as Rhaegar and Robert collide. Rhaegar's sword rings against Robert's hammer. Sparks scattering like stars. They circle, strike, and clash again. Each blow shaking the earth beneath their feet. For a time, they are not kings or rebels, but boys of the veil once more, sparring with wooden blades, laughing beneath the mountain sky. But the laughter is gone, replaced by sweat, blood, and betrayal. Robert's rage is a storm too fierce to deny. With a crushing blow, his hammer shatters Rhaegar's shield and drives him to the ground. The rebel king looms over his brother, breath ragged, hammer raised high for the final strike. >> Why do you hesitate? If I have truly hurt you so, then strike me down, Robert. I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king. Stand. You will not die today. Robert halts, chest heaving, eyes blazing. The hammer trembles in his grip as he stares down at the man who betrayed him, who broke his heart as surely as his oath. And in that heartbeat of silence, Rhaegar speaks. He speaks of prophecy, of darkness to come, of the song that must be sung. His words pour forth like a plea, not for his life, but for the world itself. Robert does not believe him, not truly. But Ned Stark, bloodied and breathless, comes forth to stand between them. His voice, steady as the North, lends weight to Rhaegar's madness. And Robert, though he cannot forgive, cannot kill his brother either. Rhaegar and Lyanna, with their newborn son, John Targaryen, named for the father Rhaegar lost, are banished beyond the wall. Their decree is harsh yet merciful. They are cast out, stripped of their crown and claim, but their lives are spared. The lords murmur that Robert's mercy is folly, but his voice thunders over theirs. He will not kill his brother, though he can never trust him again. And so the dragon passes beyond the wall where snow swallows sound and shadows whisper of the end. There, Rhaegar finds Craster, foul and monstrous, taking his own daughters as wives. With the loyal host that followed him to exile, Rhaegar tears down the man's hall, frees his kin, and adopts his brood into his followers. The wildlings watch in awe as the silver prince claims victory. Some kneel, some curse, but all listen to this new king beyond the wall. Upon a lonely rise of stone, Rhaegar commands a tower be built, a fortress of ice and fire carved from the wildlands themselves. From here he begins a new. No longer prince of Dragonstoneone nor king of Westeros, but a lord of the true north, a king beyond the wall. He speaks of unity, of prophecy, of the long night yet to come. And though the wildlings are wary, they feel the weight of his conviction. Far to the south, Robert rules as regent for young Edric Targaryen, guiding the boy with Ned at his side. The realm, though weary and fractured, knows peace again, even if it is a peace one by heartbreak. Miranda Waywood mourns the betrayal of her husband, but finds comfort in the arms of Robert. The two form an unlikely union, and after months of a quiet courtship built on mutual regret. They announce their marriage. Miranda's union to Rhaegar is analled, and her life as the new lady of Storm's End begins. Eddard starts a family with Ashardane. Lyanna and Rhaegar were not the only bond of love forged under the twisted towers of Harrenhal. Within some short years, the rebuilt walls of Mo Kalin are filled with the laughter of half a dozen children. Young Edric grows strong under the toutelage of his beloved uncles. Whenever the boy asks after his father, Ned and Robert do not tell him lies. They tell him that Rhaegar was a great man and their beloved brother who foolishly chose prophecy over truth. Ned Targaryen vows to never take on the same folly as his father before him. That's our theory. Westeros is a land filled with exciting stories and possibilities, and we love exploring them. 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