What If Rhaegar and Lyanna Made Their Marriage Public

What if Rhaegar and Lyanna revealed their union to the realm? Let's explore the depths of it in the video. The road south from Riverrun winds along the same path as the Red Fork and dust rises from beneath the hooves of House Stark's destriers. Their direwolf banner snaps in the wind above their heads. Recard Stark out at the front, stern and silent, while Brandon beside him keeps an eager hand twitching on his sword hilt. The men behind the two Starks murmur in low tones, wary of what awaits them in King's Landing. It is not far from Pink Maiden Castle when two cloaked riders appear in the path ahead, blocking the way forward. They sit at top their horses with easy confidence, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods. The Stark party slows, unease, rippling down their formation. Rickard Stark raises a hand, causing his men to halt entirely. The first rider lowers their hood from their face. Silver hair tumbles down their shoulders and gleams in the sunlight. Violet eyes regard the Stark party with a curious calm. Lord Rickard, Brandon Stark, it does me good to see you both are well. It does me even better still to meet you for the first time and to do so here rather than in the capital. No good awaits you in my father's halls. Only death. Where is she, you bastard? Where is my little sister? I'll cut you to pieces to get the answers from your lips if that's what it takes. Brandon jerks his sword from his scabbard steel catching the sunlight. The second rider removes their hoods with a swift tug, and long dark brown hair tumbles loose. A young woman's serious gray eyes meet Brandon's own serious gray eyes. >> I am here, Brandon. You will not cut him down. Not while I live. >> Lean. My dear, what madness is this? Speak the truth plainly, child. >> There was no abduction. I ran with Rhaegar willingly. Father, we met at Harrenhal. I was in disguise in the tournament. And when his father sent men after my secret identity, he protected me in my secret. From that day, I knew I loved him. We eloped to the aisle of faces and wed beneath the heart tree before the eyes of the old gods. And now I believe I carry his child. >> He has defiled you. You think I'll let this stand? I swear in the name of how Stark I'll cut you down, Targaryen wretch. Put down your blade, Brandon. I sought you out so we may speak before you were unfortunate enough to stand before my father and shout such claims. He would not be as forgiving as I am. I can assure you of that much. >> Brendan snars and throws his scabbard aside to a stark guardsman who catches it with a wide eye. He raises his sword once more toward the prince. >> No words, no parlay. You will fight me and die here and now. >> Rhaegar lays a hand on the hilt of his sword, yet he does not draw it. I will not bear steel in a lady's presence without her leave. >> Seven hells. If you don't fight him, I fear he'll bark until all thy ears fall straight off. Do it. But to first blood only. Do you hear me, Brendan? If you kill him and leave me a single mother, I'll never forgive you. >> Brendan's jaw works as he breathes hard through the his nose. After many moments of cold hesitation, he gives a single sharp nod. Fist blood. No more. Steel whispers through the air as Rhaegar finally draws his blade. The two men dismount their horses and begin to circle each other, their boots trailing meandering paths of dirt. Brandon lunges first with a guttural cry, wild and furious, sword slashing out in broad, brutal arcs. Rhaegar meets him with measured parries, redirecting each strike with precise movements. The sound of clashing steel rings across the one's silent road, sharp and hard in the morning air. The duel drags on. Brendan relentless and savage. Rhaegar measured and steady. Sweat beads on Brendan's brow. As he tires, Rhaegar slides aside, a vicious sword thrust and turns his blade quick as lightning, opening a thin line across Brendan's cheek. A droplet of blood falls into the dirt. Brendan jerks back, wiping the blood with the back of a mailed fist, his eyes blazing. >> Don't even think of breaking the rules, Brendan, or you'll have to fight me next. >> Enough. We will not have kin fighting kin. Lay down your sword, Brendan. >> The duel ends. The company reathers, shaken and silent. Rhaegar and Lyanna join the entourage, and the Stark host follows as Rhaegar turns his horse toward Pink Maiden. When they arrive, Lord Piper offers them his solar for privacy. And there, with heavy hearts and hard eyes, Rickard and Brendan settle to hear the truth from Rhaegar's own lips. The room is warm, a fire hissing in the hearth, but something in the air feels cold. Rickard stands near the fire, hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders stiff. Brandon leads against a wall, cheeks still bloodied from the duel. His sharp eyes blaze with barely restrained outrage. Lyanna sits upon the edge of a cushioned bench, restless as her fingers tug at the laces on her boots absent-mindedly. Rhaegar sits beside her, his violet eyes fixed on the two other men in the hall. What Lyanna told you was true. I did not abduct her. I wed her and I love her. But more than that, I did this because it was necessary. necessary. You have broken faith with House Martell, shattered the pact I swore with House Baratheon, and dragged my daughter into scandal. What about any of that do you deem necessary, Prince? There is a prophecy, Lord Stark. You may dismiss it as madness, but it has ruled my life since I was only a boy. The dragon must have three heads. I cannot bear another child without risking her life for it. Aegon and Rainees alone are not enough. The world will face a darkness far beyond our petty wars. And a child must be born who carries both fire and ice in their veins. That child is Lyanna's. Prophecies and songs. That is what you risk my blood, my house, and my daughter on. >> Father, I choose this. Do you think merely some frightened maid to be swept along in the current? I know what I want. Robert Baratheon is not my fate. He will have to sleep with a dozen other women the same night as our wedding. He will never love me. He only loves the thought of me. And I will not be his broodmare. >> And so you choose this to doom my house to shame and war. Do you know what you've done, Lyanna? Robert will not forgive this. He will call for your death. >> Let him try. I am no prize to be given over. I choose the man I wish to marry, and I will not change my mind. Lord Rickard Stark, aid me when I remove my father from the throne. I will raise House Stark to kingship once more. The North shall be free with its own sovereign claim and allied by marriage and bound by blood to the Iron Throne. Your line will never kneel again." The fire crackles outside. The sound of the camp fades into silence as if the world itself has begun to hold its breath. Finally, Ricard exhales and looks to Rhaegar again. Very well. Send your letters and let the realm reply. But know this, I am no fool. If you falter, if you prove false, then the North will rise against you. My word is iron. Do not test it, boy. You have my oath, Lord Stark. Together, we will forge a better realm than the one my father has left to rot. Brandon snars under his breath, but no more protests come. Lyanna sits back into the bench she sits on, her eyes shining with relief. Before sunset, ravens take flight from Pink Maiden, their contents will shape the fate of the entire realm. The throne room of the Red Keep reeks with lingering smoke and the scent of fear. Aries Targaryen sits hunched on the Iron Throne, his long hair matted and his fingernails overgrown and blackened with filth. The scribe trembles as he finishes reading aloud the Raven's message. Rhaegar has declared open defiance. He has taken Lyanna Stark for a second wife and called all lords loyal to the greater good to rally to his cause. Aries snatches the parchment from the scribe with a claw-like hand. His lips twist into a sneer as he rises from the iron throne. So my traitorous son wears his true colors at last. He crumples the letter and casts it into a brazer at the foot of the throne. The parchment catches, curls, and blackens. Aries watches until it is nothing but ash. Then he whirls on his king's guard. Bring me Elia Martell and her welps. Rhaegar's traitorous line shall be ended this very day. And Viseris shall be my heir as he always was meant to be. The command hangs in the air like a blade ready to cut. Arthur Dayne finally steps forward. His sword hand rests against the hilt of dawn. Gerald High Totower. The white bull shifts his weight beside him, grim and resolute. Oswald went and Lou and Martal exchange a glance, then step closer to their brothers. Arthur's voice cuts the stretch of silence. >> No, we will not be seizing Princess Ellia or her children. No. Did I not command it? Am I not your king? Arthur draws dawn in one smooth motion. The blade glimmers with pale white light, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Oswell and Luen follow, steel rasping free from their scabbards. Gerald is the last, but he too steps forward, sword in hand, his eyes dark with resolve. Jaime Lannister, youngest of the brotherhood, stiffens where he stands at the steps of the Iron Throne. His hand hovers near his sword, but he does not dare to move. Barrist and Selme looks stricken as well, torn between his oath and justice. Jonathor Derry clutches the hilt of his blade, sweat beating on his brow. You've heard him night after night, what he does to the queen in their bed chamber. You've seen how he burns as many men or women alive simply for questioning his command. For so long, we've borne it all in silence. Swearing it would be the end when Rhaegar's turn finally came. No more. Jaime stares back at the older knight, his breath coming in shallow pulls. His cold hair clings to his brow damp with sweat. Treachery, treason. Cut them down. Slaughter every last one of these traitors and throw their bodies into a pile. >> Aries gestures frantically to the guards of the Red Keep. A few uncertain draw blades in advance. One lunges only to be heuned in half by Oswald when swift stroke. The man crumples to the marble floor, dark blood pooling beneath his body. The other guards falter, frozen by fear and doubt. I swore an oath to my king. But this man, this is no king. >> Jonathan Derry swallows heart, then follows Barriston as they both step to Arthur's side. Jaime hesitates the longest, heart hammering in his chest. Then slowly, almost unwillingly, he joins his brothers. As he draws his blade, the steel rings loud in the vast chamber of the royal throne room. The king's guard is united against their own king. The mad king scrambles back against the monstrously jagged form of the Iron Throne, cutting his hands as he clutches the arms of the throne. His commands dissolve into froth and madness. >> Burn them all. Burn them all. Every last one of them. >> The white bull surges forward and seizes the mad king by the wrist, wretching him down. Aries thrashes like a fish caught on a hook. shrieking madly as the blades of the throne slice him in half a dozen times. Blood slicks his robes as he is dragged from the iron throne, kicking and screaming, his crown tumbling from his brow and rolling to the floor where Arthur stops it with a steel boot. From a smaller throne next to the one Aras has been pulled from, Queen Raela watches in silence, her hands tremble, but her lips curl into the faintest of smiles. No one sees it. Deeper in the Red Keep, Ellie Martell sits by the window, her children napping in their cradles behind her. She has not slept since Rhaegar first departed. A handmaiden brings her word of what has transpired. The mad king has been seized and removed from power, and Rhaegar has taken a second wife. The words land heavy. Relief mingles with dread in Ellie's chest. She thinks of Rhaegar, his solemn eyes, his endless talk of prophecy. She remembers their arguments when he first spoke of a third head of the dragon. She had laughed bitterly then, telling him she would try again for another child if he truly wanted that baby, even if it killed her. He had refused, forbidding her to risk her fragile health. And yet now he had sought another woman to fulfill the task. Lyanna Stark. Her stomach twists. Behind her, baby Aegon stirs, muing softly in its cradle. She crosses the chamber and lifts him into her arms for comfort, cradling his warmth against her chest. Raineies murmurss in her sleep, clutching an old wooden doll. Illia strokes her daughter's hair with a trembling hand. Ellia knows her brothers and Dorne will hear of this insult soon. Oberin's temper will burn hotter than even dragonfire. Doran will smile thinly and wait, but he will never forget. She presses her lips to Aegon's brow, and the child's size and drifts back to sleep. But Elliot cannot follow him there, no matter how hard she tries. When Rhaegar returns to the Red Keep, Lyanna is with him. She walks at Rhaegar's side with no hesitation, her hand resting lightly in his. The court whispers of the sight. Rhaegar ascends the steps of the Iron Throne and sits down. He looks up at the assembled lords, knights, and courtortiers. Until my father's mind is mended. I will rule in his state. As Prince Regent, I swear the realm shall know peace and justice once more under my protection. The words echo in the hall below. Ellia watches, her face schooled into courtesy. Lyanna glances across the chamber. For a heartbeat, the two women's eyes meet. Neither smiles. The high air of the eerie chills the bone. Wind worries at the shutters, and the hearth struggles to hold its heat. Robert Baratheon stands in the solar with a crumpled letter in his hand and a storm raging inside his furious blue eyes. He looks almost too large for the room, broad shoulders hunched, mighty jaw set, and his muscles and his forearms bulging and nodding as he squeezes the parchment tighter and tighter. Ned sits at the long table, back straight, his long face pale but steady. John Aaron watches from near the fire, hands golden, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening as he studies both his foster sons. He steals her away, marries her in secret, and then dares to boast of it to the entire realm. That wretched [ __ ] dragon spawn. I'll cave his chest in and make that [ __ ] watch. >> He was not boasting, Robert. He was informing the realm of his actions. And I shouldn't have to remind you to never call my sister by that name. Like there's a difference. He steals my bride. Hangs garlands on the theft and calls it love. He calls it fate. He wants to call it anything but what it is. A theft. Lyanna wasn't stolen. Robert, I saw the letter before you crumpled it. Her own handwriting was on the page. I would not mistake it for anyone else's. She chose Rhaegar willingly. And if she stood beside him, she must have done it for a reason. Robert roars and hurls the letter into the hearth. It curls, blackens, then collapses into ash. He paces, his heavy steps thutting across the tiled floor. John Aaron does not move to stop him. He has already tried speaking to his ward about patience, about the cost of rashness and blind fury, about what the veil will or won't do in response to this. Robert hears none of it, or simply refuses to. >> She's bewitched. The wolf maid I knew would never betray me like this. He fed his songs and dreams full of lies. And now look, he parades her before the realm and his trophy one of sorcery and treachery. I'll have his head and I'll have the horse too if she dares to try and shield that [ __ ] dragon spawn. Ned is on his feet at once, the legs of his chair scraping the stone tiles as he stands swiftly. Speak of killing my sister again, and I will forget that we were ever brothers. For a heartbeat, the room is silent, save the wind whispering through the shutters and the crackling in the hearth. Robert breathes hard, glaring. Ned meets his intense gaze without flinching. Jon's eyes flick between his two wards, and he sides with Ned, giving Robert a severe and grim glare of warning. He has gone too far. Then I kill him and take her back. I will cave in his chest, and when he is dead, she will realize she was merely under his spell. You cannot undo a choice that Lyanna has made for herself, Robert. Watch me. Just watch me, Ned. >> He turns for the door. John Aaron steps into his path, not to block him, but to slow him and try to speak softly. He wishes to comfort his ward, and to admit the veil cannot draw swords over his ward's wounded pride. Robert does not let him. He pushes past, striding down the long corridor with an angry banging in his bones, and calls for his horse to be brought to him. The sound of Robert's bootsteps fade. Ned stares into the fire. Holloweyed, John Aaron rests a hand on his shoulder as if to ground them, then removes it and reaches for parchment and ink. By dusk, a raven takes flight from the eerie's rrookery toward Storm's End. John Aaron has written carefully, urging restraint and for Robert to think on this and not act on his more foolish impulses like rage. Storm's End is a long way by ship, but after over a week of travel at sea, Robert arrives back at his fortress home. The ancient castle rises from the sea clawed rock like a defiant clenched fist. A raven is waiting for Robert in the main hall when he stomps in. Hair matted with rain and boots caked with mud. He is only to see the seal of the Aaron Falcon to know who it is from. His face does not change as he breaks the seal with his thumb and then reads its contents. Gripping the parchment in both fists, he tears it to pieces and holds it out the window for the wind to carry it away. Far to the south, heat shimmers in the air over Sun's spear. The castle's shadow lances over the water like a spearhead. In the shaded chambers of the old palace, Doran Martell listens to reports in quiet, weighing each word carefully. Oberin stands near his side by a window, hands clasped behind his back, though his face contorts in anger. Dorne has been silent for weeks. is not a sign of peace, but instead the sign of a coiled viper waiting to strike. A courier kneels and recites the latest news. Aries is confined. Rhaegar has taken to ruling his regent. Lyanna Stark was taken as a second wife. And the North, the Reach, and the Riverlands have already sworn open loyalty to the new prince regent. Robert Baratheon, however, is ready for war. The Vale is outspoken against conflict, and the Westerlands and Iron Isles have been completely silent. Doran closes his eyes for a moment, then nods once to himself. He thinks of Ellia in King's Landing, humiliated to the world, still the mother of Rhaegar's heirs, yet now reduced to little more than a pawn for leverage against Dorne. He thinks of Lu and Martell, sworn to the King's Guard, whose letters have dried up ever since Rhaegar returned to the capital. "Say the world, and I will write, brother. If I must spill a prince's blood for this insult to our sister, I will gladly bring every last drop in his body back in a bowl. Dorne does not reply to the comment, instead moving with care as he calls for a maester who begins drafting his words. Dorne will not cloak their next action as love for Robert. The letter drafted by his maester calls Rhaegar a usurper for the wrongful assumption of royal powers. It continues by accusing him of turning against the faith by taking an unlawful second marriage that threatens the succession and insults Dorne's honor and publicly diminishes a princess of the realm. While Dorne bears no love for Robert Baratheon in specific, nor do they want him as king, Dorne wishes to make common cause with the Stormlord. If Aegon Targaryen is spared and named King of the Iron Throne in place of Aries and Rhaegar, then Dorne will agree to assist Robert in a war of revenge. A second letter is drafted with far more precision and sent to Lu and Martell in the capital. Two ravens take flight, one to Storm's End and the other to King's Landing. Doran folds his hands back into his lap. Oberin is satisfied enough with his brother's plan to not immediately take action himself, though he still yearns to bathe in the traitorous blood of Rhaegar Targaryen. In the stony halls of Winterfell, a son returns home. After Robert's departure, Ned could not stand back and allow Robert to potentially threaten the life of his sister. Though he does not agree with her actions, he simply won't stand to see her pay for them with her life. Rickard has already called to the banners of the North. His eyes are grim and distant as he leans over a map of the North with his two sons, drilling them on strategy and warfare. Ned listens in quiet obedience while Brandon paces the hall like a caged beast. By the time the Stark banners stream south, the Riverlands are stirring as well. Lord Hoster Tully posts guards along the Trident and calls his sworn to Riverrun. Edmir, still a boy, stares stareyed out of an open window at so many mounted men. The blackfish does not smile. He checks the fletching arrows twice and prepares for the war to come. In High Garden, Ma Tyrell presides over a table bucking under the weight of food. Somewhere beneath the platters, there is a map. Lords from the Mander to the marches come and go with reports of Baratheon musters and Stormland raids. When Mace rises, he makes three declarations in a single exhale. He is the loyal crown. He will intercept Robert's advance. And the Reach will keep the road safe for grain. The armies of the Reach roll like a green tide. Pikemen, mountain knights, archers, camp followers, wagons, all the trappings of Reachman warb bands. They move to the march which separates the lush verdant hills of the Reach from the overcast storm swept valleys of the Stormlands. Robert strikes like a hammer blow. Not in a setpiece battle at first, but instead in sudden clashes. Some storm knights smash forging parties, overturn supply wagons, slit the throats of perimeter guards, and then vanish into the storms before the host can muster to follow them. Rumors of the war ride across the land faster than horses can gallop. The storm lord fought three reachmen at once and broke two shields with a single hammer swing. The storm lord had a Tyrell bannerman's banner pull sap across his back and only laughed. The Stormlord's enemies are turned into allies with only a smile and a wave. He drinks. He fights. He never seems to sleep. When Mace finally coaxes Robert into a field where proper lines can form, the day ends with a sudden storm washing over the battlefield and turning the ground to mud in an instant. The Reachmen are shattered by hotty stormlanders and are forced into a retreat. Robert continues to bleed his way north towards King's Landing, and he doesn't intend to come home until he has Rhaegar's head in his hands. The veil remains oddly quiet. John Aaron's ravens bring measured words to King's Landing in Storm's End both. The Eerie will not be drawn. Not yet. The veil will guard its own roads, not yours. He does not call banners. He sends condolences to Lord Rickard on the burden of divided loyalties. In a private note to Ned, begging him not to be the ground between the Stags antlers and the dragon's ma. Ned reads it by candlelight, and he does not sleep that night. Night in the Red Keep carries its own sounds. The distant sea, the clatter of hooves in the outer yard, the voices that never lower enough to be unheard by the rats in the walls with a soft song and rocks Aegon until his breath evens. Her maid takes the candle to the far table and trims the wick to a faint glow. Ellia sits a while longer, listening to her children breathe. She is thinking of Dorne without even trying to, and of Rhaegar and of Lyanna. Try as she might to calm her mind, her thoughts are not her own. The corridor beyond the door to the nursery suddenly comes alive with quickening footsteps. A voice raises and then turns into a grunt of pain. Ellia looks up as the latch turns and Jonathan Derry stumbles through. His white cloak is dark at the shoulder and his eyes are wide. He makes to speak, but a spearhead pushes through his chest with a sickening wet crunch. He sigh out in surprise before collapsing into an unmoving heap. Luan Martell stands in the doorway, spear tips stained red, and his face drawn with sorrow at the act of killing his own sworn brother. Behind him, four Dornish men and traveling leathers and mismatched steel edged sideways into the chamber. Already scanning for more threats. Ellie arises, Aegon in her arms, and Rainees startles awake and begins to cry. Ilia, my dear, we have to leave. It is not safe here for you. Your husband has turned against you and against all of the realm. Uncle Luen, what have you done? There was no need for this. This is mindless slaughter. >> You don't understand. This was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. But I made it for you and your children. Rhaegar will see Dawn rising in defense of your honor. He will use you as a shield against justice. >> What of my children? Are they frightened? You intend to take them from the only home they've ever known. And you cannot even guarantee our safety. >> They are my blood, too, Ellia. No harm will come to them. Your brother only seeks to see you out of harm's way. Please, we do not have much time. The Dornish men move with practiced speed. One wraps a cloak around IA's shoulders. A second lifts Raineies with a gentle competence that makes the girl stop crying long enough to stare at the ruin that used to be Jonath. Iyia kisses the crown of Aegon's head and then Rainey's cheek. She tries to set Aegon down to put on shoes, but Luen is already kneeling to put them on for her. She wants to argue, to demand that they leave her and her children be, or even to call for Rhaegar and the other king's guard. Instead, she goes. They take the servant stairs. White walls blink past in torch light. In an outer passage, a pair of gold cloaks glance up and decide this is none of their business. In the yard, a covered cart waits beside a column of horses. When the gate caks, no one challenges. The red keep does not know how to stop something that looks so deliberate. By first light, sails rise from the Blackwater like pale knives, and the ship noses south to Dorne. When Rhaegar and the remaining king's guard find the scene of the crime, they see Jonath's bloodstained corpse in the empty cradle of Aegon. Neither of Rhaegar's children nor Elia are anywhere to be found in the entire castle. At first, there is panic and suspicion that Rhaegar's family have been murdered in the night. The panic dies when the absence of Sir Luen Martell is noticed as well. And there is the fact that Jonath's lethal wound clearly came from the tip of a spear, Luen's preferred weapon. The Martell have made their move. And Rhaegar is heartbroken. He has not only lost two of the seven brave men to back his claim to the throne against the orders of their own king. He has also lost both of his heirs and his first wife. The investigation is over. Lyanna finds Rhaegar still standing over the empty cradle of his son hours later. Lanna, I'm trying so hard to do what is right for the realm. No, not just the realm, but the entire world. Sometimes it feels like everyone is blind to the truth, but me. My only solace is that I know Doran will not harm my children. But I never meant for them or Elliot to be hurt like this. >> You aren't alone in seeing the truth, Rhaegar. There is a reason we found each other. It is fate, and we must forgive those who are blind to its workings. We will have to kill Robert Baratheon. There is no other path to peace. Much as you dislike him, he does not deserve to die. >> Robert is a fool who only knows how to react to loss with violence. If there is even a shred of reason within his swollen head, he will surrender to us before we get the chance to execute him. Come with me, Rhaegar. This isn't the time to wallow in your melancholy. When your children reach Sun's spear, the game changes, and Dawn will march alongside the Stormmans. We need to end this war before they do. Lucky for us, Robert is close at hand. >> You are right. I was so lost in my own grief, I lost sight of the present. This is why you complete me. However, when this war is at its end, I cannot be disregarded. I hope you know that. Lyanna is silent and contemplative in reply. She gives no answer, instead taking Rhaegar's hand and pulling him with her. Together they find Varys and interrogate the master of whispers. Of all the men and women present in the capital, it was his responsibility to ensure something like this could not happen, would not happen. The spider is apologetic and laces every word with flowery language and diffusing boughs and promises. Lyanna is frankly disgusted by the creature that calls himself a spy master. She is moments away from smacking him across his bald head when he finally gives them something useful. Ellia and the children's capttors were seen fleeing by boat in the night. That means they have even less time to end this than Lyanna or Rhaegar initially thought. In the marches, reach lords argue heatedly over whether to halt and regroup or to continue pursuing Robert Baratheon. Mace Tyrell calls that lasts until the candle light finally gutted out, which he takes as proof of a wise and productive council. In the gray hours before dawn, a scout stumbles into camp with a broken nose and a tale of Robert finally breaking into the southern border of the Crownlands. The Reach finally regroups, annoyed, and follows the Stormlander's rear. By the time they make any significant progress, Robert is already in the King'swood. Rhaegar rides at the front of his army, armored from crown to heel in glistening black plate. At his side, Lyanna Stark, the shewolf of Winterfell and the true knight of the Laughing Tree. Though their host is smaller than Roberts, mustered only from Crownlanders and some nearby rivermen, the northern host is close at hand, and the Reachmen plan to flank the Stormlanders from behind. Despite his disadvantages, as the two armies meet amidst the densely packed trees of the Kingswood, Robert rides with blood in his heart and steel in his hand. The King's Wood is filled with the screams of dying men, mingled with the screams of living men trying to kill each other. Warhorns blare through the trees. Drums pound and thunder and the ground shakes beneath the beat of hooves as two armies collide brutally. Spear snap, shield snap, shields splinter, and arrows streak through the trees like black rain against the canopy. Stormlords loyal to their lord curse the name of Rhaegar and his bewitched bride. The Crownlanders die with the sins of Robert the demon on their lips. At the center of the bloody melee, Robert Baratheon fights like a storm given flesh. His gigantic Warhammer arcs through the air and gruesome sweeps, breaking men with each and every swing. Each strike leaves behind ruin. His plate armor and antler helm drip with blood, and his face drips with sweat, but his fury never quiets. It only grows stronger with each foe he brings down. Rhaegar rides hard into the fray. His dark steel chased with rubies as he clings tightly to his silver steed. Behind him, stride a pale grey mare Lyanna Stark chases after to keep peace. Together they carve a path through the chaos. Wolf and dragon dancing to a bloody tune. Robert sees them and his world narrows to a single point. His furious blue eyes burn like fiery sapphires beneath his helm. One antler has been slashed from it and his armor is covered in dozens of gashes and dents. But still he fights with unending fury and power. He roars so loudly that the battle raging all around the trees almost seem to halt. >> Dragon Spawn, you turned her against me. No, Robert, you have done that yourself. I hate you. >> He charges, hammer raised high, and the duel begins. Rhaegar quickly dismounts his steed, intending to give Robert as a fair a match as he believes he deserves. Lyanna tries to call him out for his stupidity, but her protests are lost in the den of the battle. Cursing, she dismounts and hurries after her prince. Robert, slowed and tired from already killing over a dozen men, isn't the one to make the first move. Instead, Rhaegar is the first to strike, driving Robert back with a deaf slash aimed at the face between his helm. Lyanna dances at his side, spinning low and stabbing at Robert's undefended flank. She scores a shallow cut, which only causes Robert to howl in fury. >> You betrayed me. I loved you, and you chose dishonor over what could have been love. >> You never even knew me, Robert. You started this war over a fantasy in your head. >> Robert's eyes flare with rage. Every blow he sends their way is intended as a punishment for their betrayals. Every parry or dodge is a refusal of justice. Rhaegar dances out of the way of a hammer blow. And then a second. He feels sweat stinging his eyes and the threat of exhaustion beginning to creep into his muscles. Horn sound and a ridge overlooking the wood is suddenly blackened by silhouettes. At first, as Lyanna risks a glance their way, she fears that the Dornish have come. Instead, as the approaching army rides hard for the battle, she recognizes the colors of her house. The Northmen have arrived and kept their promise. Lyanna rips a dagger from her belt and drives it under Robert's arm. He doesn't even seem to feel the blow, shoving the shewolf back into the mud. He only has eyes for Rhaegar, now cornering the painted prince Regent. He raises a hammer, and as soon as Rhaegar can raise a shield to defend himself, it shatters into scraps of steel. The prince staggers back, his left arm shattered by the weight of the attack. Victory gleams in Robert's eyes as he kicks Rhaegar to the ground and lifts his hammer once more, poised to crush Rhaegar completely. Lyanna springs back up, a blow of motion as she leaps between Rhaegar and the hammer. A curse escapes Robert's mouth as he redirects the blow, his hammer landing in the mud right beside Rhaegar's head. Lyanna pants, eyes wide with fear despite the bravery of her action. A look of conflicted confusion passes over Robert's face, and he struggles to consider whether to raise the hammer again. Move. Damn you. I want him dead. >> That isn't going to happen, Robert. I love him. And you have to accept that whether it's a happy outcome for you or not. Your first instinct is rage. But have you ever once stopped to consider the happiness of someone other than yourself? >> I So you never truly loved me then. There is no spell. There was no trick. >> Lyanna continues to stare Robert down as she stands between him and Rhaegar. Her gray eyes are defiant and unyielding. Robert has spoken the truth. The Warhammer drops from his hand. To the surprise of both Rhaegar and Lyanna. Robert begins to laugh loudly. His booming voice carries through the trees as advancing Northmen slaughter his forces. I I was a fool all this time. A damn fool. The Stormlanders begin to surrender upon seeing their lord defeated. throwing down their swords into the mud and raising their hands high into the air. Loyalists surround Robert and he makes no effort to resist them as they begin to tie rudimentary binds around his arms and legs. Rhaegar pulls himself up. All around him is the aftermath of the battle. Wounded men screaming for their mothers, bloodied soldiers wandering amongst the trees. Some Stormlanders still fighting despite the hopelessness of their situation. Robert's rebellion was short-lived, despite the ferocity he fought with. The rebellion collapses as swiftly as it ignited. Word spreads. Robert is defeated. His host scattered and leaderless. Soldiers drop their weapons, flee into the forest or surrender. The North and Riverlands hold firm behind Rhaegar and Lyanna. But the cost is heavy. Fields run red, horses lie dead, and the cries of the wounded echo in the treetops. Dorne continues to resist. Now with Ellia and her children safe in Sunspear, Sunspear's banners fly proudly. The Martell's spears sharp, their loyalty to Ellia unbroken. Rhaegar, armored and bloodied, rides south with grim determination, and a company of men at his back back. Triumph tastes hollow on his tongue. As Rhaegar rides for Sunspear, the realm does its best to recover. Ricard and Brandon remain in King's Landing at Lyanna's side. Though she showed no signs during the battle, as another month passes, it becomes clear she is pregnant with Rhaegar's child. The Westerlands finally break their silence, conveniently offering supplies and coin to help the victorious side rebuild and recover their losses. At Sunspear, under the harsh desert sun, Rhaegar kneels in the sand before Doran, Ober, and Martell. Half of the King's Guard are with him, wary and close at hand despite their prince's display of vulnerability. Ellia and her children are nowhere to be seen, kept from Rhaegar's grasp. Nearby, Luen exchanges a silent look of sorrow with his former brothers. Some wish to cut him down, though Jaime merely pies his existence. He hopes he never has to learn what what it feels like to choose between your family and your king. You dishonor my sister and her children. Believe me when I tell you what is taking every last bit of my self-control not to spear your heart where you stand. Come, Oberin. Let us hear what the prince regent has to say for himself. After all, he came all this way under our Dornish son. Ellia will remain my primary spouse. When I pass, Aegon and Reerys will inherit the throne before any children Lanna and I bear. I took two wives in the tradition of my house, and I love them both as Aegon loved Rainees and Venia. If you find any lie in my words, you are free to strike me down where I am. I really want to kill you, but I can't tell that every word out of your mouth is true. Perhaps he will let this humiliation serve as a lesson to never dishonor my sister again. There is also the matter of Lou in here. He is to be left unpunished for his actions. He has already volunteered to take the black. Let that serve as punishment enough for the murder of Jonath. That is acceptable. Please just let me see Ellia again. Doran makes a swift motion with his hand and a servant scurries off. He returns moments later behind a woman and two small children. Ellia glares at Oberin and Doran, but her expression melts into a kind of understanding. >> You are an idiot, Rhaegar. You are lucky my brother cares for me. We were left unharmed, obviously, and the children missed you dearly. But tell me, do you truly love me? >> Yes, you and Lyanna equally, and our children will remain my heirs no matter what. Please forgive me. Rhaegar looks down but is surprised to feel two tiny arms embracing him. As Rainees hugs him, he returns her embrace fiercely. Ellia exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders as she holds her baby Aegon. Upon Rhaegar's return to the Red Keep, Rickon is given the reward he fought for. An official decree is drafted, pledging the North's independence from the rule of the Iron Throne and the return of the original crown of winter into their possession, though it is now rusted with age and neglect. Months later, the red keep feels almost still. War banners have been lowered. The streets are quiet. Yet inside the keep. Life persists in its most intense form. Lyanna labors in the maesters chambers, sweat and blood mingling on her pale skin. Her breath comes shallow, ragged. Rhaegar paces outside, knuckles tight on the balcony railing, the city sprawling beneath him. Every minute stretches, a lifetime of fear and anticipation. Beside Rhaegar, Elia suddenly grabs his shoulder. He looks to her for a moment, then allows a reluctant smile into his face. He is worrying too much, and he is grateful that she is here to steady him. At last, the newborn cries pierce the quiet. Lee lies back, exhausted, pale, but alive. A healthy baby boy rests in the maester's arms, his skin pink and firm, his tiny fist curls instinctively. The maester's shrill voice calls out, and Rhaegar shoots a look to Ellia. Unsure, she simply gives him an encouraging nod, and he steals himself as he enters the room. On the bed, panting and pale, Lyanna cradles a crying pink baby with a headful of dark curls. Lyanna weakly passes the baby to Rhaegar. She is excited and fought for her life in the labor, but she will live. As Rhaegar stares down at the baby boy, his uneasy smile finally transforms into an honest one. He rocks the baby with relief and awe. We already promised that you get to pick the name. I'm bad with names. >> His name is Aegon. >> Lyanna's face drops. She moves to punch Rhaegar, even in her weakened state, and the maester has to stop her. >> I am joking, love. I'm sorry. I know I don't joke often, but I felt we needed some levity. His name is Ammon, after the dragon knight and after the maester who still lives. I know he will grow to be worthy of such a strong name. For once, I thought you'd lost your senses. Aman is a wonderful name. He is ours. >> Rhaegar bows his head, resting a hand on her shoulder. With Lyanna's permission, IA is called in. The two women have formed an uneasy truce over the months since the rebellion had been ended. She even allows Elliot to hold Aman, and the baby blinks lazily up at his aunt with weary gray eyes. The matter of Robert Baratheon weighs heavily on Rhaegar. As he enters the black cells one day, flanked by gold cloaks, he finds the Stormlord chained and silent. Robert Baratheon, you will not die for your crimes. You will serve a greater purpose than meaningless death. An escort has arrived from the wall. You are to take the black. I've got nothing to say to you, Dragon Spawn. If you expect me to beg for a different fate, you'll be feeling disappointed. Rhaegar smiles sadly. He expected as much. Robert is removed from the black cells and escorted under the care of a Nights Watch recruiter to join the ranks of the black crows of the wall. As Robert sits in the back of the baggage wagon, though, he finds that Rhaegar did grant him one small mercy. His Warhammer wrapped in fine silk and linen lay among his few belongings. The docks of King's Landing lie silent under the veil of night. The tide laps against the hull of mored ships, and the smell of Brian and tar hangs in the air. Lanterns swing faintly in the breeze, their light barely touching the fog rolling off the black water. A hooded figure waits at the far end of the pier. His cloak conceals the silver of his hair, but not the unmistakable bearing of a prince. Rhaegar Targaryen watches the dark water until the creek of oars breaks the silence. A small boat glides into a place at the dock. Two men disembark. a hardened man at arms and another younger and broad-shouldered, straining under the weight of a large wooden case they carry. The older man barks at the younger man to lift higher and together they stagger onto the pier. You have done well. Follow me and be quick. He turns, cloak swaying, and the men follow. Their boots strike the stones of King's Landing's back streets, passing through shadows until they reach the looming smoke stained doors of the Alchemist's Guild. A single torch flickers by the entrance, casting long skeletal shadows across the carved stone. Inside, the air is thick with an acrid tang that is unmistakably wildfire. The walls lined with glass flasks that glimmer like polished emeralds in the torch light. At the heart of the chamber, hanging from the brick wall by iron cuffs, is Aries Targaryen. The once king is a hollow thing now, his hair hanging down to his knees and his fingernails yellow and curling like gnarled claws. He trembles, his lips moving in a soundless mutter as his gaze darts towards the heavy wooden case being set down in front of him. The men at arms fumbles with the iron clasp on the case. Only death can pay for life. Despite all the suffering you've caused in your lifetime, though, you are still my sire, so please forgive me for this, father. As the heavy wooden lid is pushed back, three dragon eggs are revealed in the torch light, cast with sickly green glow from the casks of wildfire lining the walls. They rest on a bed of velvet, one green, one cream, and one black and midnight. It took more than money to acquire these. I'm sure you can tell what they are, even in your current state. The room grows still. Even Aries stops muttering, his wide violet eyes transfixed by the marvelous sight. His eyes reflecting the colors of the shells as he beholds them. From the shadows, pyromancer step forward, his robes scorched at the edges and his face smeared with soot. He carries a torch, its flame snapping hungrily at the stale air. That's our theory. Westeros is a land filled with exciting stories and possibilities, and we love exploring them. If you want to accompany us on this journey across the seven kingdoms and beyond, then please like, share, and subscribe to our channel.