maybe human is not such a bad thing to be
Rhaegar Targaryen has been named his father's regent, and plans on starting his regency with a royal procession through the Seven Kingdoms. With the Defiance of Duskendale still fresh in everyone's mind, the Silver Prince finds now is the opportune time to introduce the realm to a new dragon in an attempt to heal the divide between the Crown and its subjects, both highborn and lowborn alike. That he has to find a wife is the least of his worries, instead focusing on strengthening the kingdom for the threats to come.
In the farthest reaches of Westeros, Lyanna Stark enjoys her last days of freedom as the looming threat of marriage grows bigger and bigger. With news that a royal procession will be making its way to Winterfell in a few moons' time, Lyanna views the upcoming pomp and circumstance as one last hoorah before she is forced away from the only home she's ever known for the sake of duty and honor.
As a wild girl and a melancholic boy meet, their world changes. For theirs is the song of ice and fire
rated M ; 139k words ; chapters 21/?
prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen | twenty | twenty one
𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝; 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. “𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫.
He did not notice how Rickard Stark watched their entire interaction intently, nor did he hear a bench scrape along the stone floor as his cousin abruptly stood up in a fury. Rhaegar did not notice the look Brandon gave him or the look he shared with his only sister. Rhaegar ignored the din of whispers traveling across the hall as the prince led their beloved lady to a line with the other dancers. He only focused on the feel of her hand, so small and cold, between his; he wondered if his callouses bothered her, if she minded the way he swiped his thumb in soft circles on the top of her hand. He wanted to know more than anything what thoughts crossed her mind as they moved in tandem to the soft swells of fiddles and harps.
The dance was southron, no doubt chosen with him in mind, but more sorrowful than normally played at festivities. Rhaegar found it suited the situation. There was power behind the emotions created and evoked by the bards, a power that matched the pull he felt to this woman he barely knew but could not get enough of. He relished in the feel of her in his hands as he guided them expertly throughout the other couples who braved to join them. His hand splayed out across the small of her back, his long fingers touching either side of her; he brought her as close as he dared, thrilled she did nothing to widen the gap between their bodies.
Rhaegar did not think it possible to be so invigorated because of a dance, but Lyanna Stark changed that for him. It was all about the right partner, the one who would undoubtedly heighten the shared experience. Neither of them spoke, content to let the heavy silence cover them the longer they stood close. It was too fragile, too new, this thing forming between them. Words had the potential to destroy it, and neither of them dared to risk it. The large amber drew his attention to her neck; he imagined gently unclasping the heavy stone and exposing the smooth, unblemished skin beneath. His eyes flickered to her mouth as he thought of placing feather light kisses to her neck.
Their shared silence permeated the atmosphere, shifting the mood with them for one brief second. The last notes of the dance floated in the night air before disappearing with the wind. No one dared breathe, aware that something poignant was shared between the couple dancing at the center. The importance of that moment would not be understood for decades to come, but people would look back at the first dance shared between the dragon prince and the wolf maiden as when they were set upon the path of their destinies.
Lyanna smiled brightly at him, easing the tension between them. Soon the sound of applause threatened to deafen him and people crowded around him and Lyanna. Hands clamped on his shoulders, but Rhaegar could only feel the absence of her in his hands. There was a warmth that was cruelly ripped away from him; now aware of what he was missing, there was no way he would be able to part with it so easily. His arm lifted, fingers hesitantly brushing the edges of her long hair.
Her smile was much sweeter this time, soft edges dressed in pink and meant only for him. Rhaegar’s heart caught in his throat and he smiled dumbly at her, his words lost to him for perhaps the first time in his life. He knew Oswell and Arthur were sharing a laugh at his expense somewhere in the crowd.
“You’re an excellent dancer,” she said, bunching her skirts into a fist as she tilted her head towards the table. She said nothing else, only turning away and walking towards her table without sparing a glance to see if he had caught on. Rhaegar’s long strides allowed him to catch up with her quickly, skimming the soft satin of her dress. He noticed the edge of a ribbon peeking out from the thick curtain of her hair; he flexed his hand at his side, not daring to touch her so familiarly despite thinking of doing precisely that.
