You have been dragged off the back of the cart and thrown to the ground. "On your feet boy!" He says. I'm not a boy. I keep my hood low to hide my hair. I shouldn't have done what I did. That false king Joffrey ordered me to the Nights watch even though I'm a girl. There was nothing anyone could do.
They brought me in late at night so the others wouldn't pay me too much attention. The man takes me to the commander's chambers. He tosses me in the room and I struggle to not fall over. "So the king himself sent a woman to the nights watch." He stands from his seat. "You must have done something unheard of." I nod. "Well spit it out." He says. I tell him what I did. "By the gods." He seems a bit shocked. "That's insane but I don't blame you." He pours himself some wine. "Want some?" I shake my head. "I'm good." He takes a sip. "So is it true what they say." He pauses. He whispers. "You can————?" I nod. "Can I see?" "It only comes in my fits of rage. It requires deep burning anger in me." "I see" he leans back. ... "I'm surprised you aren't dead yet. Being one of the three surviving Targaryens." I don't say anything. It's true I am the sister of the great Khelesi and our brother the dragon. "Well, we need to do something about your clothes there." ... "and that pretty white hair."
You step into the room with your new clothes. Your long braid is chopped to shoulder-length hair and stained black. Your nails clipped and your face wiped clean and replaced with war paint. He sends me back to the sleeping chambers for us. I get into my bed and try my best to sleep.
In the morning I'm awoken and we all eat then head outside. We began training. I see a man. He has a handsome face and beautiful eyes. I can't help but stare. "I think the fresh meat has a crush on the bastard." The men laugh and I quickly look away. I look to the man in charge and he just slightly nods at me. He tosses me a sword and I catch it with ease. The three circles around me and the "bastard" watches with some plump guy.
These guys are terrible. No training. They're an easy win. I breathe hard. "New guys got skills." Someone says. "Looks like you've got some competition, Jon." The fat guy says to him. Jon. Jon the bastard. Jon snow! The bastard son of Ned Stark.
synopsis: When you left for the Harrenhal tourney, the last thing you expected was for Rhaegar Targaryan to ask you for your hand in marriage. With a betrothment to the prince, you have no choice but to leave the safety of the North and become a vital piece in the war to overthrow the Mad King once and for all. (eventual au)
part two synopsis: You arrive in Harrenhal oblivious to Rheagar’s watchful eye on you.
pairing: rhaegar targaryan x stark! reader
words: 3276
~~~
The journey to Harrenhal had been a lengthy one.
You had been ecstatic your first few days into the trip; too excited about the destination and upcoming weeks to pay much mind to the eventual hardships of long travel. Enjoying the freedom of getting to ride your horse to your heart’s content without any sharp repercussions from the Septa, you had ridden up near the front of your caravan between Ned and Lyanna, listening pleasantly to the former as he spoke tales of the history surrounding the country you traveled through.
But after the first week, you felt your spirits begin to sink as the weariness of the road began to take root inside you. Each day grew hotter than the one before and the dresses you had been forced to wear during your time away from Winterfell grew so hot and uncomfortable in the stifling, southern weather you would have given anything to be able to just take them off. How in the world people managed to endure these conditions year after year, you hadn’t a clue.
And as if the heat wasn’t enough, there was then the aches and pains from entire days spent bobbing along the Kingsroad on top of your mount. You had ridden quite often in Winterfell, but your legs were still beginning to be rubbed raw from your continual riding. You had been welcomed, in fact, highly encouraged by the Septa, to join her and a few of the other ladies accompanying your journey in the carriage, and while the idea of being able to just sit in the cool shade of the carriage and give your body rest was highly tempting, the thought of having to suffer through hours in a confined space with the Septa to do so was enough for you to continue suffering in silence on top of your mount beside your brothers.
But just when you believed to be at your breaking point, Brandon had pointed out the scraggly tips of Harrenhal’s infamous towers, dark against the setting sun when you had stopped to make camp a few weeks in. With another of your father’s men claiming to reach the castle by at least midday the following day, your spirits had suddenly renewed. Every ache and complaint on the tip of your tongue had slipped away at the prospects of being so close to your destination. By this time tomorrow, you’d be feasting in Harrenhal’s great hall with all the other great houses.
You could hardly sleep that night, your excitement keeping you wide awake in your tent. Instead, you had spent the long hours into the night chatting and giggling with your sister until the Septa, fed up with your noise, put a swift end to it. While neither of you was quick to obey - both of you had then spent the following minutes quietly muttering about her - you did eventually fall into a restless sleep a few hours before the sun arose and the time came for you to begin packing for the final leg of the trip.
While the majority of your party rode to the open fields to set up your house’s tents, you had raced after your siblings towards Harrenhal and through the gatehouse, threats of whoever was last being thrown into the God’s Eye Lake fueling your race.
It was Brandon who had instigated it, taunting Lyanna to the point they began galloping across the road before them and sending the rest of their father’s bannermen tearing out of their way. Benjen was quick to chase after, threatening them all with the lake as he went. You exchanged a look with Ned, and while he had shaken his head in amused disbelief at their actions, he hadn’t wasted any time to join in when you suddenly urged your horse forward, grey skirts billowing behind you.
“Looks like little Ella’s going for a swim,” Brandon jested, dismounting when you were the last to pass the gatehouse due to Ned inching past you at the last moment.
You blanched. “But that’s not fair! You, Lya, and Ben had a headstart!” You complained as you dismounted your own horse and approached your siblings to argue the matter. Crossing your arms, you stood up straight to try and make up for your short stature. There was no way you were going to let them throw you into the lake. “Plus, you don’t have to wear a stupid - Oh, Brandon! Put me down!” You screamed when your eldest brother suddenly swept you off your feet and threw your thrashing body over his shoulder. “I swear to the gods, Brandon, if you throw me into that godforsaken lake, I will-”
“You’ll what?” Brandon ignored Ned’s quiet suggestion to let you be as he continued his playful teasing while Ben and Lyanna, suddenly not bitter over their losses anymore, cheered him on.
“Why, I’ll...” You began a long line of threats at your brother as he carried you through the sea of tents, too aggravated at him to notice or care about the eyes of the surrounding crowd following you. You had given up thrashing, but gave him an occasional boot to the chest when you heard him chuckling at your empty threats.
But instead of leading you to the lake as you feared, you soon found yourself in a sea of direwolves. Brandon settled you back on your feet in the middle of the Stark’s camp where everyone was too used to behavior like this to pay it much mind and have come to your rescue earlier. You were left with little time to feel relieved as Brandon murmured a cautious warning for you to watch your back before disappearing through the crowd of Northerners to attend to whatever lordly duties he was charged with upon arriving at your destination.
“I hope he realizes if he throws me in that stupid lake, he’ll be coming in with me,” you huffed to Lyanna as you watched his figure disappear. You would not be going in the lake without a fight. Lyanna giggled at your response, stating she’d love to see you try before asking if you wanted to explore the grounds with her as she took in the foreign castle before you.
Thoughts of your loss were quickly forgotten at her offer and you eagerly nodded your head. Your excitement, however, was quickly diminished when the two of you didn’t even manage to make it out of your camp before being swiftly halted by the Septa.
Thankfully, she hadn’t seen the rambunctious exchange between you and Brandon - you could only imagine the fit she would be in if she had - nor was she crossed with either of you for the first time in, well, probably since she had first arrived in Winterfell. Instead, she had been tasked with overseeing your preparation for the night’s feast at Harrenhal’s dining hall and she was determined to see it through with no mishaps.
Lyanna had swiftly argued, stating the feast wasn’t for another few hours giving them a bit of time to explore, but this had only caused the Septa to grow red at the thought of you two wandering alone. Taking a hand each before either of you could even think about disappearing, she hauled you off to your tent all the while raving about the dangers of not having a guard with you when you left sight of your family’s tents.
While you had originally agreed with Lyanna’s statement, getting ready for the feast couldn’t possibly take that long, you had both been quickly proven otherwise.
The Septa had wasted no expense at prepping the both of you for the event. Baths were had first, filling the tent with foreign smelling perfumes and soaps native to Southern Westeros as your hired handmaiden scrubbed your skin raw. Once clean from your day’s ride, you were dressed in a light gown fashioned in the Southern style. The bodice was tight against your chest, accentuating your waist and bust before falling loose from your hips to the floor; while the pale blue fabric brought out the soft flecks of blue in your grey eyes.
After slipping on a pair of silver slippers, or freshly oiled boots in Lyanna’s case, a few strands of hair were pulled back into intricate braids to keep them from getting into your eyes throughout the night. The Septa quickly began reminding you and your sister of the proper etiquette befitting a lady of your stature as your hair was being braided, causing both of you to roll your eyes more than once. She didn’t state it, but you knew it was so Lyanna didn’t chase off Robert Baratheon and you could manage to attract a befitting suitor of your own.
Your brothers stood outside your tent, waiting so that you might all walk to the great hall together and while none of them said a word, you could tell they were all taken back by your appearances. It wasn’t often either one of you - Lyanna even less - got all dressed up and it was a sharp contrast from the flowing shirts and riding leathers you often wore back in Winterfell. Before any word could be spoken on the matter, Lyanna swiftly told your three brothers to ‘shut up’ and began stomping in the direction of Harrenhal. While you looked forward to the night’s events, Lyanna couldn’t wait until it was all over.
Benjen spoke steadily as you made your way to the hall, rambling about the other great houses, the Kingsguard, the royal family, and nearly everything else in between. His speech came to an abrupt stop, however, when you entered Harrenhal’s great hall and saw the spectacular display set before you.
The massive space glowed in the blazing light of dozens of hearths lining the walls, casting dancing shadows along the dark walls. Long, wooden tables lined the edges of the room, with several occupied by the other great houses already. A large spot towards the front was left open for what you assumed was dancing making you nervous. You hoped no strange men would ask you to dance because unlike Lyanna, you found it difficult to say no.
Throwing your nerves behind you, you followed your brothers towards a table, eyes wide as you continued to take in the spectacular display around you. In your distracted state, you nearly ran into several bustling servants and only managed to avoid any contact when Ned swiftly took hold of the crook of your arm and guided you to your table.
It wasn’t long after the feast began in full spring. Lyanna and Brandon had started bickering early on, both taking full advantage of the flowing mead and their father’s absence, while you nursed your first cup. Your attention was quickly enraptured by Ned as he pointed out the various people around you.
There were the Baratheons a few tables down from you with a large, booming man you came to quickly know was your sister’s betrothed. You thought him quite attractive with his dark curls and warrior frame but frowned slightly at the amount of ale he seemed to be chugging down. You would never say it aloud, but it seemed to you that he lived up to the rumors.
Then there were the Lions of Lannisters, whose Lord was also the King’s Hand. Cersei Lannister was just as beautiful as you had heard tales of with her honey, golden hair and slender frame. She sat dainty and composed beside her brother, a lovely smile on her face as she appeared every bit the lady the Septa wished you’d be.
You fought the urge to frown as you watched the way she covered her mouth while she giggled at something her brother had whispered in her ear. No wonder so many men, even supposedly the prince, seemed to vie for her attention and hand, she was so lovely and charming. And you had no doubt you were looking at the next queen of Westeros.
Your attention was quickly drawn from the Lannisters when Ned moved on to the royal family and you couldn’t suppress the sudden shudder overtaking you when Ned motioned to the king. You had never seen him, or any Targaryen before, but you would have been able to recognize him even if he wasn’t wearing a crown. With his matted white hair, dark, beady eyes, and gaunt figure, he looked nothing short of what you had always imagined the mad king to be.
You were careful to not let your eyes linger on his hunched form for any more than a few seconds for fear of accidentally meeting his suspicious eyes with your own. You swiftly moved on to the man sitting on his right when Ned began speaking of his firstborn and heir, Prince Rhaegar.
Tales of the prince’s beauty had also not been exaggerated. His pale face was framed by silver locks and while you couldn’t see them, you knew he possessed the Targaryen violet eyes. But for all the attractive features he possessed, you found yourself leery of the man. Who knew what was hidden behind his pretty face for his mind could have been just as easily tainted as his father’s.
You were just about to turn away when his eyes suddenly shifted to you. Startled, you quickly looked away hoping it hadn’t been you whom he had seen. Your gaze was now directed at the Arryn’s, but you found it hard to listen to Ned’s words as your heart still raced inside your chest. The last thing you needed or wanted was to attract the attention of the prince. You had no desire to pursue a betrothment with a Targaryan where madness must flow through their veins.
But upon looking down at your lap, you found the idea ridiculous and a blush crept its way up to your cheeks. There was no way you could manage to attract the prince even if you had wanted to. Many men had called you and your sister beautiful, but it was a wild, unnatural beauty. It wasn’t a lovely, awe-taking beauty like Cersei Lannister or a gentle, warm beauty like Elia Martell, the other supposed interest of Prince Rheagar. It was a cold, hard beauty of the North and pretty Southern princes weren’t attracted to that.
The realization didn’t really upset you. It wasn’t like you wanted to marry the prince, but rather the opposite. You were fortunate the prince didn’t find you pretty to look at like the other ladies because you wanted to stay as far away from the royal family as possible. No, it was better if you let the dainty Southern ladies play the game of thrones. You were perfectly content to watch from the distance.
~~~
“Are you going to speak to her, or do you intend to continue watching her from up here all night?”
Ser Arthur Dayne followed Rhaegar’s gaze towards the young lady in blue, eyes glowing as she danced with one of her brothers. He had caught the young prince glancing at her often throughout the night, thought the object of his fascination seemed utterly oblivious.
“I think it would be best if I kept my distance at the moment.”
Rhaegar’s eyes flitted to the now-empty seat beside him. His father had retired for the night a while ago, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t catch wind of the rest of the night’s activities, especially if he were to dance with Lord Stark’s unbetrothed daughter. While King Aerys had openly spoken his distaste towards Cersei Lannister and Elia Martell, many still expected him to marry one of the two. Rhaegar didn’t know how his father or anyone else for that matter, would take if he danced with Lyella Stark. His father was already wary of the Northern Lord and his children with the vast land in the North, after all.
He had seen her eyes on him only once throughout the night and when he had caught her gaze she had looked away quickly, startled as she seemed to try and fade from view. It was unlike the other ladies and their many wistful looks throughout the night in hopes of catching his eye. And now, with the dancing in full swing, he had noticed their flittering eyes more often in hopes of garnering his attention for a dance.
But Rhaegar didn’t particularly feel like dancing with them tonight. He was tired of their subtle advances, honeyed words, and hopeful actions of winning his eyes and more importantly, his hand. They dreamed of a crown and a title, but they would never receive it. He needed a marriage which secured peace once again in Westeros, but the one girl who unknowingly offered just that seemed completely uninterested in any of it.
His eyes fell on her once again, laughing as she tried to help guide her brother through a dance. He couldn’t decide how he felt about her. She wasn’t at all like he expected, and by that, he meant she wasn’t like any of the high born ladies he had meant before, or really like any lady he had meant before. She had an untamed wildness about her, an icy fire flowing through her veins.
When he had heard mention of the Starks’ expected arrival earlier in the day, he had walked down towards the gates with Lord Whent and Ser Arthur in hopes of catching a glance of his future betrothed and her family and caught by great surprise at what he saw.
He had been unsure of which girl she was when he saw the first few horses flooding through the gate, surprised to see both of his daughters on top of their own mounts as they came in view. Lord Whent had been quick to clarify the one last through the gates was the youngest, though how Rhaegar couldn’t tell because of how identical the girls appeared. Lord Whent had laughed at his questioning, stating it didn’t take long getting to know them before you were able to pick them apart.
He hadn’t understood what Lord Whent had meant then, but upon watching both girls throughout the night, he thought he was beginning to see. Both girls had a wild, Northen aura about them, but hers felt calmer, more tender and gentle, preferring to sit and listen while her sister took charge.
“Shall I go then, your grace? I would much like to make her acquaintance.”
Rhaegar saw the amused smile on Arthur’s face as he spoke, memories of the day’s earlier events playing in both their minds. While Rhaegar had not known what to make of seeing her brother carry her away in such a barbaric manner, Ser Arthur had seemed pleasantly amused at the scene and stated his immediate like of the girl.
“You may do as you wish,” Rhaegar responded indifferently wishing the entirety of the betrothment and wedding was already underway and done, so he could work towards securing his alliances and an heir.
Ser Arthur seemed pleased by the response, taking off to steal the Northern lady from her brother while Rhaegar watched the exchange from above. He watched as she flushed at his interruption, seeming quite taken back by the member of the Kingsguard asking her for a dance. Despite her shock, however, she recovered quickly, nodding her head and giving him a timid smile as her brother let her take his extended hand.
Rhaegar sighed, running a hand through his hair as he once again wondered what to make of the beautiful wolf-girl.
