The New King in the South

-Warning mass harem fic. Crack fic. This fic contains blood, gore and lots of smut.

Short summary- Rhaegar defeats Robert on the trident. After the end, Rhaegar had promised his many allies a hand in marriage, something he himself cannot give. With the rebellion over Jon Targaryen grows up in the red keep to be a king. In that time a brew of anger is awoken by his uncle, Viserys who sees himself as the true heir, not some born bastard. He will use his power and in time cause another rebellion.

-Above Rhaegar, the sky was a mist of bright blue, peaceful and pleasant. The sun was illuminating as a few birds squawked, passing by. Entirely different to the earth, where the images were transfixed, strewn of basking frothy blood and death. A pit of despair where hundreds of knights fought among the other. Swallowed in darkness like rabid primal animals.

The king's army of in infantry, thousands in mass crashed against Robert's on the trident. The shrieks of battle flutter around in a disgusted ray. Death reviled, death that was permitted through war. And only Raheger's slit in his visor gave him the vision he required to the blood and demise. His breathing heavy, enduring while his body progressed with an ache. Yet still motivated, slashing at enemies blind spots and weak points. The edge of his weapon never missed but striking his enemy's at every turn. The hums of men's cries rang with a horrid clout, weapons smashes and clangs. Lances splintered, heads decapitated rolling among the thousands of dead as other weapons resounded to a beat. A tune filled with chaos that enclosed the field while death arose to numerous. The ground was their battlefield and with their lifeless corpses they were the death concealing that ground.

All colors conflicted as men of both sides fought, the once green field now covered with mud, the smell of fresh blood was ubiquitously. While the sky became hidden by a shade of arrows whistling through the sky, striking men and the ground with thick thuds. It seemed chaos ensued as every man cracked under the immense weight of battle. Rhaegar amidst this chaos clashing against the other for an hour, dug deep in the middle. Armies surrounded him in the mud cutting and mutilating the other. A mosh pit of weapons shining as they brought them to the sky and back down plunging them to the flesh.

By now Rhaegar was covered with thick radiating blood upon his heavy armor and in his flowing hair, the muggy gore getting stuck in every nook. Yet Rhaegar never halted for a beat, he knew what this battle meant for him. For his family. And with that thought he fought till the bitter end.

In the mist of battle a stallion pelted by, wheezing a thunderous thump with a mangled corpse riding atop of it. The images before him looking like some horror story. At the last moment he caught a lurid scream drowning the others. Turning in a second a large malicious, bearded man charged him, head-long heaving a sword with both hands above his head. Time was only a matter of seconds. With force the man stabbed with the weapon, all his weight and fury pushed towards Rhaegar's head. The bright prince reacted and danced to the side, his feet driving deep in the mud, as the man brought the weapon to his side with all his body weight. Leaving Rhaegar to pivot and slash at his stomach, his weapon piercing the stag's flesh from side to side leaving a gash. Instantly his eyes became static, body limp staring at the sky as he fell. The wrath remained inside.

In a chaotic pattern another man stepped before him, to his left, with reason his sword stabbed forward. Only to meet with Rhaegar's sword, ringing for their ears. Beside him a dozen men clashed together, killing and screaming. Rhaegar brought his own for a forward slash to the stag's shoulder. But he blocked the oncoming attacks. As the two traded blows, the stag couldn't react as a horse pelted by, the horseman drove his spear through the man's chest. The harsh crunch sounded as the man fell with a shout.

Rhaegar spun behind him as another stag in black and gold charged him, sword in hand. Rhaegar shifted back, leaning, the edge of the man's blade nicking his armor, missing by an inch. The stag raised his weapon back, but to late. Rhaegar wasted no time driving the end of his weapon into the man's stomach finding his flesh and guts, the man died falling to the ground as so many had before him. The smell, the stench of death lingered and he grew to it.

For hours the destruction rained with Rhaegar at the lead. His troops railed and created a wedge in the enemy's line. The battle looked bleak for the rebellion as many saw the incoming forces. Rhaegar had managed forward, after killing another stag he heard a yell. He looked up, finally in the glint of the sun he found him. One man clear as day in his famous heavy armor, as tall as a giant.

In the mist of the blood Rhaegar saw him, his one and only enemy. The Stag. A few meters away stood Robert in his heavy armor as he slammed his warhammer into another Targaryen's chest sending the man down to kiss the ground. Robert bellowed out into the air, his eyes great in size.

Rhaegar did not need a thought. His aim was no longer skirmishes among the lines, but only someone. Rhaegar charged with vigor, his feet slammed against the ground as he picked up speed, men at his back and side, screaming.

Robert turned finding the prince coming at full-bore. He stood his ground prepared, squeezing his warhammer. No pallor graced his face, only with a grin. He came alive in battle.

Reaching him Rhaegar used his speed and thrust his weapon forward, aimed for the man's chest. Robert quickly leaned back and parried his blow, sending the dragon's energy to the side. Again Rhaegar turned and forced his weapon down with a side-ward slash, aimed for the exposed throat. Robert reacted parrying the attack, the sound of a bang resounded.

Robert, not one to be on the defense answered with a blow of his own, his massive warhammer like a battling ram, came crashing. With weight the warhammer barley missed the Targaryen's chest. Rhaegar staggered backwards, the blow of his opponent weapon ringing in his ears. The massive warhammer was a death sentence if it met him and he must remain diligent. As he regained his stance the thunderous crack of his opponent's yell sounded. The two traded blow after blow as others did not counter into their fight. Again Robert shouted. That viscous yell he heard and grew to a song.

They brought their weapons with fierce power to meet. Rhaegar had to be careful, this close was not an option. His warhammer flew around him and with fierce power rang again. Robert had the edge charging the defenseless dragon. In that single moment. A single aspect altered, Robert rushed with a barking shout, moving his feet forward with a quickness and certainty about to take the dragon when his foot slammed against a rock. He tripped and lost his stance, sending him falling forward.

Stumbling down to the ground Robert landed on his hands. Such a small bit of time, yet Rhaegar saw this moment was valuable. He brought his own weapon up to the sky and with power, crashing back down. Robert quickly parried the blow with the awkward position, exhausting his energy. Rhaegar carried his weapon down again, the energy passing through his sword to the immobile Robert, directing shockwaves through him. Sweat pouring down the two in a decay. Rhaegar shoved the toe of his boot up and into his opponent, sending him down to the floor. Slamming against the ground the war hammer fell from his hands, his body against the water. Simple moments. Without his war hammer he had nothing looking at his enemy.

Rhaegar would never look back as he threw off his helm, looking the man directly in the eyes. Not to show his hatred, but resect. "Bend the knee!" He yelled over the screams.

Robert began to laugh, a lustful drunken laugh. "Ha you have to kill me."

"Bend the knee."

"Even now, this is a battle, boy! I never took you to be this dull. You want me to kiss your boot."

"I will not ask a third time." Roberts's eyes intensified, he would not suffer the shame and dismay. For a warrior such as himself to live from this, he would not think of himself of such.

"I will not. You'll have to kill me, dragon." Robert told with a certainty. Rhaegar nodded, his sword rose in the sky.

-In a trivial room no superior than the hall of Winrterfell the sun had no partition in the lure of darkness. The room filled with a council of the king, Rhaegar among a dark table, no longer the council they once were. The arguments and urges never ceased at a moment. The only room's solitary light was a fire in the corner of the wall. Blaring and swirling before their eyes. The constant sound of the crack loomed over them, all consuming.

For weeks in kings landing celebrations were met with applause. Yet in with the small council no laughs or smiles. Around him they sat with arguments. Their was something lurking in the seven kingdoms. An unrest and anger brewing back into the veins of the very soil. Years had passed in seven kingdoms. In that time many small wars plagued the realms and Rhaegar still had his promises to keep. In a fit of despair, Rhaegar had made deals with several houses and unlikely allies, deals which he must now pay for.

The room was bare, nothing to grace it, except for the lengthy oak table resting in the middle of the hall, where a few unlit candles sat and the cloth of a dragon ran. Among the table the small council sat, neither carried smiles, but emotionless. Dressed in the traditional garments of their houses, the dragon embroidered on the cuffs, in tight leather and black trousers. They sat, arguments for hours to leave their running mouths with ideas and ways to run the realm. They were no longer the strong council, but broken down to their last will. The numerous wars costing a fortune. Their once vast resources cut in half.

Rhaegar sat in at the head of the table. No longer a prince, but a king. But while he may reign their was tension in the air. While the thunderous applause dancing and singing went on in the city for days, he sat in the dark, he was not a man of such caliber. Promise stormed in the back of his mind, he promised his allies marriage with his family and knew he could not give what they ask.

"What news from the realm Varys?" The master of whispers had remained silent as the others grumbled.

"Not much to be desired, my grace. It seems every house in the seven kingdoms has turned its back. And those who fought for you want something In return, for their battles and sacrifice. Sadly, if not, are allies resolve has weakened and we will lose the armies in the west and south. While the further houses no longer grasp the Targaryen as the true heirs. For hundreds of years your family has ruled, but it seems utmost, the people hope for an end to that. And in few city's many birds have whispered of another rebellion."

Many couldn't believe their ears. "Some birds have whispered of a new rebellion? So much death? I wouldn't believe the day? Have they no sanity?" spoke Mace Tyrell leaning back in his chair stoking his beard.

"We have the worst relationship in years your grace. Their sanity is not our concern." Varys spoke. Rhaegar looked over the council disgruntled. "Every realm sees us as a threat."

To many of the council that was a great, great aspect. "Good. Let them cower in fear. Let us take control with a fist and terror. We can hold this world for ourselves." Tywin declared. Rhaegar would never believe such.

Varys leaned forward. "If I may be so bold I have some ideas you may be inclined to hear." Rhaegar nodded. "You have a son with much potential. I can see how we fix your a problem and a way to unite all seven kingdoms in this most needed time."

"Ha another bright idea Varys. Another bright lighting idea, us so unfortunate, could dare not see it." Varys gave Mace a look of distain.

"Let me hear it." Rhaegar leaned forward all ears.

Rhaegar went slowly, the nice marble floors underneath him the spoils of victory. He stopped at his son's room. One simple knock and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Finally grasping the handle he pushed on, opening the door he found him near the balcony staring out into the city.

Jon snow, a young boy who was rarely found in the grand hall or even the red keep for that matter. Where he was known to be found was far from anyone. He felt himself among the forests and dirt. Away from the noise and quick paced streets. Not here with the fancy lords and ladies and treats. Most days he was never seen in the great hall.

"Jon." Rhaegar softly spoke. His son turned around looking at him. A young boy with questioning eyes. "Come and sit down." Jon listened and sat before his father.

"How was your day? Any new grand adventure you'd like to tell me?"

"No." Jon said, trying to hide his face.

"Are you sure? Mayhaps in the forests, with a certain relative you may know." Rhaegar stated knowing.

Jon looked annoyed his eyes never meeting his father. "Me and Dany went into the forest."

"You know I said that's forbidden." He did not respond. "What did you find?" Jon looked disappointment.

"Nothing, sadly. But we saw a number of deer and Dany saw a cave." Rarely was Jon far from earshot with his aunt.

"You care for her?" he asked.

"Of course. She's my best friend, father. My only friend." He told with a smile.

"I have news for you. I wanted to come down here and tell you myself." Jon did as asked.

"What is it? Another trip to a far off realm." he asked with not much known.

"No. You know you will be a king and you are to marry a lady of a proud house."

"I will marry my aunt, right father? Like your father and his father. We marry our blood to keep it pure." Jon had read up on his family, dating back to the fall of valyria.

"Yes. You will marry your aunt." That seemed to put a smile on his face. "What have I taught you?" no animosity in his tone.

"To never take anything for granted. To cherish the ones around me and keep them safe with my sword. Keep them close in my heart."

"You will remember this for years to come. And keep this in your heart. Love your close ones. They are always precious to you…" His son nodded.

"You know there is unrest in the seven realms." His son nodded. "Countless houses in each realm, with lords and ladies all with different ideals and with power and anger. Anger aimed at the Targaryen's. A rebellion is almost certain… I have spoken with my council and we have derived with a plan. A way to amend the realm."

"How?"

"With marriage, Jon. we can sew the realms together again. Do you understand?"

"Yes father." His father taught him to be strong as a knight but more importantly to be kind.

Years later-

The air was thin hot and unfathomable under the red keep. A small area with stone and sand among the ground. On the floor was not only sand but Jon stood with sweat on his back. Continuously he reviled being in fancy armor or above in the red keep. Never had he found the talks of other high born to his like. It was the hedge knights he grown to. Men and women whom fought with weapons. In time he loved the dirt.

Finally in the depths, a weapon in his hand and against the floor was nothing but spars. Without a shirt, only a white cloth over his waist. Before him stood, Ser Gerold Hightower. The great man was a tower for Jon, and kept him on his feet for hours. Without thought Gerold aimed his foot for the young skinny boy. He quickly leaned out of the way, the attack missing his chest by an inch.

Backing away, and against his judgment Jon charged the burly man. A harsh smack to the face sent the young boy to fall. The hot floor rushed up to meet him and was severe against his body. Against the ground blood filled his mouth.

"Come on, get up." He heard his aunt spoke with vigor. Before him she stood, Dany observing with her brother and a few others. The only she carried a smile, others carried a sneer. She stared at him with a vitality. The young seven year old stood up deep under the red keep, she in ways had more exuberance then him.

Back on his feet for several minutes Jon did his best to dodge the attacks and charged again. But before he could reach him he couldn't react and his enemy's leg swooped in. The knight's leg smashing against Jon's. Sending Jon down to crash against the floor with a hard thud.

The floor rushed up to meet Jon, slamming against the ground. The pain insurmountable. The moment Jon slammed, in the corner Viserys laughed out loud at the sight. "You're to be king? What a pitiful bastard." he yelled to his friend's delight and Dany's anger.

His uncle's laugh was always unrelenting. Viserys continued to laugh at times trying to make life worse for Jon. For only a second Jon laid there never giving up, his body aching, yet the pain must not deter him. Pressing his hands to the floor, he would never give up, struggling to stand again.

After several hours the man had beaten him to a pulp. Bruises covered the young boy's body, dark and purple. Rhaegar stood near and came in close helping him up.

"Act in haste and you give the advantage to your enemy." Rhaegar explained. "Sometimes the proper and more difficult course is not to act. Even the greatest warrior often fails to wait until the moment is right before striking out. That is a mistake we cannot afford to make." Jon nodded absorbing his father's words and commuting them to memory. Words were a single part of his training, the few bruises covered his naked body were lessons he must learn if he can succeed. Each punch another lesson until he can conquer his enemy.

A day later and out among the forest-

Dany pulled her nephew, running through the trees where they came to a halt before a mouth to a cave. "Where are you headed? What is it?" Jon asked for the hundredth time.

"You have to come and see." Dany persisted. Down in the vast cave Dany stopped as did Jon, their eyes grew vast in size. "Look at this." Dany told with a glee.

"What are they?" Jon asked.

"Dragon eggs."