Author's Note: This story is told heavily from the point of view of Rhaegar Targaryen and will span from the Tourney at Harrenhal to the conclusion of Robert's Rebellion. This is my take on the fateful tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna. The first chapter serves mostly as an introduction, the subsequent chapters will be longer. All characters are property of George R. R. Martin. As always, reviews are much loved and appreciated!

Chapter 1- The Gilded Feast

On the night of celebration before the Tourney at Harrenhal, Rhaegar Targaryen sat in a velveteen chair and played a haunting song for all of the high-borns present at the feast. He strummed each harp string with firmness and tenderness in equal measures. His long fingers wove about in the belly of his instrument, and it bore forth lovely and aching notes as if in ecstasy from his touch.

The strands of the harp felt natural to his hands, as natural as the weathered books and grand swords which he had also known intimately since youth. He had not prepared this composition prior to the feast, so the melody spilled forth freely like water from a chalice and reflected the prince's own feelings.

It sounded sad.

Rhaegar's heart bore pain like wine bears age. His sorrows had made him loving, his hardships wise. The dragon prince did not shy away from the sorrowful tune, but rather indulged in it with each stroke of the instrument. His fingers churned beautifully on their own accord, allowing his thoughts to pass to the troubles that burdened him.

The Tourney of Harrenhal was a joyous event to the common lords and ladies, but to the prince it served as a dreadful opportunity.

Rhaegar had too long watched the sanity of his father deteriorate before his eyes. He was sick, ailed with a madness that only worsened as time passed. An ill dragon alone would be a threat to all, but an ill dragon with seven kingdoms in its claws would be catastrophic to the people of the realm.

The tourney was an opportunity for Rhaegar to act. He had turned a blind eye towards the senseless cruelty of Aerys for a dangerous length of time, but now was the chance to voice his plans with the noble lords in attendance.

He meant to unseat his father from the throne.

The music dipped into an agonizing lament as Rhaegar thought of this intention. He felt like a traitor, regardless of the virtue of his reasons, and the idea of calling a council to pry the king from his rightful place filled him with remorse. The tourney provided him with an excellent cover- all those of great influence had already gathered without his summons, gracing him with a chance to reveal his machinations without the fear of tarnishing his name.

'What a beautiful lie my life has become,' he pondered. 'Here I sit in a gilded hall that hides my treason, playing a gilded song that disguises my grief.'

Rhaegar coaxed the quivering strings to rest and the rhythm dissolved into silence.

Sincere applause echoed in the hall, and many of the maidens hastened to dry their eyes. His music oft moved the gentle hearts of women who listened to him perform. His dark lilac eyes combed over all those in the hall and stopped on the face of one of the many teary eyed women.

She had thick dark hair which fell in spirals to the small of her back. Her skin was pale as milk glass and her lips were shaded deep red from the wine, making her face a gourmet of snow and scarlet. Her expression was awash with awe and her eyes ripe from weeping, and though the prince sat too far away to determine the color of those eyes, he could see the wetness of the tears beading upon her cheeks like splintered diamonds.

What drew and kept his attention to this particular girl was unknown to him. Perhaps it was that she alone did not move to bat away her tears; rather, she let them manifest plainly in testament to the depths of her emotions. There was something about that which comforted Rhaegar in the midst of the falsehood that enveloped him like a cloud of soot. This girl was genuine.

She reminded him of wildfire. She was burning, incandescent, teeming with such color and life that the prince half expected the tears caking her cheeks to evaporate from her light. It was said that the Targaryens were all mad for fire, and the prince found himself nearly hypnotized by this salamander of a woman.

The prince was still fixated on her when the boy beside her, likely her brother, jabbed her in the side with his elbow, mimicking gestures of crying in playful mockery. Without warning, the girl seized her goblet of wine and dumped it defiantly onto the boy's head. Rhaegar saw him open his mouth to cry in protest, but whatever sound he made was drowned out by the ringing applause.

The silver-haired prince could scarcely withhold the amused grin that threatened to crack onto his face. What a brazen girl! The poor boy sat dejectedly with wine spattered on the shoulders of his garb while the dark-haired maiden lapped up her tears with her tongue. The applause dwindled just as the girl smeared the dampened hair of the boy with her hand and unleashed a laugh that dripped embers.

This girl was not only genuine but unbridled, and unabashed at feeling things so deeply that it lit her from within, making her cheeks shine like marmalade lanterns. The prince was surprised at how just watching her had lifted his spirits. She was refreshment made flesh.

It wasn't until Rhaegar had returned to his seat beside the king that he realized she was also a raving beauty.