O how far the Dragon has fallen, Elia thought. The mightiest beast to ever grace the skies of Westeros, brought so low by such humble creatures. The Stag, and the Falcon had given their lives, but the Wolf had been enough to finish the task. The howls of a Wild Wolf had started this war, and the fangs of a Quiet Wolf, often forgotten as he trailed behind his siblings, had ended it.

A hundred years. That was Elia's estimate. In a hundred years there will be students of the Citadel sitting among the Maesters, to watch as their betters debated their histories and argued other possibilities, of a different Westeros where a victory was a defeat. This war would be a sticking point to them, no doubt. It was every bards dream played out upon the seven kingdoms, where every young man and woman had to play their part. Soldiers were sent off to die for a cause their lords deemed just, and women were set aside, told to wait for their return, to pray that the ravages of war landed away from their doorstep.

Those were the roles of the small folk, and as Elia walked through the Black Cells, her destination closer with every step, she almost envied their roles. They would simply die. It could be a gruesome death, one left to linger on the battlefield as their lifeblood slowly drained, or the cruel death of an innocent caught in the crossfire. But it would be release, where the gods might grant peace in the afterlife.

Elia was not so blessed, as she paused before one of the many cell doors. She skirted death's advance more times than she cared to count. Born with a weak constitution, in a harsh land and dealt a harsher fate, she was well aware how the gods were as quick to take their favor as to bestow it. She had been given a duty with her birth, to uphold the peace and defend the realm. That was her role to play, and she'd do it through mad men and schemers alike if she needed.

A fact reinforced by the scene before her as she entered the cell, her ever quiet escort following close behind. The jailer was well-mannered enough to stay out of the room, and out of sight.

A better chance of alerting the guards if she was so inclined to free the prisoner. She wasn't.

Long matted hair, traces of blood on his lips, and the ever present stench of filth.

She didn't bother to hide her soft smile as her husband's gaze went from the stone floors to the trimmings of her dress. Eyes of amethyst traveled upward, and it was only the memories of the past few months that kept her fangs in place, and Rhaegar's chains in place.

"You will catch a cold down here." He said, with a care that brought a maelstrom of emotions to her heart. She wanted to laugh, that now, brought so low by his own folly did he finally decide to show affection to her. She wanted to cry, to tend to his wounds and whisper that everything would be okay, as she attended to the needs of such sorrowful eyes.

She followed her heart, knowing the pain in her hand would be worth it as the sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the halls.

Rhaegar slumped, given only room to stand by the chains around his wrists. "Elia... I had to.. forgive m-" She didn't even hesitate, another echo as the back of her hand struck his cheek with enough force to draw a thin line of blood.

"How dare you." She seethed. "When you awarded the Stark girl at Harrenhal, shaming me in front of the entire realm, you begged forgiveness. 'A passing fancy to a young woman. It was nothing, my love'. And fool I was, I forgave you. When you had to leave as I lay just out of the birthing bed for your firstborne son, you begged forgiveness. 'Matters to deal with the safety and fortune of the realm. I shall return with haste, my love.' I forgave you."

"And now," Elia took a step back as if to admire Rhaegar's prison. "Where thousands of my countrymen lay dead and the kingdom is covered in a layer of blood, all because of your foolishness. You will again, try to beg forgiveness? You shall not have it."

"Elia.." He protested quietly. "Everything I do... I do for the kingdom... The dragon must have three heads-" Elia's fingers found their way around Rhaegar's throat. She lacked the strength to choke a man to death, but within her slender arms she possessed enough to shut one up.

"I could have given you a third. I would have given you a third, even at the risk of my life, if you had just asked. Any woman within the kingdom would have welcomed you to their bed if you needed another child! You could have bedded a whore for all I care! But instead you run off with the betrothed of a Lord Paramount and incite the bloodiest war seen since the Blackfyre Rebellion!"

She took a breath, she needed to calm herself. She was here for a purpose beyond venting, she would do that to air in her own time. "You are a fool of the highest measure Rhaegar. And unfortunately, the gods favor your kind."

With no response forthcoming from her former husband, she continued. "You have been sentence to the Wall, where you may serve the rest of your days among the Nights Watch. On the morrow, a man of the Nights Watch will gather you from this cell, and escort you north. Perhaps one day you may atone for your sins."

"And Lyanna..?" Barely above a whisper, but it was enough for Elia to see red. Only the cool, rough hand of Eddard Stark around her free wrist prevented her from laying into Rhaegar with more blows.

The Northman didn't say a word, only inclining his head for her to continue once she was calm enough to resist leaving the father of her children as little more than a smear on the cell walls. Perhaps the tales were true, Northern men had ice in their veins. Ned's face as unreadable as ever as he let go of her wrist.

"The fate of Lady Stark has yet to be decided." She bit out, having to use every last ounce of control in her body to prevent herself from flying into a rage as she watched some of the tension leave Rhaegar's shoulders. Or to refer to her escort's sister as anything unbecoming. Vicious names could be left till later, when she was around true friends and family to vent.

"I suppose you are king then..." Rhaegar mused to Ned.

"Hardly." Elia interrupted. She had asked for as much privacy as possible for this meeting, and for the most part Lord Stark had honored that request. Observing and watching, little more. "My son has been named King, and I shall act as Regent until he is old enough to take the crown. Lord Stark has, begrudgingly, taken up the position as Lord Hand until such time as he is unneeded. Between the two of us, we might be able to repair the realm you ruined."

She had hoped for the look of defeat on Rhaegar's face to be sweet as she informed him of his fate. A petty strike against him for all that she had to suffer for his foolishness, but it left a bitter taste. Elia had hoped for some small satisfaction, a measure of justice to be found in this madness.

Instead, she was left with a broken kingdom to rule, children to raise without a father, and debts to be paid. With that in mind, she made herself a promise, as Eddard Stark bowed before her. There would be no songs sung about Rhaegar, no love poems written about their passions. The truth would not die so easily, even if she had to bribe every maester in the Citadel. Everyone in Westeros would know the fate of Prince Rhaegar, and how some songs do not deserve happy endings.

AN: I'll be honest, wasn't sure how to end this one. And I'm pretty sure it's not as succinct and punchy as the last chapter, so yeah. This is semi-AU. In the first chapter, Ned kinda just left after chewing out Lyanna and Rhaegar. He had a wife and kid to get back to, and he was too disgusted by the actions of his sister and her lover to even think of sticking around and helping to clean up their mess.

In this chapter, I changed some background info. Specifically that Caitlyn Tully married Jon Arryn, and Lysa Tully got foisted off to Benjen Stark, mostly because Ned decides to make one-selfish decision and keeps his promise to Ashara. Without a wife or kid to run back to (that he knows about anyways), Ned is a little more open to being convinced to stick around and ensure that the kingdom doesn't crumble under a boy king and his regent mother.

Probably won't be writing another story in this AU. Mostly cause I have a different idea which I am going to toss out to the world here.

When Aegon the Conqueror shows up, Dorne sends envoys to the Ironborn and the North, knowing that as they are the three cultural outliers of a predominantly Andal continent, they all have the most to lose if Aegon actually manages to unity everyone. So they form a pact, Princess Meria and her successors keep up their gorilla warfare as Ironborn raid the newly conquered Westerlands and Reach. Torrhen Stark never bends the knee, holding his ground at the Neck as the three groups pool resources, knowledge and man power to collectively flip off the Targaryen advancement. How close the alliance between the three kingdoms is, or how they interact would be up to you. I have a few one-shots planned since it's an idea I haven't really seen played out. So feel free to go wild with it yourselves!

Regardless, comments, questions and concerns are always welcome. And until next time, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and have a great day!