Rhaegar of House Targaryen First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, gazed upon the frozen castle of Winterfell for the first time in what felt like his long life. Pure white snow laid softly spread across the grounds as far as the eye could see, the castle was secured by strong, grey imposing walls. The steam from the hot springs added a slight fog to the air as if it was trying to obscure the castle from outsiders.

This was the ancestral home of the Starks.

The place his little She-Wolf once called her own.

Guilt clawed its fingers around his heart, making him wince, quickly glancing away from the great castle in shame as he thought back to his wild-wolf. How many years had gone by since Harrenhal? Nearly five and ten now, if his memory serves true. By the Seven has it already been that many years?

Has it truly been that long, since Lyanna Stark ran away from her home? Only to perish from the jaws of the snarling wolf painted upon the Stark banner.

"My King," his new wife called out from beyond the curtain walls of her the carriage, "are you well?" Her voice, was smooth and sultry, with an added flare of concern. A bit overly dramatic, in Rhaegar's opinion.

Cersei Lannister had always been like that, from the first time he's laid eyes on her she had always put on an act. For the first couple of moons, after they had been wed, he thought he might learn if there was something more beneath the mummer's farce she always displayed. Much to his chagrin, he couldn't see anything as beautiful as her face underneath the mask. All he saw was the hunger and pride within her emerald eyes, as she hungered for more than he would be able to give. If he had more options The Dragon King would have had another for his wife, after Elia's passing from a birthing fever nearly two years past. Alas, his choices were slim, there were maidens of course, though they were younger than his daughter. A thought that Rhaegar was not comfortable with when looking for a new mother to his children. The few widows closer to his age were limited even further as he also required someone with the right amount of political acumen, someone that could add her strength to House Targaryen, especially if his offer to the Starks is met with insult. Only the Lannisters had the wealth and power he desired, and Cersei was capable of having multiple children as she already had three by his late cousin Robert Baratheon, before the hunting accident that claimed his life last year.

One more, he sighed with resignation, the dragon must have three heads.

With a masterful performance he met his Lioness with a confident smile and wave."I am well my Queen, I am just admiring the sights within the North. Tis quite the view." The Dragon King spoke as he surveyed the lands once more. Truly it was a marvelous sight to behold. In the south, the skies are light, airy and cloudless, the sunshine was as constant as the gleam of the moon unless it rained. It was only during the depths of winter when the sun would hide its face, but it never lasted for too long. However, the beauty of the environment was lost once it's smell struck. The air within Kings Landing is always corrupted by the stench of feces, death, loss, and decay. There was never a moment's peace either. For it was never quiet within Kings Landing, the voices of the small folk echoed through the streets in a constant babble. He could only ever understand the voices of the common people when he was playing his harp right next to them, in the winding streets and alleys.

Here though, this far North, the air was so crisp it almost left him breathless. There was no odor of shit, nor the presence of death and decay. The icy weather prevented the dead from rotting too quickly thus freezing the stench before it could spread through the city. He was surrounded by a natural earthy silence, filled only with the sounds of forest life rather than the incoherent voices of the small folk. Though, if he had to be honest with himself, the closer they got to the castle, the more he started to hear the chattering of the townsfolk from Wintertown. But it was the skies that were the most magical to him. It was filled with alluring clouds that seemed to paint images right before his eyes. Mayhaps the Old Gods were in charge of the wind and the skies, their power was still visible here in the North where the people still worshiped them unconditionally.

Rhaegar didn't give Cersei a chance to speak again, he clenched his knees around the horse's ribs and steered the animal onwards. Signaling for the rest of the train to march towards their destination in an orderly fashion.

Winterfell was at least an hour or two away, with the pace by which the royal procession was traveling, if they could trot instead of graze, Rhaegar was sure that they could have reached the gate within an hours time. However, unlike his fierce She-Wolf from the distant past, Cersei was not half a centaur. She preferred to use the wheelhouse instead, from there she could travel right alongside her youngest children Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon, even as she watched her firstborn from the window upon his horse near her carriage. Rhaegar had nothing against the contraption other than it's pace, for he even allowed his eldest daughter, Rhaenys, to travel in her own carriage alongside her cousin Arianne.

The snorting from a horse somewhere behind him brought his attention towards his son and heir, Aegon, he still had a few years to go before he would be considered a man. At four and ten he was nearing his father's height but he still lacked the muscle that he would only gain from experience in battle or, preferably, tourneys. Dressed in their families traditional black and red colors, his Targaryen features dominated over his Dornish ones, as he sported the signature Valyrian coloring. Though you could also see the Dornishman in him as he stood next to his sister. Their shared traits mostly restricted to their facial features. Inheriting the shape of their mother's eyes and angular cheeks, though another common trait they share are their love for Dornish wine and delicacies.

"Father," his son called, riding up next to him. "Are you sure this is the place that my sister should be sent too?" He seemed rather alarmed and cautious for Rhaenys' sake, as he looked at Rhaegar with trepidation that he was struggling to mask. "Wouldn't a good southern husband have been a more suitable match?"

Rhaegar gave his son a forlorn half-smile, in truth Rhaenys would prefer a friendlier climate. She is half- Martell, her blood runs hot like a red sun over a desert. Once they had passed the Neck, Rhaegar couldn't remember a single day passing them by, where the sun has been completely visible through those distinctive Northern clouds.

"As much as it pains me, my son, this is your sister's duty, our relationship with the North has been strained since I've taken the throne - and due to my actions during my youth," the silver-haired King explained, as his mind immediately went to those stormy grey eyes. With a glare so icy, it nearly froze him on the spot as he carefully removed Lyanna's helm from her crown. Were he not from a long line of fire-breathing dragons, Rhaegar had no doubt in his mind that he might have been solidified into a frozen statue, for the rest of his days.

Sighing resolutely, his son nodded in futile understanding, "are your paramour's family truly that insulted? Mother wasn't angry from what I can recall. She told me about the Tourney at Harrenhal. Though, she was somewhat upset about the implication of not receiving the title as your Queen of Love and Beauty on that day."

Rhaegar could understand how his son might be misguided, Lyanna Stark was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as his paramour, but it was an unofficial title. Though raised in Kings Landing for most of his life Aegon was fostered in Dorne for two years in his youth, and the Dornish culture left its mark upon the Prince. So much so, that his son once asked why Rhaenys couldn't be Rhaegar's heir instead. Much to the King's dismay, young Aegon has already been fully exposed to the notions of paramours and bastards being of acceptable social standing, rather than the negative image garnered within the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Such notions may not serve him justly when he ascends the throne. While it did his heart good to see that Aegon didn't fault him for his youthful indiscretions, he was curious as to what his mother might have said about the tourney.

"When did your mother tell you about Harrenhal?"

With a grimace, his son corrected himself. "It didn't actually come from Mother," Aegon begrudgingly admits, "but Uncle Oberyn. He told me about the scandalous events of that day, and according to him, it was an insult to both my mother and the Stark girl. When I asked Mother about the incident she admitted that while it was upsetting for her, she did understand your reasonings." The young dragon Prince gave his father a curious look, "though, I have never been able to comprehend your actions or your reasoning. I am almost a man now, perhaps I should be able to understand it?"

His reasons, for laying with the only daughter of Rickard Stark? Dear gods, where would Rhaegar hope to begin? With the prophecy? His first wife's health? The pressure of taking up the mantle as the King, and knowing that he would need more heirs?

The dragon must have three heads.

All true, yet even though the years have passed, Rhaegar still remembered that day as if it was yesterday. In truth none of those woes pushed him into Lyanna's embrace, his family may believe differently but Rhaegar knew the truth. In an instant all of those memories flashed through his mind, ah yes, he remembered a winter storm that claimed him completely, that one wondrous night.

"Why me!" Lyanna snapped furiously at Rhaegar as she threw a rock she held in her right hand towards him. This was the second time she has attempted to harm a member of the royal family, though at the moment he could see that any logic was lost to her. Her fury was unleashed upon the patient forest of the godswood, underneath the glimmer of the moonlight, she seemed to be more like an ethereal, glowing goddess than an angry girl. She was ready to deliver her darken wrath upon the inconsequentiality of men. Her worn-out riding leathers shaped itself around her lithe curves in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination, as to how she might appear in her name day suit. Her hair was an array of wild windblown curls with waves of tendrils escaping the confines of an ice-blue ribbon. Her disheveled braid reached the small of her back, embracing her body in the darkness of night. Her eyes glowed and sparkled almost unnaturally as the full moon illuminated her face, like a wolf on the hunt, circling her pray.

She was a sight to behold, wild, obstinate and unforgiving as the winter snows, yet there was something deeper and unfathomable within her eyes. Something that made the ice and wildness in her veins beautiful, rather than terrifying.

Rhaegar took several long strides towards her, and once again the She-Wolf tried to swipe at him with her claws. This time, however, Rhaegar caught her dainty wrists in his hands, holding onto her firmly as his own anger coiled and seethed within his burning veins. Unlike his father, Rhaegar's anger wasn't a quick match to a jar of wildfire, no; instead, his was more like the snarling and snapping of an enraged dragon before his flames would crisp an unsuspecting victim. Slow to build, but eventually, the flames would be engulfing all the same.

"Because of the loyalty you showed towards your bannermen, by jousting against those knights," he hissed, through forced, controlled breaths. He was trying to calm himself but those eyes, those belligerent, glowing eyes lit something inside of him, and he could barely contain the fire rushing in his blood. Since he crowned her as his Queen of Love and Beauty he has heard nothing but consternation and disapproval from others. His wife, his friends, even his insane, mad, bloody incoherent father! All he wanted was to give Lyanna something she deserved! He could not simply stand by and watch as this strong, beautiful woman was forced into the cage society built.

"You fought them bravely, without any promises or rewards. Though you can never claim your winnings with the pride of a champion, you still strut around here with your head held high, as if daring anyone to try and steal your undefeated title."

The She-wolf daringly pointed her chin at him. A silent challenge Rhaegar was compelled to meet, he took another step closer, his body against hers as she stood her ground. He was standing so close to her, that he could feel her uneven breaths upon the sensitive skin of his neck. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed, Rhaegar even felt her breasts brush lightly against his tunic, as her breathing became more erratic.

"Even though you are wounded," he whispered intensely, as he absentmindedly gestured to her bruised ribs from a knight's glancing blow, "yet, you still move with a grace that speaks of a dancer. That strength, along with your beauty and accomplishments outshines every maiden at this tourney." Her rosy lips pressed together firmly, her glowing eyes seemed to nearly leak with tears- though none fell. There was something heartbreaking about the expression she wore; something that made his voice soft with kindness instead of firm with anger.

"The Seven Kingdoms would indeed be safer with you protecting it." The silver Prince slowly reaches up to her face, carefully brushing the loose strands behind her ears.

"I made a promise to you, Lyanna Stark, that I would never tell a living soul about your escapades as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. But I wanted everyone to see you, as I do."

Her breathing had become less erratic, instead, her breath tasted urgent yet steady upon his lips, and Rhaegar suddenly wondered how he was standing so close to feel her breath against his mouth. I should back away now, - he tried to convince himself unsuccessfully. He said his piece, she understood why he crowned her.

The air was deadly quiet, everything was frozen for a moment in time, he wasn't sure who moved first, even to this day he is unable to say. Their lips found each other, it didn't take much for him to devour and taste her mouth, she attacked him with a fierce devotion of her own, before the bleeding eyes of the Old Gods. Then slowly, the she-wolf and the dragon sank to the ground...

"Father?" Aegon spoke questioningly.

The voice of Aegon jilted Rhaegar out of his memories and heavenly respite, causing him to shift uncomfortably on his steed, then clear his throat with a single cough.

"Excuse me, my son, I cannot tell you why I crowned Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty that day. I made a promise back then you see," he shrugged apologetically, "and a King most of all, must always keep his promises." A hypocritical statement, as he had broken his promise to his wife that night so long ago. Escaping the guilt once more, Rhaegar again focused his sights on the impending castle and fortifications where his ferocious she-wolf hailed from.

The North was a harsh land that bred hardy men and women alike.

Rhaegar didn't expect any grand welcoming party or honor guards at Winterfell, given his history with the Starks. Yet, the King could see that they made an effort to prepare the foreboding castle; all of their banners must have been washed and scrubbed, as the white of the snowy field upon their sigil was crisp and stark against the grey walls of the castle. As well kept as the castle appeared, however, what surprised him the most was the fasade the Northerners presented. All of the servants along with the whole Stark family were lined up accordingly. It was a rather impressive sight to behold, as next to each of Lord Eddard's children a young wolf stood as a guard. The pups had larger heads than any wolf Rhaegar has seen before, their paws were wider, but legs appeared thin...No, those weren't any average wolves, he thought with amazement. Those were direwolf pups!

As Rhaegar dismounted from his steed, the residents of Winterfell kneeled nearly as one, with only the wolves still sitting up, could you ever tame or bend the will of a wolf? Rhaegar wondered briefly as the direwolf pups remained unmoved. It is said that a dragon is not a slave, mayhaps the same could be said about wolves, beasts that should not be caged.

Through different shades of yellow and green, their defiant eyes met his gaze with suspicion. Just like another wolf he once knew, her strong will was mirrored within these creatures of legend, it was no wonder that she was given the title The She-Wolf of Winterfell.

His eyes turned towards the Old Wolf, Rickard Stark, at the head of the Stark line. This was the first time since the Greyjoy Rebellion, nine years ago, that Rhaegar has seen him and already the Dragon King noticed some of the older man's ailments. His hair, once a dark brown littered with grey, was now completely as white, as his banners. Rickard's face was lined with age, but unless the man stood Rhaegar would not be able to make any further assessments about the man's health.

"Rise House Stark, my Warden and protectors of the North," he commanded. Rhaegar observed as the family slowly rose from their positions. It took Rickard Stark no longer than the rest, but there was some strain showing on the Old Wolf's face. The man is nearly 60, some aches and pains are expected, but still, Rhaegar took no joy in the man's discomfort. With a confident step, he strode towards the Warden of the North greeting him respectfully, "my Lord."

"Your Grace," Rickard answered dutifully, though there was a mocking sharpness to his voice. The Dragon King recognized his tone immediately, but he did his best ignore it. The Old Wolf felt bitter and shameful, to host the man who disgraced his daughter, of that, Rhaegar was sure. Their junctions have always been strained, even more so after Rhaegar had forced Rickard Stark to foster the Greyjoy boy.

Of course Brandon Stark was not here. He was always hard to miss among his siblings. That is how Rhaegar remembered them from the Tourney at Harrenhal, when they were still a pack.

The Wild Wolf they had called him, a womanizer, a warrior, a man admired by many others. Untamable, even by his own father, and though Brandon was the firstborn of the Starks, he was the second one from the pack to die. It had been merely a few weeks after Lyanna's disappearance when Brandon had shown up in King's Landing challenging Rhaegar to fight against him in order to avenge his disgraced sister.

But Rhaegar wasn't there. Only his father was, and no one could have stopped him from doing whatever his demented mind could envision.

Brandon demanded to fight against Rhaegar in single combat, but he never got the chance.

Instead, he will forever be known to the rest of the realm as the first victim Aerys burnt alive in the throne room.

His actions were the spark that ignited Rhaegar's Rebellion, as the historians say. Outraged over the death of a prominent heir, the other lords stood together, for once; but it was Rhaegar who was prepared for the war. He left Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell in command of his wife and children, then Rhaegar took control of the Royal Army right from the first. His father had ordered Rhaegar's more loyal subjects to the field whilst the Starks, Arrys, and Baratheons were barely calling their banners. The best of the Kingsguard were left to protect the Mad King, whilst the rest of the army was separated from King's Landing within the Crownlands; thus it was easy for Rhaegar to secure his position at the head of the army. However, Rhaegar took a few loyal squadrons to the capital during the hour of the owl he sneaked into the Red Keep like a thief, while his father's loyal men were preparing for a battle on the open field.

That night, his father's reign finally ended. The King is dead, gods save the King! They had cried out in the morning, the smallfolk, nobles and soldiers alike.

And so, Rhaegar became a king in the most gruesome way possible.

He killed his own father. A Kinslayer, that is what I am now. He dreadfully accepted. It's what they whisper about me behind my back.

For no man is more cursed by the gods.

It has been fourteen years, yet Rhaegar still recoiled at the memory. The Dragon King took a breath and focused his attention towards the other missing Starks.

Benjen Stark was not here.

The Young Pup has been stationed at Moat Cailin, with his wife Lady Barbrey. Lady Barbrey Ryswell was just another one of Brandon's conquest, except her father actually had the authority to protest his daughter's fate unlike the rest of Brandon's women. It is well known that in order to placate the Northern Bannerman of the Rills for the disgrace, Benjen Stark ended up married to her. If she ended up with child, like Ashara...well...the situation would have been extremely complicated, but the situation is not unheard of either. Rhaegar hasn't heard much about Benjen Stark since his wedding, but he knew that Benjen would be arriving shortly. The Silver King and his party had to gain access through the Moat in order to enter the North. Only Aegon and Rhaenys took it upon themselves to sail to White Harbor, rather than facing the uncomfortable journey by land, they united with him just before they passed the Cerwyn Keep. One of Rhaegar's most important rules for his household was that all members of the royal family could never all travel together at once. His motives were due to a reasonable fear, after the death of Steffon Baratheon and his wife. His youngest son's, Stannis and Renly, were originally supposed to go with their parents on their trip to Essos. If they had followed their intended plan, everyone would have perished at sea, bar Robert.

And...of course...Lyanna was not here anymore.

With a longing breath, The Dragon King glanced towards the line Starks, before him. Rhaegar recalled his duty and manners just in time to acknowledge the Warden of the North's son and heir, "Lord Eddard."

"Your Grace," greeted the Quiet Wolf solemnly. Lord Eddard was the truest definition of a Stark, with his blood full of honor, and long emotionless face with hard grey eyes, like the stones of Winterfell. Next to him his wife, Lady Catelyn was a stunning sight of color, in this gloomy winter kingdom. Her vibrant auburn hair and sapphire blue eyes seemed to have been passed down to most of their brood, save for one. Catelyn and her children were a vibrant contrast, against the sober tones. The only other colors visible within the courtyard was from the King's own company.

"Lady Catelyn," the Dragon King softly smiled to her as she curtsied, with a young boy in her arms, he was little more than a toddler. The boy had inherited her striking coloring, with a black direwolf pup with haunting green eyes was keeping guard at her feet. "This little one is Young Rickon your Grace," Lady Catelyn introduced the toddler in her arms. Rhaegar almost smirked at the sight, before moving down the line. Right next to Lady Catelyn stood a handsome young man, Rhaegar judged that he was perhaps a year or so younger than his own son. He sported his mother's curly red locks and fierce blue eyes, the young man had the appearance of a Tully, however, a second, longer glance revealed a longer Stark face and a stocky build.

"My son," Eddard presented proudly with a gesture of his hand, "Robb."

Rhaegar nodded almost absentmindedly, he barely acknowledged the introduction as he was studying the lad. He suspected that Rhaenys could find him appealing, though they should still get to know each other before they wed. With the thought settled within his mind, he moved further down the line. The next child was also a redhead, but this one was a young beauty. She already showed promise of becoming the next Winter Rose of the North. If Rhaegar had known about her, he might have tried to wed Aegon to the young lady. As it was, Aegon was now betrothed to the Tyrells own Lady Margaery.

The young girl curtseyed with fluid grace, "Sansa Stark, your Grace." As she raised her eyes towards the Dragon King, he was not surprised to notice that her blue eyes matched her mother's in color, but the shape of her eyes somehow reminded him more of Lyanna's eyes. She held her wolf next to her with a red leather leash. It was the only wolf that was restrained. Perhaps it is a bit wilder than the others? Her wolf was light colored into two soft shades of grey, with the wolf's eyes a sunny yellow, the pup was clearly the smallest of the litter. Young Sansa observed his interest in her pet, as she politely introduced her wolf to him. "This is Lady, your Grace," and as soon as she spoke, the wolf practically did a little curtsy of its own. Rhaegar, was quite surprised and impressed by the wolf's training This wolf isn't wild, nay, she is the best trained of them all, he realized that the leash and collar nothing but an accessory.

"When did you train her to do that?" the next young Starkling in-line, enquired inquisitively. This was the only child from the new generation of Starks who truly mirrored the Stark look. She possessed the dark brown hair of her father and the stormy, haunting eyes of her deceased aunt. Though her looks have not had the opportunity to mature yet, she had the look of his She-Wolf. She was just a child, yet Rhaegar could see the potential in the little Lady. Anyone who had those deviant eyes was bound to one day be as fierce as a direwolf.

"Arya!" Her mother hissed through her teeth, to his amusement. Rhaegar raised his hand in a motion of silence, then the King went down on one knee and kneeled, he looked the defiant child right in the eyes and gave her a sad smile. "And what is your direwolf named?"

"Nymeria," she proudly exclaimed. "After the first Dornish Queen," Arya Stark continued as if clarifying which Dornish woman she could be referring to. Well, he had to admit that Nymeria has become a common name in Dorne, it was a name which spoke of strength, endeavor and persistence, many women proudly bore the name, including one of Oberyn's bastards.

"Ah, the warrior Queen herself," Rhaegar chuckled as he remembered having a similar conversation before. "I suppose, you wish to become a warrior, just like her?"

The tension in the air was swept away by his words, like ice on a frozen lake with the glacial water rushing past, crushing everything within its path. Surely he couldn't be the only one who saw young Arya's striking resemblance, both in look and spirit, to his willful She-Wolf? However, the young girl didn't notice any meaning or emotions behind his words, she only applied herself to the conversation at hand.

"Aye!" She joyfully exclaimed. "I would like to learn real sword fighting, and perfect my archery!"

The Silver King's expression became lighter for a moment, he couldn't help but repeat his own words from years ago. "The Seven Kingdoms would indeed be safer with you protecting it."

For a moment, something seemed to break in the young girl's face, it reminded him of Lyanna on that magical night, it seems as if his words given young Arya some encouragement.

Or perhaps it's just the small gesture of acceptance, that brightened her disposition.

This poor little girl, how she must have felt so odd amongst her family. Haunting them as if she were Lyanna reborn, probably shamed for being so wild and daring. Looking nothing like her siblings, and with too much wolf blood to keep her caged… He felt a tinge of pity for the little girl, did she remind Lord Rickard of his own wolf girl or Eddard of his wild sister? Is Arya raised in the shadows of her strong-willed aunt? Does Lyanna haunt them when they see Arya? Lady Catelyn and Sansa were proper ladies, he wondered if Lady Catelyn allowed her inquisitive daughter a chance at adventure. Thoughts and visions of Lyanna invaded his mind and conscience without remorse. All the while Arya Stark gave him a joyful smile, her teeth were a patchwork of different sizes, some were partially grown, while others were adult teeth, she even had one missing tooth.

You should have been our Visenya, he reflected quietly for himself, if Lyanna were my wife, you might have been one of ours... The dragon must have three heads, Arya could have been the third head of the dragon. Soon, the world will be in dire need. Rhaegar could feel his shoulders slump involuntarily, he felt like he needed to turn away.

The King stood, he needed an escape from the path his devious mind was turning, therefore he quickly moved onto the final Stark child. A young boy, with eyes that were filled with wonder and excitement, he introduced himself as Bran Stark, interestingly enough his sand-colored direwolf was the only one without a name.

With a nod of approval, the Silver King turned to face the Lord of the North, in order to introduce the royal family. "Lord Rickard thank you for sharing your family with me, now allow me to extend the courtesy. May I present my son and heir, Crown Prince Aegon of House Targaryen," he merely turned towards his son, indicating for the boy to present himself. Aegon would one day be their savior, then their King. The Prince That Was Promised, conceived beneath a bleeding star. One day Aegon would save the world from the coming darkness, one day he would herald in the dawn.

But not until his little sister was born. The dragon must have three heads, Aegon needed his Visenya, why, Rhaegar could not say. But he knew the prophecy, he knew that Aegon would need his siblings for whatever destiny has planned. Without his Visenya, Rhaegar doubted Aegon would be able to perform his sacred duty and that this coming darkness, would triomphe.

Of course Lord Stark and most of the other Lords within Westeros was not aware of their potential, imminent doom. Rhaegar could not risk warning every Lord within Westeros, it would just spark another rebellion. Not many people can understand the prophecy, and after his father's actions, others may call him mad for believing such tales. And so, only those loyal enough know about Aegon's future. Rhaegar could only impart this wisdom to his closest allies, Aegon was born with the burden of destiny.

Rhaegar heard the creaking and moaning of the carriage door as Cersei suddenly swung the door open with a push from inside. Cersei appeared as graceful and elegant as a swan, her children was paraded behind her in a perfect line. "My wife, Queen Cersei of House Lannister, and her three children. Joffrey Baratheon the son of Robert Baratheon, the young Lord of Storm's End, and heir to the Stormlands, her two youngest, Myrcella and Tommen Baratheon." All three of the Baratheon children bore the same golden hair and alluring feature of the Lannisters, as with the Stark family the Baratheon children had inherited their appearances from their mother. Save for young Arya, that is.

Cersei and her children executed the proper courtesies and procedures as was expected from them, as they conducted their greetings Rhaenys' carriage finally arrived. This was an important moment, Rhaegar wanted both the Stark boy and his daughter to have a good first impression on each other. It would just make everything easier for all concerned.

"Finally," Rhaegar began, "allow me to introduce my daughter. Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen."

As his daughter descended from the carriage, the thick black cloak she wore would give a peak at her blood red gown, it was clinging onto the curves of her body, it was flattering yet the style was also demure and ellagant. It was only when she reached the Starks that she removed the hood from her head. Allowing the Northerners to look upon her face more clearly. Her features were sharp and almost delicately, proportioned to her heart shaped face. Her skin was a rich, dark cream as the deserts of Dorne, hair and eyes, were as black as the wings of raven. She was a beauty, there was no denying it. Unlike her mother, Rhaenys had a good constitution, her skin carried a healthy, youthful, golden glow while her lean physique was appeared graceful. Rhaegar quickly glanced towards Robb Stark in order to read his reaction, he was pleased to see to that the boy's eyes were locked onto Rhaenys, he almost seem to be enthralled. Rhaegar couldn't help but to smile inwardly towards himself. Good. Turning back towards his daughter the silver king had hoped to see a similar expression. Unfortunately it didn't appear as if Rhaenys had the same captivation for Robb Stark, her features remained unmoved and emotionless. Robb Stark was a handsome lad, Rhaegar had hoped to see some interest from Rhaenys.

"Your Grace," Lord Rickard Stark announced as he opened the door to his solar, "as you commanded, this room is secure we can discuss the purpose behind your visit safely beyond these doors." The Old Wolf strolled into his quarters with a comfortable familiarity, he stood by his desk as he awaited for the Dragon King to enter. The King turned towards his faithful guards and loyal friends, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Richard Lonmouth, "I will be out shortly." With a nod of acceptance the two Kinguard members took their place right next to door, blocking the entrance from any potential intruders. Richard leaned over to close the door quietly behind them, giving Rhaegar and Lord Rickard Stark the privacy they desired. Rhaegar studied the room as he made his way to Lord Stark's desk. It was a medium sized circular room, there was only one entrance and one window which made the room slightly dark and gloomy. The glass within the window, preventing the worst of the cold, chilly air from entering, the room was very plain, devoid of the extravagant stained glasswork that decorated throughout every window of the Red Keep.

To Rhaegar's surprize this was the only room he had seen so far with any artwork upon the walls, the halls that have let to the solar had been lacking of any unnecessary adornments, unlike the galleries within the Red Keep, which housed hundreds of paintings from the last century. Instead of paintings the walls were filled with tapestries, beautifully crafted to depict the most important history of House Stark from Bran the Builder to Torrhen the King who Knelt. Of course, not every event in the history of House Stark was captured, only some the prominent events such as Theon Stark's victory against the Andals. The Starks are a long ancient family within Westeros, they have endured for thousands of years, Rhaegar could feel the significance of the words, The North Remembers, as he looked upon the tapestries.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Rhaegar replied as he studied the oldest tapestry a bit closer. It has been well preserved, there was a scene of Bran the Builder constructing the Wall. With giants lugging huge blocks of ice and stone that seemed to have red markings on one side. Though Rhaegar could not tell if those were intentional markers or if there was perhaps drops of something that spilled on it, such as wine. In the distance there were shadows on either side of the Wall. The shadows within the South had eyes of greenish, gold while the shadows to the North appeared to have eyes that were a faded shade of blue.

"Your ancestors accomplished many amazing feats Lord Stark," The Dragon King observed. "Building the Wall, uniting the North-"

"Bending the knee," Rickard added cynically.

This would have been a grave insult against the King within Kings Landing, however, Rhaegar understood the man's position. He would not take his bluntness to heart, though with every show of disrespect it irked him more and more. The Silver King only nodded in acknowledgement, before Lord Stark reluctantly indicated that Rhaegar should take the seat behind the desk. The lords seat as custom suggests. The Old Wolf then sat across from The Dragon King and at Rhaegar intently with his blue grey eyes.

"As I said, your family has accomplished much," The Silver King continued, "but your family has also suffered great tragedy; especially in recent times. I, and my family unfortunately played a part of that." Rhaegar took a deep breath and placed his hands atop the table, and clenched his fists. " I take full responsibility for the actions of my youth, for my part in the fate of your son and your daughter's demise. Their deaths should never have happened, and I should never have dishonored your daughter, nor my wife. I know an apology could never remove the pain my actions has brought upon you. Nor will it undo my actions of the past, I can only hope to provide compensation and perhaps your house and our bonds could be strengthened through a new understanding." Rhaegar had delivered his apology in good faith, now he could finally address his true reason for coming North. "Lord Rickard Stark I, King Rhaegar Targaryen, am here to offer my daughter's hand, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, in marriage to your eldest grandson, Robb Stark. The future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I also offer in my wife's stead, her eldest son's hand, Lord Joffrey Baratheon, to your granddaughter, Sansa Stark."

The moment felt intensely suffocating Lord Stark's eyes seemed to reflect the storm of the Northern sky. Those were not the eyes of a man. His eyes held a beastly anger, a cold fury that was pouring out of old wounds.

"Do you mean to insult my daughter further?" He forced through clenched teeth.

"No, my Lord," Rhaegar softly spoke. "As I said before, I merely wish to repair the bond between our families. To restore the honor of House Stark."

With a shuddering breath The Old Wolf seemed to be restraining himself greatly. "Honor?" He repeated harshly. "She was supposed to be the Lady of Storm's End." His blue-grey eyes glared into Rhaegar's violet ones. " And you ruined her."

"I did my Lord." Confirmed the King as he could feel his own anger starting to grow within him. By the Seven! These Starks knew how to infuriate him.

Rickard's old gnarled fingers gripped the arms of his seat so tightly that Rhaegar feared he might injure himself, or that the armrests would break off completely. "Why," he snarled as he forced himself up from his seat, "why did you dishonour my daughter? My daughter, she was my only daughter! She was good. She was kind. And you-"

"Hold your tongue Lord Stark," the Dragon King ordered in a commanding tone, as his fury started to erupt at the surface. I will not be named a murderer for a life I did not take. I was not the one who chased her from her home! People only mention her name with sorrow, regret and pity. Rhaegar has heard all of the songs, rumours and gossip, Rickard Stark chased her away, he abandoned her in the time of her greatest need as the people of court ridiculed Lyanna. "Before you say something that cannot be taken back. I have been lenient with your disrespect out of courtesy for your daughter, but even I have my limits." Taking a slow breath to calm himself Rhaegar continues, "as a father myself, I understand your fury though not your pain. I would also demand to know why my daughter was treated such with disregard for her reputation, but I cannot supply you with any details. I made a promise to your daughter, that I would never reveal the events of that day to anyone. I respect your daughter's wishes, Lord Stark, and this is one promise I am intent to keep."

The Lord of Winterfell stared at the King of the Seven Kingdom, it appeared as if his anger could engulf the room at any time. They were both trapped within their own silent battle of loss and pride, both of them loved the young wistful girl, Lyanna. And, it was also their love that drove her away, to face the woes of the wilderness alone. In the midst of the False Spring, that was when Lyanna was lost to them, so many years ago and yet Rhaegar could still feel the ache as he sat in her childhood home. It was only their love for Lyanna that could extinguish the fire in their souls; somewhat.

Neither Rhaegar nor Rickard could deny that the She-Wolf was wronged. Rhaegar could only hope that that it would be possible to forge a new understanding. These words between them needed to be said. The future of the realm depends on these new alliances.

It's what Lyanna would have wanted. Lyanna fought to protect the honour of a minor bannerman, she would have wanted peace within the realm.