The Crippled King

Rhaegar has the same taint of madness as his father, but a different type. As you can see in this chapter, his mind is all over the place.

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He found himself in a dense forest. Rhaegar knew he was dreaming, for he was pain-free, and he could use his legs like he could before the Battle of the Trident. The trees around him had an almost oppressing familiarity. He walked slowly, and with every step, he became more certain of his surroundings. This was the same place he had met her—Lyanna Stark. The memories flooded back, vivid and haunting. He had found her here, taking off her armor after she had competed as the mystery knight—the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

As he walked to the exact spot where he had once found her, his heart pounded with a mix of nostalgia and dread. He found no one, just the empty clearing. But then, a voice pierced the silence, a voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Looking for me?"

He turned abruptly, his breath catching in his throat. There she stood—Lyanna Stark. Her appearance was just as he remembered: dark hair cascading in waves around her face, piercing gray eyes that seemed to see right through him. She wore a simple dress, a stark contrast to the armor she had once donned in this very spot.

He knew he was dreaming, but he wished he could wake up. He could not face her, not even in a dream.

Lyanna's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Didn't expect to see me after you used me and threw me away," she said in a faux sweet tone.

"No, no, no. I loved you, Lyanna," he tried to argue, his voice desperate.

"A lie you tell yourself," she snapped back. "You never loved me. You manipulated me, abducted me, and used me so you could fulfill your mad prophecy."

"No, no, that's a lie," he protested, shaking his head as if to dispel her accusations.

"Admit it, Rhaegar," she said with venom. "In the end, I won. You never got what you wanted. You never got your Visenya."

"No, Lya, I loved you," he insisted, his voice breaking.

"If you loved me, why abandon our son?" she asked, her voice softening but filled with pain.

"I..." he faltered, the words failing him. He had no answer.

"At least admit to yourself, Rhaegar," Lyanna continued, her gaze unwavering. "You are your father's son."

He stood there, silence hanging heavy between them, the truth he had been running from now staring him in the face. The forest around him seemed to close in, the weight of his actions pressing down on him as he faced the ghost of the woman he had once loved.

He woke up with a start, the haunting vision of Lyanna's accusations still echoing in his mind. He looked around frantically, realizing he was in his chambers. "It was a dream, it was a dream," he muttered to himself, trying to shake off the lingering fear and guilt.

He attempted to stand up, a task that had been difficult for him since that fateful day at the Trident when Robert's warhammer had left him a cripple. With great effort, he found his cane and, leaning heavily on it, managed to get to his feet.

Slowly, he made his way to the table near a window where there was a pitcher of water. He splashed his face, the cold water a harsh but necessary shock to his body. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror next to the table. The handsome features he had once been known for were long gone. His body, once strong and graceful, had shriveled over the years due to being confined to a chair. It was only five years ago that he had regained the ability to walk, a small but significant victory in his otherwise constricted life.

With great effort, he walked to a nearby chair and sat down, breathing heavily. As he tried to compose himself, the door to his chambers opened, and Arthur Dayne entered.

"Your Grace, shall I let the servants in?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," Rhaegar answered, his voice carrying a note of weariness.

Arthur nodded and stepped aside, allowing three maids to enter the room.

"Prepare my bath and set out my clothes. I have a small council meeting today," Rhaegar commanded, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Yes, Your Grace," the maids bowed and began their tasks with practiced efficiency.

As the maids prepared his bath and laid out his clothes, Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. The dream had left him unsettled, but he had responsibilities to attend to. The weight of his crown felt heavier with each passing day, especially with the lingering shadows of his past haunting his every step.

Many thought him a weak king for bending so easily to the lords and their demands, but he could not let another conflict break out. Even though the power of the crown had weakened significantly by his actions, he knew it did not matter. He knew when the cold winds blew and the Long Night came, they would all fall under the dragon's banner. His son Aegon would lead them to victory. Though he never got his Visenya from Lyanna, the birth of his sister, Daenerys, gave him hope that the three heads of the dragon were complete.

'What of Maekar?' a voice in his head asked.

When Brandon Stark had demanded Maekar be sent north with him, Rhaegar had initially refused. It was a preposterous demand. But his advisors had pressured him, reminding him that they were losing the war and that loyalist morale was dangerously low. Eventually, a compromise was reached: Maekar would leave for the North at age six and return when he was twelve.

Weeks after Maekar left, he received devastating news. The ship carrying his son had sunk. Maekar was presumed dead, and with him, the last connection to Lyanna. The loss plunged him into a deep state of sadness, a grief that felt insurmountable. He only began to emerge from this darkness when he received word from the Lord of Winterfell that Maekar had miraculously survived. Though Maekar was safe, the Lord of Winterfell had decided he would stay in the North. His advisors suggested reprimanding the Lord of Winterfell, but he ultimately decided that his son would be safer there, away from the political machinations of King's Landing.

'He has his three heads there is no need for him' he thought.

A voice echoed in his mind, Lyanna's voice, accusatory and cold: "So you admit you used me."

He shook his head vehemently, trying to dispel the thought. "No, it's not true," he muttered to himself, his hands clutching his head as if to silence the voices.

"Your Grace?" A maid's gentle voice broke through his turmoil. "Your bath is ready."

Rhaegar blinked, grounding himself back in reality. He nodded, forcing a small smile. "Thank you," he said, his voice steadying.

With great effort, he stood up and made his way to the bath, the warm water offering a brief respite from his troubles.

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Rhaegar slowly made his way to the council chamber, Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister following closely behind. Both had offered to help him walk, but he had shooed them away, determined to maintain his dignity despite his frailty. As he walked, his thoughts churned with the myriad problems he had to deal with this month alone.

Hoster Tully's illness had necessitated the departure of Edmure Tully from the capital, a decision that met with some opposition. However, the riverlords had been demanding for years to have the heir of Riverrun return to them. Then there was the West, where Tywin Lannister had been stewing since his defeat by Brandon Stark. Jaime's refusal to leave the Kingsguard had further strained Rhaegar's relationship with the old lion.

The Stormlands still refused to kneel to Jon Connington, looking instead to Stannis Baratheon to lead them. Meanwhile, the Reach and Dorne were pestering him about the sudden rise of the North. Brandon Stark had somehow changed the fortunes of his frozen kingdom, trading ice and paper of all things, and now the North was growing in wealth. Rumors circulated that it was not Brandon behind this resurgence, but his son, Maekar.

He paused in his steps, a sudden thought striking him. Was the dream he had about Lyanna a sign? Was she telling him to bring Maekar to the capital? The notion gnawed at him, but he quickly dismissed it.

'No,' he thought to himself. 'He would not be safe here.'

With a sigh, he continued his slow progress to the council chamber. The weight of his responsibilities felt heavier with each step. The kingdom was fracturing in ways he hadn't anticipated. The tension between the regions, the ambitions of various lords, and the resurgence of the North all demanded his attention.

Finally, he reached the doors of the council chamber. Arthur and Jaime pushed the doors open, and he entered. As he stepped inside, his Hand and friend, Jon Connington, moved to assist him, but like Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister before him, Rhaegar waved him off, determined to make his way unassisted.

He surveyed the room. Kevan Lannister, the Master of Coin, sat with a ledger open before him, his expression characteristically stoic. Jon Arryn, the Master of Laws and one of the few former rebels on the council, was present—a constant reminder of his attempts to heal the rifts within the realm. Then there was Varys, the Master of Whispers, Paxter Redwyne, the Master of Ships, and Grand Maester Pycelle, who was the only man still serving other than Varys from his father's time.

"Where is my son?" he asked.

The council remained silent.

"Arthur, where is Aegon?" he asked.

"Aegon did not come to the training yard today, Your Grace," Arthur replied.

"You mean this entire week," Jaime chimed in.

Rhaegar's expression changed to one of anger. His son, the once bright boy, had been particularly rebellious against him lately, shirking his duties. Elia had been a mediator between them, but she and Rhaenys were in Dorne, and his son was acting out to anger him.

"Let's begin," he said, controlling his rising anger.

The meeting began, but Rhaegar found it difficult to focus. His mind kept drifting back to the dream he had of Lyanna. What did it mean? He hadn't dreamed of her in years. He hummed and nodded along as the council members talked until he was pulled from his thoughts when Jon Connington addressed him directly.

"Your Grace, what should we do about the parchment makers' guild? They are complaining about the new competition from the North's paper. We could consider taxing the paper more heavily," Connington suggested.

Rhaegar blinked, bringing himself back to the present. "I apologize, Jon. Please repeat what you said."

Connington nodded, a look of concern briefly crossing his face. "The parchment makers' guild is complaining about the competition from the North's paper. They are asking for heavier taxes on the paper to protect their market."

Rhaegar sighed, considering the proposal. "Do what you must, Jon. If taxing the paper more heavily will balance the interests, then so be it."

Connington acknowledged the decision, but before he could move on, Varys spoke up. "Your Grace, there is another matter that requires your attention. Euron Greyjoy has been spotted in the Iron Islands."

A murmur of surprise and concern rippled through the room. Euron Greyjoy was one of the most notorious and hated pirates in the world, wanted by all the Free Cities for his cruelty. In Westeros, he was equally despised, having been exiled by Balon Greyjoy under the threat of death for kinslaying.

"Are you sure?" Rhaegar asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes," Varys replied with certainty. "My little birds confirm his presence."

Rhaegar's expression hardened. "Send word to Balon Greyjoy. Tell him to capture his brother and bring him to the capital for execution. We cannot allow a man like Euron to roam free."

The council members nodded in agreement, recognizing the gravity of the situation.

"If that is all, my lords, I must take my leave," Rhaegar announced, rising from his seat. The council members stood as he did.

With his Kingsguard escorting him, he left the council chamber, his thoughts fixed on his heir.

"That boy," he muttered under his breath, frustration evident.

He stopped and turned to Arthur. "Find him and bring him to me."

Arthur nodded and was about to leave to fulfill that order when Rhaegar called him. "No, I will come with you."

One of the major issues he had to contend with was the matter of Aegon's marriage. He wished for him to marry Daenerys, as he believed it essential to unite the Targaryen bloodline and fulfill their destiny as the conqueror intended. But he never announced these plans as his advisors and the Faith would be staunchly opposed to it.

'They don't see it,' he thought to himself as he walked. 'They will when winter comes.'

As he arrived at his son's chambers, he was met with the sounds of a woman. He entered the room to see Aegon in bed with a maid. Seeing him, the maid let out a scream of surprise and quickly scrambled off the bed, hastily grabbing her clothes and fleeing the room with a look of mortification.

Aegon only looked annoyed at the incident.

"Why were you not at the council?" Rhaegar demanded, his voice low and controlled.

Aegon remained silent, his gaze fixed on Rhaegar.

Rhaegar wanted to say more, to express the depth of his disappointment, to tell his son about his importance as he had many times in the past. But the words wouldn't come.

Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a sense of finality. As he walked away, the weight of his burdens seemed to press even more heavily upon him.

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