A Prince of House Targaryen

A Dragon Prince

Rhaella Targaryen

Rhaegar was a shining, handsome prince on his seventeenth name day. She could not help tearing up just a little bit, watching him at his harp, long graceful fingers plucking each note, entire audience enraptured. Every mother prayed only for their son to grow into a fine man, healthy and wise and good. Rhaella's prayers had been answered most soundly.

All except for one.

Her eldest son still needed a wife.

Secretly, Rhaella was relieved that with Viserys, she had given a brother, not a sister-bride, to Rhaegar. She could not forget her wedding day those many years ago. Rhaegar, Rhaella was determined, would marry for love if Rhaella had to kill Aerys for it (she was not at all frightened; such a thought crossed her mind. Her children were her world).

However, Rhaegar had yet to love a woman. He never said so explicitly, but Rhaella knew from simply watching him. Day in and day out, that strange boy seemed to only have eyes for his harp and his books - and perhaps his lance occasionally, though even that was more out of duty than anything. There were countless pretty young ladies at court, and Rhaegar never once turned his head. Even a whore would have been acceptable, but her son remained like Baelor the Blessed reincarnate.

Aerys, meanwhile, sent men across the seas to pick a bride for their son, but moons and moons waxed by, and not a name left Aerys's lips. Rhaella wondered what game her brother was playing. Or was he just a petulant child picking through his plate?

Then Tywin Lannister asked to speak with Aerys alone at the tourney in Casterly Rock, and it all made sense.

Cersei Lannister was still young but already an exquisite little lioness. Her green eyes showed strong wit, much like Joanna's had. But of course, that was where the hand's plan was doomed before it started. Rhaella shook her head as she watched Tywin return to the feast, face livid. Lord Lannister, you dug your grave when you wed the lovely Joanna, thought Rhaella.

She was sorry it didn't work. She would have liked to have Cersei as a good daughter so that she and Joanna could truly be sisters - but Joanna had passed away already from the birth of her second boy, so perhaps all of it would have been moot.

Suddenly, Rhaella realized she couldn't sit back any longer. She had just witnessed Aerys throw away an excellent chance for their son's happiness over a jealousy feud. She would not let Aerys's stupidity risk her son's future a second time.

"I fear you are going about this the wrong way," she told the King one night. "Cersei Lannister... princesses in Essos... they may be beautiful, but they are not the blood of the dragon."

"Whose fault is it that?" Aerys spat. "Seventeen years since Rhaegar and not a single girl lived from your cunt."

Rhaella kept her voice calm. "Targaryens are not the only ones with the blood of the dragon."

Aerys raised his head, and Rhaella knew she had him.

The King announced Rhaegar's betrothal to Elia Martell of Dorne a fortnight later.

Elia's mother was no Joanna, but Rhaella had liked her nonetheless when she had been at court. Dancing black eyes, warm skin, and vibrant laughter. It could do well to thaw some of Rhaegar's melancholy, thought Rhaella. Even Aerys might appreciate the Dornish blunt humor and sharp tongue.

When Rhaella saw Elia Martell, however, she began to think if her meddling had been right, after all.

It was not that Rhaella didn't like Elia. On the contrary, she did at first glance. The young woman was slight-framed, hips just as narrow as Rhaella's own, and easily short of breath, but she had a certain unique charm. Her eyes were not emerald gems like the Lannister girl but deep-set, dark, and tilted at the corners. They were most striking on a soft heart-shaped face, and Rhaella was sure she did not imagine the hint of playful mischief behind the mask of courtesy. Rhaella also approved of the way Elia held herself- not an ounce of self-pity, but none of the arrogance Cersei had, either.