Morgana appeared once more before the statue of herself, so faded and changed over time. Seeing the version of herself was slightly poetic, representative of how she felt.
She had lost count of how long she had been in Westeros. How many years had she been traversing this plane? Doomed to love and lose again and again.
She was not who she was when she first met Aegon. She had changed. The Wizarding war felt so far from her now. She was beginning to forget details of Hogwarts that were once carved into her memory.
What was the name of the Hufflepuff that sat next to her in Herbology? What was the first potion she made? What side of his forehead was Harry's scar?
She couldn't quite remember the correct blue of the Ravenclaw ties, the smell of butterbeer, or the feeling of the quaffle in her hand.
The vividness of her youthful memories had faded just like the statue before her.
Her magic had changed. She couldn't remember the last time she needed to use her wand. She was so intuned to the world around her that she could feel all of her Dragon bond. Some were muted, one was alive and well, but fading slightly, and one... well one was just formed.
"A new bond?" Morgana whispered to herself.
She could feel Aerys, but there was another as well.
She disapparated following the bond wherever it may go.
Rhaegar Targaryen was many things.
Heir to the Iron Throne, Prince of Dragon Stone, a warrior, a poet, a kind soul. But he was also an unyielding romantic.
For years he had read the journals of old kings, he had listened to his father's crazed ramblings, he had absorbed each of his mother's whispered tales. He knew since he was a boy that the beautiful woman in the paintings hung around Maegor's Keep would one day be the love of his life.
He would sing songs to her statue and try to imagine how her voice would sound in accompaniment. He would dream of taking her hand and dancing at a grand feast. He tried to guess exactly how the dragon bond would feel.
Some described it as an insatiable hunger.
Some as a slow-burning in your veins that consumed you in passions so completely you lost yourself in your love for her.
The only thing consistent is that every king admitted that words could not do justice to the feeling of being loved by the dragon witch.
He once wrote a song about how he would one day love her. His father heard him singing and became so enraged he smashed the harp and threatened to kill Rhaegar. His father's madness peaked when one subject came into play: The dragon witch.
If anything that only spurred Rhaegar on more.
He too desired to love someone to the point of madness. There was a poetic morbid beauty to a love so true that losing it was like losing one's self.
When he was named Prince of Dragon Stone he found a secret room within its warded walls. The room held statues and paintings of her more provocative likeness. He had certainly spent a lot of time in that room. The innocent love fantasy turned into that insatiable hunger to taste her as he got older.
He hadn't even met her, but he felt he had loved her his entire life.
He sat among the flowers, playing his harp and singing so lovely. His High Valyrian floated through the warm summer air to the tune of the breeze-shaken leaves. He sang of her, the love he had yet to meet.
He had just reached the chorus when the breeze seemed to change. Someone came and sat at his side beneath the great weirwood tree. He continued to play as he looked towards the intruder only for his voice to catch in his throat.
All those sleepless dreams, all those lust-stained fantasies, all those poems and journals, all those masterfully crafted paintings. None of it prepared him well enough to be so thoroughly consumed at a single glance.
There she was, smiling softly at him. Her silver eyes cut through him like a blade.
He remembered his father killing three separate artists for failing to correctly capture her eyes. No paint had ever been mixed to the right shade. He had thought his father mad, but he understood now. Those paintings he had drooled over his entire life were nothing but cheap imitations. What he once thought beautiful now looked horribly plain in comparison.
He knew her the moment he saw her.
After all, he had seen her a thousand times in his mind.
"You play beautifully." Her quiet angelic voice stopped his heart in his chest. It was breathier than he imagined, more posh and cold.
He had always pictured her playful and smirking, but she was subdued, charmingly awkward. She fiddled with her rings, looking at him like he hung the stars.
"You are the dragon witch..." Rhaegar said dumbly. He had never been at a loss for words before. His poet's heart would never allow for him to fumble with cliches but lost in her eyes he couldn't find the words.
"I am the Lady Morgana Slytherin... I have gone by many names." Morgana nodded. She looked at his harp again, "It was a beautiful song."
"I wrote it for you," Rhaegar admitted.
"Then I have been here before? I'm sorry this is my first time meeting you. Time magic works in-" Morgana was cut off as Rhaegar took her fidgeting hand in his own.
"No... No, it is my first time meeting you outside of my dreams." Rhaegar smiled, feeling the electric fire shoot up his arm from where their hands were intertwined.
"You... You are Rhaegar Targaryen... You make quite the legacy for yourself..." Morgana said, still incapable of the art of subtlety.
"You are Lady Morgana Slytherin. The Dragon Witch. The Kingmaker... You too have made quite the legacy for yourself... What a pair we are, eh?" Rhaegar couldn't keep the smile from blooming on his face.
The Dragon bond felt indescribable. Every part of him was alive with new passions he could never hope to write down or explain to someone else. The only other person who could hope to understand was the mad father who despised him.
After feeling the bond firsthand, he couldn't completely flat his father. He too despised the idea of his future air being the object of her momentary admiration.
He placed his harp on the ground inching closer to her. He wanted to know what else exceeded his expectations. Without warning he lunged placing his lips on hers. She pulled back in shock staring at him for a moment, before seeming to decide something.
She leaned forward, kissing him with as much passion as she did the others.
They were moving fast, even faster than her other relations. The bond usually insisted on a quick progression but all of them got to at least five sentences each before trying to jump her bones.
The familiar fire ignited within her. She knew it wouldn't be long until the lust and jealousy followed. The sound of someone clearing her throat broke them from the enchantment. They both came back for air, turning to see the lovely Dornish princess eyeing them both.
"Elia... I'd like you to meet-" Rhaegar was cut off by his betrothed.
"I know who she is. I've seen the portraits... The king summons us... You might wish to bring your prize." Elia didn't seem particularly jealous so much as annoyed by their debauchery.
Rhaegar stood, refusing to let go of Morgana's hand as he helped her up, "We have much to discuss... So much..."
Morgana glanced down at her arms, noticing the marks were still a light grey," We have time. Let's go see Aerys."
"I fear he is not as you remember him, my lady love," Rhaegar warned, cringing at the thought of his father's decrepit form and madness.
Morgana paid him no mind following Princess Elia toward the throne room.
Rhaegar peppered her with a dozen questions as they walked, hanging on her every word that poured from her sweet lips. Morgana eyed the frankly obsessive number of paintings and statues in her likeness. Her previous lovers always had one or two in their private quarters but to save their wives the pain, they were often more discrete. This was a shrine to her covering every wall in the keep.
She could feel the eyes of every stiff postured guard watching her. No doubt they knew her likeness by now, she thought passing by yet another painting of herself.
The doors began to open and they were announced, "Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragon Stone and heir to the iron throne and his fiance Princess Elia of house Martell... and... Their guest...t-the lady Morgana Slytherin."
She could practically feel the air change as Rhaegar's hand tightened around hers.
"MORGANA!" Aerys roared with maddened glee as he stood.
Morgana eyed him for a moment, "You look like shit, Rys." The mad king laughed, ignoring his bleeding arms as he threw himself off the iron throne that cut him. He stumbled towards her only to stop when Rhaegar subconsciously pushed Morgana behind him.
The mad king stopped, eyeing Rhaegar's stance. Wrath coated the king's once handsome face, "What do you think you're doing... boy."
"She isn't yours anymore." Rhaegar hissed.
Quiet gasps sounded from every corner of the room. Elia's hands began to shake as she watched the scene unfold. Rhaegar had made an enormous mistake...
"Step aside, boy. Or burn." An inhuman growl erupted from deep within Aerys' chest.
The same noise resounded from Rhaegar's chest. If he wasn't so lost in his jealous rage he too would have been baffled by the bizarre bodily response.
"She was mine before you were born. She will be mine long after her little dalliance with you." His violet eyes were alight with rage, though this was the most lucid he had appeared in years.
"You had your time. You married mother. Morgana is mine now." Rhaegar snarled, keeping her behind him.
Morgana watched in confusion, glancing over to Elia who looked wildly uncomfortable. She peaked her head around Rhaegar's broad back, looking at Aerys who was practically frothing at the mouth like a snarling dragon.
"Hey-um... I'm kind of tired... Could we do this later?" Morgana asked, seeming to snap them both out of it.
"Of course, my darling. The Dornish whore will escort you to your chambers... They are just as you left them." Aerys smiled uncharacteristically as Morgana nodded, following Elia back out of the throne room.
A longsuffering sigh escaped Morgana involuntarily, "This is going to get really fucking annoying isn't it?"