maybe human is not such a bad thing to be

Rhaegar Targaryen has been named his father's regent, and plans on starting his regency with a royal procession through the Seven Kingdoms. With the Defiance of Duskendale still fresh in everyone's mind, the Silver Prince finds now is the opportune time to introduce the realm to a new dragon in an attempt to heal the divide between the Crown and its subjects, both highborn and lowborn alike. That he has to find a wife is the least of his worries, instead focusing on strengthening the kingdom for the threats to come.

In the farthest reaches of Westeros, Lyanna Stark enjoys her last days of freedom as the looming threat of marriage grows bigger and bigger. With news that a royal procession will be making its way to Winterfell in a few moons' time, Lyanna views the upcoming pomp and circumstance as one last hoorah before she is forced away from the only home she's ever known for the sake of duty and honor.

As a wild girl and a melancholic boy meet, their world changes. For theirs is the song of ice and fire

prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen

He did not notice how Rickard Stark watched their entire interaction intently, nor did he hear a bench scrape along the stone floor as his cousin abruptly stood up in a fury. Rhaegar did not notice the look Brandon gave him or the look he shared with his only sister. Rhaegar ignored the din of whispers traveling across the hall as the prince led their beloved lady to a line with the other dancers. He only focused on the feel of her hand, so small and cold, between his; he wondered if his callouses bothered her, if she minded the way he swiped his thumb in soft circles on the top of her hand. He wanted to know more than anything what thoughts crossed her mind as they moved in tandem to the soft swells of fiddles and harps.

The dance was southron, no doubt chosen with him in mind, but more sorrowful than normally played at festivities. Rhaegar found it suited the situation. There was power behind the emotions created and evoked by the bards, a power that matched the pull he felt to this woman he barely knew but could not get enough of. He relished in the feel of her in his hands as he guided them expertly throughout the other couples who braved to join them. His hand splayed out across the small of her back, his long fingers touching either side of her; he brought her as close as he dared, thrilled she did nothing to widen the gap between their bodies.

Rhaegar did not think it possible to be so invigorated because of a dance, but Lyanna Stark changed that for him. It was all about the right partner, the one who would undoubtedly heighten the shared experience. Neither of them spoke, content to let the heavy silence cover them the longer they stood close. It was too fragile, too new, this thing forming between them. Words had the potential to destroy it, and neither of them dared to risk it. The large amber drew his attention to her neck; he imagined gently unclasping the heavy stone and exposing the smooth, unblemished skin beneath. His eyes flickered to her mouth as he thought of placing feather light kisses to her neck.

Their shared silence permeated the atmosphere, shifting the mood with them for one brief second. The last notes of the dance floated in the night air before disappearing with the wind. No one dared breathe, aware that something poignant was shared between the couple dancing at the center. The importance of that moment would not be understood for decades to come, but people would look back at the first dance shared between the dragon prince and the wolf maiden as when they were set upon the path of their destinies.

Lyanna smiled brightly at him, easing the tension between them. Soon the sound of applause threatened to deafen him and people crowded around him and Lyanna. Hands clamped on his shoulders, but Rhaegar could only feel the absence of her in his hands. There was a warmth that was cruelly ripped away from him; now aware of what he was missing, there was no way he would be able to part with it so easily. His arm lifted, fingers hesitantly brushing the edges of her long hair.

Her smile was much sweeter this time, soft edges dressed in pink and meant only for him. Rhaegar’s heart caught in his throat and he smiled dumbly at her, his words lost to him for perhaps the first time in his life. He knew Oswell and Arthur were sharing a laugh at his expense somewhere in the crowd.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” she said, bunching her skirts into a fist as she tilted her head towards the table. She said nothing else, only turning away and walking towards her table without sparing a glance to see if he had caught on. Rhaegar’s long strides allowed him to catch up with her quickly, skimming the soft satin of her dress. He noticed the edge of a ribbon peeking out from the thick curtain of her hair; he flexed his hand at his side, not daring to touch her so familiarly despite thinking of doing precisely that.

i have a flight tomorrow and i’m feeling anxious about it 🫠

from the time i was 7 till i was 23 i flew every single summer to california, it’s something i’ve done probably hundreds of times but idk now that im a bit older i really dislike it. i started getting really awful motion sickness at 24 which is part of why i dislike flying. the other part is how TINY the seats are now, like just insanely cramped. it’s already a claustrophobic experience and it’s been made worse

at least it’s only a 2.5 hour flight, i have dramamine and hoping i pass out during