The Son of Ice and Fire (Jon Snow SI)

"Do you know who did it?" Brandon asked, his voice edged with frustration.

Maekar looked at his uncle as he leaned back against the headboard, still visibly weak from the poisoning attempt. He had only woken up a day ago but was recovering quickly.

"Yes," Maekar replied, his voice steady despite his physical weakness.

"Who?" Jon Arryn pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Maekar pushed himself up from the bed, his muscles protesting. He didn't answer immediately, letting the silence stretch as his thoughts drifted.

"Who, Maekar?" Brandon repeated, his tone demanding. "When I get my hands on him..."

"It's her," Maekar interrupted, his voice carrying a dangerous calm. "It's a her, and she's not here now." He paused before adding, "And I will deal with her myself."

Brandon's face hardened, his gray eyes darkening as he clenched his jaw. "That's not enough," he snapped, his frustration flaring. "We can't let this go."

Maekar's response was resolute. "We have more important matters to discuss right now, Uncle."

Jon Arryn nodded, his concern tempered by his pragmatic nature. "The current state of things?" he prompted, turning his gaze fully to Maekar.

Maekar took a moment to steady himself. "Tell me everything."

Jon walked away from the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "The lords of the Vale, the Crownlands, and the North are gathered in the city. We followed you here after the incident at the tourney," Jon began. Brandon gave a brief nod, confirming Jon's words.

"What of my father?" Maekar asked, his voice lowering at the mention of Rhaegar.

Jon paused, his expression turning grim. "Your father still clings to life, but his condition is... precarious."

Maekar shut his eyes for a moment, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He clenched his fist before opening his eyes again.

Jon continued, his tone shifting. "Your brother has gone south—we believe to Highgarden. The lords who support him have returned to their respective lands as well."

Brandon's eyes met Maekar's. "It's begun, Maekar. They believe Rhaegar is dead. They're readying for war."

Maekar began to pace the room, his mind racing. He had thought there would be more time after the tourney ended, but he had not expected or planned for the events that had happened. Aegon had moved quickly, and Maekar knew he would have to improvise—accelerate the next steps of his plan.

Jon Arryn broke the silence, his voice steady but concerned. "With Rhaegar still alive, your brother's move makes him look like the one rebelling against the throne."

"Ha," Brandon chuckled at the idea.

"We are outnumbered on every front, Maekar," Jon said, glancing toward the window as if seeing the vast armies gathering beyond the horizon. "We cannot win in this state. And then there's the dragon to consider..." He hesitated.

Brandon laughed out loud at Jon's words, causing Jon to turn sharply toward him.

"This is a serious matter, Lord Stark," Jon said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Still grinning, Brandon looked to Maekar. "Jon, you needn't worry about that beast; it's on our side."

Jon's expression shifted to disbelief, his eyes narrowing. "You mean...?"

Maekar nodded, his gaze locking with Jon's. "Yes, Lord Arryn. The dragon is mine."

For a long moment, Jon stared at Maekar, trying to absorb the implications. He took a deep breath, the shock visible in the lines of his face. "Well..." he finally said, almost whispering, "that certainly changes things."

Maekar gave a curt nod, then turned his attention to both men, his gaze calculating. "Our first priority is the Riverlands. I have plans in motion to ensure the loyalty of the West as well."

Jon and Brandon exchanged looks. "How do you intend to accomplish that?" Jon asked.

Maekar hesitated, his eyes betraying a flash of uncertainty. He did not speak for some time.

He then said slowly, "I'll tell you both more of my plans tomorrow. Right now... there's something I need to do first."

As he was about to dismiss them, he heard voices murmuring just beyond the door. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew who it was and she sounded angry. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. He hadn't expected this confrontation to happen so soon, but perhaps it was inevitable.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Daenerys almost ran in, her steps hurried, her presence radiating fury. Maekar could see the red lines beneath her eyes—traces of tears shed. She looked angry, her eyes ablaze, yet heartbreak was etched across her features.

She had never looked at him like this before.

She stopped abruptly upon seeing Brandon Stark and Jon Arryn still in the room. An awkward silence followed as her eyes moved from Maekar to the others, her jaw tightening.

Maekar turned to his uncle and Jon. "Please, my lords," he said quietly, his voice calm. "Give us some privacy."

Jon gave a curt nod, his gaze lingering on Daenerys for a brief moment before he exited the room, Brandon following. Brandon shot Maekar a knowing glance, mouthing "Good luck" with a wink. Maekar simply shook his head. He knew this was going to be anything but easy.

"Daenerys," he said softly, turning to face her.

"Is it true?" Daenerys asked, her voice cold—colder than he'd ever heard it. There was a rawness to her tone. "Is it true?" she repeated.

Maekar swallowed. There was no point in lying, no point in evading it now. He nodded. "Yes," he said bluntly, not flinching from her gaze.

Her expression seemed to break at that simple word. Shock and heartbreak played across her face, and for a long moment, she was silent, as if trying to find words that simply wouldn't come.

Suddenly, she moved, her eyes locking onto the first object she could grab—a small vase sitting on a nearby table. Before Maekar had time to react, she picked it up and hurled it at him, her anger exploding into action.

"No!" she screamed, her voice trembling with fury. "No, you liar!" The vase shattered against the wall behind him as Maekar quickly ducked, his heart racing.

"Daenerys—" Maekar began, trying to approach her, but she was already reaching for the next thing—a goblet of wine. She threw it without hesitation, the red liquid spilling mid-air, splattering across the room as it narrowly missed his shoulder.

"Don't call me that!" she screamed.

"Stop!" Maekar pleaded, moving around the room as she picked up anything she could get her hands on. "Daenerys, enough! No, not that!" he said, wincing as she grabbed a candlestick and threw it toward him. He dodged, and it clattered to the floor, rolling away.

"You promised me!" she cried, her voice cracking. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but they were filled with anger. Her hands trembled as she grabbed yet another item—a cushion this time—throwing it with all her strength, though it only bounced harmlessly off his chest. "You lied to me! You're a liar, a cheat, Maekar!"

He put his hands up, trying to calm her. "Daenerys, please," he said, his voice softer now. "Please, listen to me."

She stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, her eyes wild, her chest heaving with each breath. Her anger seemed to falter. Tears began to spill down her cheeks, and she let out a choked sob, her fingers slowly uncurling as the next object slipped from her grip, dropping to the floor.

Maekar moved closer, but she stepped back, her gaze filled with distrust and pain. She looked at him as if seeing a stranger.

"You promised me," she whispered, her voice hoarse now. "You made me believe you loved me."

Maekar swallowed hard, his own eyes stinging. "I do love you, Daenerys," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "I love you more than anything. I swear, I never wanted to hurt you."

But Daenerys just shook her head, tears streaming down her face, and turned away, unable to look at him anymore.

"Daenerys..." Maekar began, taking a step toward her.

"No," she cut him off, her voice trembling with pain. "Why?" Her eyes searched his. "Why would you do this? Was I just a pawn to you? Just a body to be used for your pleasure? Why make me believe you loved me?"

Maekar's heart twisted at her words. "You don't understand—"

"Oh, I understand," she snapped, her anger boiling over again. Her hands were trembling, her voice rising as her control slipped. "I understand perfectly! You used me, lied to me!"

"No, you don't understand," Maekar's voice rose, cutting through her fury, his patience snapping. He stepped toward her, his eyes fierce. "I never faked anything with you. I love you, Daenerys. You are the only one I love."

She took a step back, her expression shifting between disbelief and anger. "Then why?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Why is Rhaenys claiming that you and she are to be married?" Her eyes bore into his, searching for an answer.

Maekar hesitated for a moment. "I need Rhaenys," he said, his voice steady though the words felt heavy. "I need her to win the war, to stabilize the realm. It's the only way to avoid years of bloodshed."

"You promised me," Daenerys whispered, her voice cracking.

"And I intend to keep that promise," Maekar replied, his tone softening as he took a step toward her.

She shook her head. "I will not be your mistress, Maekar," she said defiantly, her eyes glistening with tears.

Before he could respond, the door opened again. Maekar looked up to see Rhaenys entering, her expression one of irritation. "Maekar, I believe I've made a mistake—" she began, but halted abruptly upon seeing Daenerys standing there.

Daenerys turned, her eyes flashing with anger as she stared at Rhaenys. "This is your fault," she hissed, her words dripping with venom.

Before Maekar could react, Daenerys lunged, her fingers clawing toward Rhaenys. Rhaenys instinctively moved to defend herself, blocking Daenerys's attack. She struck back, her eyes widening in surprise at the ferocity of Daenerys's assault.

"Oh, gods," Maekar muttered, quickly stepping forward. He grabbed Daenerys, holding her back firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders as she struggled, her body twisting in his grasp.

"I did no such thing!" Rhaenys snapped, her face flushed as she tried to maintain her composure. "You're acting like a madwoman!"

"WHORE!" Daenerys shouted, her voice filled with hatred. She tried to wrench herself free, her fingers still reaching toward Rhaenys.

Rhaenys's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, I'm the Whore? Who's been Fucking Maekar all this time, me or you?" she shot back, her words as sharp as blades.

"YOU SCHEMING WHORE!" Daenerys screamed, her face contorted with rage.

"Enough!" Maekar's voice boomed through the room, startling them both into silence. He lifted Daenerys, her struggles ceasing as he moved her away, tossing her on the bed. She landed with a soft thud, her hair falling over her face as she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Maekar stepped between them, his face dark with anger as he glanced from one to the other. His chest heaved as he tried to regain his composure, his mind racing to find a way to defuse the situation. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Daenerys, his expression softening, his eyes filled with genuine regret.

"I'm sorry," he began, his voice low but earnest. "I wanted to tell you myself, but I was too much of a coward." He took a step closer, ignoring Rhaenys's piercing gaze. "I love you, Daenerys. Truly, I do. And I'm willing to do something that hasn't been done since Aegon the Conqueror to prove that love to you."

Daenerys looked away, her lips pressed into a tight line, tears still glistening on her cheeks. "I'd prefer not to share," she muttered, her voice trembling. Her fingers clutched the bedsheets, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"I would prefer that as well," Rhaenys interjected sharply, sarcasm lacing her words.

Daenerys shot her a withering glare, her eyes narrowing.

Maekar looked between them, feeling the tension tighten like a noose around his neck. "You both have no idea what's coming," he said, his voice gaining strength, frustration evident. "This war will be child's play compared to what's ahead. I need both of your support."

Daenerys and Rhaenys exchanged confused glances, his words casting a shadow over their quarrel.

Rhaenys finally spoke, her voice hesitant and tinged with disbelief. "Please, Maekar, don't tell me you're following in our father's madness..."

Maekar shook his head sharply. "Of all the things we can blame him for, that is not one of them." He paused, gathering his thoughts. He then turned back to Daenerys, stepping toward her.

She instinctively recoiled, but he gently reached out, helping her off the bed. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch firm yet tender, his thumb brushing against her cheek despite her resistance.

"Listen to me," he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers. "I love you. You are the first woman I've ever loved. You have my heart."

Daenerys's lips parted, her eyes searching his. The intensity of his gaze was almost overwhelming. She wanted to push him away, to scream, but his words—the sincerity in his voice—held her still.

"I may not love Rhaenys," he continued, casting a brief glance at her. "I may come to love her, or I may not. But you, Daenerys—you are the first woman I have loved, and that will never change."

Rhaenys gave a sarcastic huff, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, I'm just thrilled about our impending marriage," she said, her voice dripping with irony, though there was a faint tremor to her words.

Maekar ignored the barb, keeping his focus on Daenerys. He gazed deeply into her eyes. "I swear to both of you, I will not lie again. I will share all my secrets soon—everything I've kept hidden."

Daenerys stared at him, her heart pounding. It felt like an eternity before she gave a slow, reluctant nod.

Maekar released her gently, stepping back as she stood there, tears glistening in her eyes. An uncomfortable silence settled over them.

Clearing his throat, Maekar broke the silence. He turned to Rhaenys, his expression more composed. "Where is Tyene?" he asked.

Rhaenys, still visibly irritated, raised an eyebrow. "She left for Dorne, like all of my cousins."

Maekar didn't question further, but Rhaenys's expression suddenly shifted—her eyes widening with realization.

"No..." she whispered, shaking her head as her face paled. "She wouldn't... Tyene wouldn't..."

Maekar sighed, a faint, rueful smile touching his lips. "Tyene is the only one of your cousins I'm not particularly friendly with… But don't worry," he added, attempting to ease her concern, "we can address that matter later."

Rhaenys seemed to want to say more, her mouth opening slightly before she hesitated, closing it again. Her gaze shifted to Daenerys, who continued to glare at her.

Maekar took a deep breath, looking between the two women. He knew this wouldn't be resolved easily or soon, but they needed to find a way to work together.

"Talk," he finally said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You both need to talk. I have to go see Father."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. Behind him, he heard Daenerys let out a small, shuddering breath, and Rhaenys mumble something under her breath. He didn't look back.

.

.

.

As the door closed behind him, he found Oswell and Jaime standing nearby, engaged in hushed conversation. They looked up as he approached, their expressions guarded.

Oswell spoke first. "My prince, is everything...?"

Maekar sighed and nodded, his face betraying little of the turmoil within. "It's fine," he said briskly. He gestured for them to follow. "Come with me."

Oswell and Jaime exchanged a glance, uncertainty flickering between them, but they obeyed, falling into step behind Maekar as he led them down the dim corridors of Maegor's Holdfast.

After a few moments of silence, Maekar began to speak. "There are only four Kingsguard remaining."

"Five, my prince," Jaime corrected, though hesitation colored his tone. "Ser Gerold is still—"

Maekar shook his head, interrupting sharply. "Gerold is bedridden. He is of no use now." There was a finality in his voice that Jaime did not dare challenge.

Maekar paused, turning to face the two knights. The flickering torchlight accentuated the hard lines of his expression. "I know the Kingsguard are not blind to what's happening in the Seven Kingdoms. You both see the storm that is brewing."

The knights remained silent, but the conflict was evident on their faces. This was not a conversation they had ever anticipated, nor one they wished to have. The Kingsguard were sworn to the king—unquestioning loyalty was their creed. Yet the world around them was changing, lines were blurring, and blind obedience might not serve them well in the days ahead.

"The time is fast approaching when a choice will have to be made. I know Arthur and Ser Barristan are too bound by their oaths, too inflexible. But you two..." He let his words hang, studying their reactions. "I know you don't want to see another mad king on the throne."

Oswell swallowed hard.

Maekar stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "My father's time is short. Aegon has already left with the Tyrells. You know what that means."

Oswell finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "My prince, you mean...?"

Maekar nodded, his lips forming a thin line. "It means soon you will have to choose, whether you want to or not. And I hope you make the right choice, because I do not want to see either of you burned by dragonfire."

The last sentence struck them visibly. Jaime's eyes widened slightly, and Oswell's expression turned grim. They exchanged another uneasy look, but before either could respond, Maekar turned on his heel, continuing down the hallway, leaving the two Kingsguard standing there, motionless, uncertainty etched across their faces.

They did not follow him.

Maekar reached the door to his father's chambers, guarded by Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy. They stood tall, their eyes sharp, but Maekar did not pause to greet them. He pushed open the door, stepping inside without a word.

The chamber was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and sickness. A faint glow from a lantern cast flickering shadows across the stone walls. The bedchamber was filled with an eerie quiet, broken only by the ragged breathing of King Rhaegar. His father lay in the grand bed, his face gaunt, his eyes sunken and half-closed. His silver hair was disheveled, his pallor more that of a corpse than a king.

By the bedside stood Grand Maester Pycelle, his hands folded, his head bowed as he examined the frail figure of the king.

"Will he live?" Maekar asked, his tone flat, his gaze fixed on his father's weakened form.

Pycelle looked up, startled by the coldness in Maekar's voice. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "He will, my prince... for now. The fever has broken, but he remains very weak."

Maekar narrowed his eyes. "Have you told anyone yet?"

Pycelle shook his head, his frail hands trembling slightly. "No, my prince. Not yet."

Maekar took a deep breath, then gave Pycelle a tight, humorless smile. "Good. You will not speak of this until I allow it. Wait outside, Grand Maester. I will let you know when it's time to make your announcement in the throne room."

Pycelle nodded again. "As you command, my prince." He shuffled out of the room, the heavy door closing behind him.

Maekar's gaze returned to his father. He walked over and sat down beside him. Rhaegar stirred, his eyes fluttering open, struggling to focus.

"Maekar..." Rhaegar rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Son..."

"Father," Maekar said, leaning forward.

"The dragon... there was a dragon..." Rhaegar muttered, his eyes wide as if seeing something only he could.

"Yes, Father," Maekar confirmed, his voice steady. "There was a dragon."

A weak laugh escaped Rhaegar's lips, almost delirious yet filled with something resembling triumph. "It was all true," he murmured, a fleeting smile crossing his face. "I was right."

Maekar remained silent, watching his father with a mix of pity and disdain. How long had he chased these dreams, these prophecies? How much had he sacrificed, how many lives had been ruined because of his unrelenting obsession?

Rhaegar turned his head, his eyes unfocused, as if searching the ceiling for answers. "I must speak with Aegon... The dragon is for the Prince That Was Promised..." His voice grew more frantic, the words barely intelligible. "He must lead us. The cold ones... Azor Ahai... the Dawn... Aegon will lead us..."

His voice trailed off into incoherent murmurs. His breathing grew shallow and erratic. "If only she had given me Visenya... If only..."

Maekar's eyes sharpened at that. He leaned forward, his lips pressing into a thin, cold line. "What do you mean, Father?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Lyanna... my mother... What truly happened between you and her?"

Rhaegar's gaze wavered, turning away as if he could escape the question by avoiding his son's eyes. He hesitated, his voice quivering. "She was supposed... to give me Visenya," he whispered, his tone cracking with regret.

"And instead," Maekar said, his voice hardening, "you got me."

Rhaegar didn't answer. His eyes were wet, lost in some distant memory.

Maekar continued, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Father. Did you take her by force?"

Rhaegar still refused to look at him. Maekar's patience wore thin, and he pressed again, his voice rising, sharper this time. "Did you take her by force?"

The pause stretched unbearably, and finally, Rhaegar spoke, his words barely audible. "I had to... Elia couldn't... I needed... I thought of her bloodline..."

Maekar's breath caught, fury surging within him. He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before standing up. Taking a deep breath, he knelt beside his father, leaning close so Rhaegar could hear him clearly.

"The dragon is mine," Maekar whispered.

Rhaegar's eyes widened in shock, his lips moving but no sound coming out. "How...?" he managed to rasp.

Maekar's face remained expressionless as he spoke. "You were a terrible king. A horrible father, and an even worse person. The only good thing you did during your reign was bolster the Night's Watch. And that will help me when they come. I have to thank you for that."

"Help you?" Rhaegar wheezed, confusion clouding his features.

Maekar nodded. "You should have listened to your Hand, Father. He was right about me... I am going to take your throne."

Rhaegar's face twisted with horror, his eyes widening as he struggled to lift himself from the bed. "No..." he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Yes," Maekar affirmed, his face now inches from Rhaegar's. "I am going to take the throne, Father. Aegon is not fit to rule. He is not the Prince That Was Promised. He's nothing but a fool."

Rhaegar's body convulsed slightly as he tried to speak, but the effort was too much. "Aegon... Aegon will... no..." His voice broke, his breath rasping.

"Aegon will die... he will burn," Maekar stated, his words as cold and final as the winter winds of the North.

"No... no..." Rhaegar's eyes filled with panic, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Maekar laughed softly, the sound devoid of joy.

"Why?" Rhaegar croaked, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. "Why, son...?"

Maekar's gaze fell to the pillow beside Rhaegar's head. Without hesitation, he reached for it, his fingers curling around the soft fabric. He turned back to meet his father's terrified eyes, a small, almost sad smile playing on his lips.

"Well, Father," Maekar said, his voice almost gentle, "you know what they say about bastards..."

He laughed again, a hollow sound that echoed in the small room.

Rhaegar's eyes widened further, his body tensing, but he was too weak to resist.

"The realm will be in good hands," Maekar whispered softly. "I do this for its continued existence..."

He paused, a dark shadow passing over his face.

"And for my mother."

With those final words, Maekar pressed the pillow firmly over his father's face, leaning his weight into it. The room was engulfed in heavy silence, broken only by the muffled, desperate gasps of the dying king as he struggled for breath. Rhaegar's body convulsed beneath the pillow, his hands flailing weakly as he tried to grasp Maekar's arms. But his strength was fading, his movements growing feebler with each passing second.

Soon, Rhaegar's movements ceased, his hands falling away and dropping to his sides. His body shuddered one last time—a final, futile attempt to draw breath—and then he was still. An eerie silence settled over the room, the only sound the distant echo of Maekar's steady breathing.

Breathing heavily, Maekar placed the pillow back on the bed, looking down at his father's lifeless body, his expression unreadable. He reached out and gently closed Rhaegar's eyes.

He stood up, taking a deep breath, his face stoic. Turning toward the door, he called out, "Guards!"

Within moments, Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy burst into the room. Their eyes scanned the chamber before settling on Maekar, then shifting to the bed where Rhaegar lay motionless.

"My prince, what is it?" Arthur asked urgently, almost pleadingly, as though hoping whatever he was about to hear could be undone.

Maekar met Arthur's gaze, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "My father is dead."

Arthur took a step back, his face draining of color as the weight of those words hit him. He seemed to forget how to breathe for a moment, his gaze fixed on the body of his king and friend.

Beside him, Barristan Selmy fell to his knees, the clang of his armor echoing in the room. His lips moved in silent prayer, eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to hold back tears.

Maekar looked down at them both, his face a mask of cold resolve. He stepped forward, his voice ringing out in the small room, resonant and clear despite the emotionless tone.

"The king is dead," he declared, pausing for a breath.

"Long live the king."