Many had considered him crazy, as paranoid as his father — a man utterly and completely consumed by the prophecies told centuries before his own birth.

He wished that was the only reason he had laid the crown of blue roses upon your lap after he had dismounted Arthur in the jousts. You, his Queen of Love and Beauty, and not his wife and the mother of his children, Elia.

The silence that had echoed that afternoon still filled his mind from time to time.

Rhaegar's actions had led to the divide between the Seven Kingdoms. Some wished for his head, much like your betrothed, Robert, and others stood by his side and claimed that what he did was out of devotion to his family.

Little did they know that he had admired you for longer than the tourney at Harrenhal had allowed him to. A dragon who could not rest until they had laid curled upon the wolf they decided to claim for their hoard.

The shadows of the three Kingsguard men patrolled the area outside the Tower of Joy — the safest place he could find to lay with you upon a bed of his own making, containing the love he had so delicately harbored for you over the years of silent affection that were only now returned.

His fingers wrapped around your hair as he stood behind you, eyes set over the lonely and deserted landscapes of the Dornish mountains, and he could not help but press his nose against the column of your neck.

"You're radiant," Rhaegar's voice was but a low murmur that had been whispered into your skin, his words a promise of eternal loyalty. Yet, he noticed your lack of enthusiasm, and worry crossed over his features.

He placed a palm over your stomach, feeling the growing bump — his child. The child of ice and fire, the prince that was promised.

"Tell me what bothers you, my love."