These were moments Rhaegar would never get to know.
Standing on the shore somewhere on the coast of Essos, the sea breeze trailing its gentle fingers on his face– Getting rid of his ceremonial armor unceremoniously by sinking it into that very sea– Holding Rhaegar’s son in his arms, the boy small and warm and still so innocent– Lyanna’s sobs at night as she prayed for a way back home–
These were moments that belonged to Arthur, now. He did not ask for them, he often did not want them, but there was no one else to take them. No one but him, for he was all that remained of the Tower of Joy.
Just Arthur, and Lyanna, and the unnamed prince.
The prince is named eventually, when Lyanna throws her dreams of home to the warm wind and decides upon Brandon. “I may never return home,” she told Arthur. “But if my son is to be my home now, then I want him named something known to me. I want to name him after a home I know I shall never see again.”
There are sweet moments, moments that Arthur did not deserve. There was the soft touch of Lyanna’s hand on his arm, pulling him toward a cart of grapefruit– The sweetest wine he had ever tasted upon his lips– The feel of sand between his toes and water breaking over his feet– The prince’s first word, “mama”, said as he looked toward Lyanna; the word “papa” comes second, said as he looked toward Arthur. Neither had the heart, or desire, to correct him.
There are moments unkind, moments Arthur was sure he deserved. Taking up the sellsword’s call in order to support his charges felt like he was crushing his dignity underfoot– Being tossed about on a boat that took them from one city to the next, desperate to avoid Robert Baratheon’s gaze– An illness that overcame young Brandon, that sapped his strength for a fortnight before he found his health again– Lyanna’s sad, cold eyes fixed on him, wordlessly begging mercy from this life of wandering and sorrow, searching for more reasons to go on than a child that she had never asked for.
These are my vows, my lady, he told himself, as a reminder for himself. All my vows have done was make you suffer. I pray that changes one day.
It does change. In a moment, single moment, his vows could not find their way to his mind. It was a moment that Rhaegar knew, but a moment he could not have known the way Arthur knew it.
It was a kiss, a single kiss, shared after they had made their hands and lips sticky with the juice of blood oranges, shared well after the hour of the wolf, shared after Brandon had gone to bed.
It was a kiss, a single kiss, that ended before he could open his eyes and realize that this moment was one wholly undeserved, yet shamefully desired.
“I shall see you in the morning,” Lyanna had said afterward. Arthur, at a loss for words, nodded.
He would indeed see her in the morning, long hair loose over one shoulder as she and Rhaegar’s growing son shared a piece of bread and apricot jam on the beach. Arthur sat down beside them, and was offered a piece of bread and jam for himself, which he took from Lyanna’s hands with a thank you.
This was a moment Rhaegar would never know, and one Arthur would never wish to give to him.
