The Spark that started a War

[Jokern]

Winter had come, as the Starks of Winterfell often said, and it had done so with a vengeance. The snow lay heavy on the roads as the 282nd year since Aegon's Conquest saw its beginning. The cold air made every breath look like smoke from the nostrils of a dragon, ready to unleash its fiery breath. While the chill and dark of the winter morning had descended stillness and silence over the world, the tranquility was broken by a group of riders racing over the white roads.

They were half a dozen men, clad in dark cloaks over their garments to protect from the freezing cold. Many were young, with a boldness that witnessed of a summer's child. However, their leader had been born in another type of hardship, with the flames as his baptism, and the shadow of Summerhall looming over his every step. Silver hair, deep indigo eyes, a prince who would one day inherit every parcel of land that lay before him. Yet all those riches paled in comparison to the prize that Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, sought at the end of this journey. A rose he sought, a blue rose of winter, whose sharp thorns had buried deep in the heart of this dragon.

It had been almost a year since the Tourney at Harrenhal, where Rhaegar and Lyanna had first met. So many things had happened since then, from the resignation of Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King, to the birth of his son Aegon, and the revelation that Elia would have no more children. His love for Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, had only grown over the year, writing countless songs for her - songs of joy, and of sorrow. There had been doubts, of course, over the course of action that he was venturing on. His friends had tried to dissuade him, to take his mind of things to more trivial matters. Some had jokingly said that they would lock him up in the Red Keep if he did not stop. Yet the words of his closest friends had given him no comfort, and so his torn mind had led him to the one place where he always found solace - his books and ancient scrolls. For days he had locked himself away in the library at Dragonstone, the only sign of life being the harp that played through the ancient Valyrian stronghold. Once Rhaegar had returned from his hermitage, haggard and pale, the prince had immediately sent word for his closest friends and companions to gather.

So here they found themselves, some of the most prominent and well-known knights in Westeros, riding alongside their prince on the winter roads of the Riverlands, a few leagues away from Harrenhal. Their quest known only to themselves, though only the Prince of Dragonstone himself knew the full truth. The dragon has three heads, Rhaegar silently told himself, a mantra that had kept him awake and focused for a long time. His gaze turned to the looming towers of Harrenhal, barely visible as dawn was on the horizon. Now he only hoped that Lyanna had been able to make it to their secret meeting place. He needed to see her, to look into her grey eyes once more, so cold yet full of warmth and life.

[Jokern]

It did not take long to reach the meeting place, but the riders stopped just short of it and hiding in the dark woods beside the road. From their hiding place they could see Lyanna Stark, riding atop a snow white horse. Rhaegar's visage softened at the sight of her, but his gaze drifted to the men around her. An armed guard, at least a dozen or so, of Northmen with the Stark wolf on their shields. That made their chances of success far lower than before, and the risk of doing so quietly was beyond reach now.

While they watched the opposing party from the shadows, one of them silently rode up besides the prince. Myles Mooton had served Rhaegar for years, first as his squire, now as his sworn sword. He could see how troubled the prince was, even in the darkness. After everything that they had been through, it was a constant in their friendship. A mind that tried to weigh in every possibility, that tried to see every consequence before it had happened. Myles put his hand on Rhaegar's shoulder, waking the dragon from his troubled mind.

"We've come this far, Rhaegar, do your legs shake now that the prize is right in front of you. She's waiting for you, all that is needed is to reach out and whisk her away. No matter what you do, we will ride with you."

A faint smile appeared on Rhaegar's lips, whose eyes turned around to look at the other men that had joined him on this quest. Their faces looked straight at him, carrying the same doubts as he did about this ordeal. However, in their eyes the Prince of Dragonstone saw a determination, telling him that they would ride with him to the ends of the earth and beyond. How lucky he felt to have such men to call friends. Steeling his own heart and pulling up his cloak, he turned and focused on the woman that was waiting for him.

"Let us go men, we have a maiden to save. No killing, only charge through and confuse them. Pull them off their horses if you have to. Then we ride like the wind south, without looking back. For Lyanna."

With the speech over, Rhaegar charged out of the trees with a speed that none had anticipated. Richard Lonmouth roared with laughter as he charged after his liege, closely followed by the others. Six men, led by a prince, riding through the winter snow to save a lady from her unwanted fate. Myles could not help but wonder what fairy tale would be written about this moment by the singers, as he tried to catch up to the prince.

[Gandalfus]

It had been but a week since the heads of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had been demanded by King Aerys as proof of Arryn's loyalty. A demand that Arryn had countered with his own; 'abdicate, for your rule is unjust'.

Though the charred corpse of Rickard Stark had been removed from the throne room almost immediately, the image was hard to cleanse. Though a grown man, the Lord of Winterfell had screamed like a child, his own son struggling to a similarly ignoble demise in trying to save him. 'Come out and die.' Brandon Stark had roared, his grievance bearing the weight of justice. Though that did not matter to Aerys, nor to Hightower. His duty was to serve, not to judge, and thus the White Bull remained utterly silent as the two were executed for the crimes of another.

Nestled deep within the Dornish Red Mountains was the Tower of Joy. Here, amidst sand and rock, Rhaegar had hidden himself and his mistress away, accompanied by the Kingsguard and a few sworn companions. From such a vantage point, they would spot a rider navigating his way over the dunes and crags upon horseback. Though clad in loose silks in the Rhoynish style, he was unmistakably Andal; an ivory coloured cloak trailing from his shoulders. Halting some distance away, Ser Gerold dismounted, moving up towards the lone spire upon foot.

[Jokern]

It did not take long for the White Bull to make it up the stairs of the small tower, and soon enough he was met by music that he would recognize immediately. The tunes of the Prince of Dragonstone's harp echoed through the Tower of Joy. The music was light and gently danced through the air, though every note was weighed down by a melancholy feeling. To Ser Gerold, it was probably reminded him of the library back in the Red Keep, where he had kept watch over the young Rhaegar until late at night, ever playing his harp by a candle.

Entering the room at the top of the tower, Gerold was greeted by the sight of Prince Rhaegar, Lyanna Stark and Ser Arhur Dayne, his fellow Kingsguard. The room was furnished with the basic and most necessary, though every piece made by the greatest artisans in the Seven Kingdoms. Both Ser Arthur and Lyanna sat in silence as the prince sat in a trance, his fingers moving instinctively over the harp strings. However, it all ended with the wrong note when the White Bull entered. Rhaegar looked up, smiling at a man he knew well.

"Ser Gerold, welcome, we did not expect you to come. You've come a far way from King's Landing, though I can't blame you for worrying over the crown prince disappearing. What brings you to the Red Mountains, has something happened in King's Landing?"

[Gandalfus]

Gerold bowed curtly, the solemn grimace he always wore only appearing more accentuated upon this occasion. Eyes aloof and grey, he acknowledged his sworn brother Ser Arthur and then the Lady Stark.

"Your Grace." He had never done this before; had to look a woman in the eyes and tell her that her father and brother lay dead, and that the other brother and her betrothed were both traitors. "I bring news from His Grace, who immediately requests your presence..." Ser Gerold paused, his wrinkled face straining. To fill the pause for thought, he quenched his thirst with a cup of water.

"I'm sorry, my lady Lyanna." Hightower said, suddenly, directly meeting her gaze. "Your brother, Lord Eddard, is now Lord of Winterfell."

[Pericles of Athens]

Her soft gray eyes visually winced at the older man's words. What.. She muttered under her breathe, hardly a whisper. After that there was a long pause, her eyes studying his, as if searching for a weakness. What did you just say? She reiterated, breaking the silence, her eyes grew wide as if she had not been listening. Eddard can't be lord of Winterfell, ser knight, my father is.. and even if something did happen, Brandon's to be lord. She seemed confident in that, though her hands were trembling.

[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Arthur winced a little. It was a blunt way to give such news. For all his finesse with a sword, the White Bull lacked a talent for gently breaking bad news.

For his part, Ser Arthur sat stroking a whetstone down a sword. Dawn sat in her scabbard, the magical meteorite blade never needed sharpened. Clad in Rhonyish silk, the heavily tanned Ser Arthur looked perfect in these surrounding. He was, after all, Dornish.

Still. The news was shocking. Ser Arthur suddenly felt like he knew what had happened to the Lord of Winterfell and his eldest son - no doubt they had fallen prey to the King's whims. He had to ask. He asked the question softly and quietly, but that made his voice seem all the louder.

"How did they die, Lord Commander?"

[Gandalfus]

Gerold met Ser Arthur's inquiry with a foreboding gaze and a long silence that would perhaps indicate the answer. What kind of man was he, to not stop such a monster? Remember your vows, Ser Gerold.

"A trial by combat. The king's chosen champion was... fire." The White Bull decided to neglect to mention the fate of Brandon. It had been a needless cruelty. "Your brother was executed as a result. They came looking for you, Your Grace." The Lord Commander cast a long look at the crown prince.

'Come out and die.' Brandon Stark had said. One injustice after another, compiled into a weighty list of crimes great and small. But it was not his place to judge.

[Pericles of Athens]

There was a long silence, as Lyanna fought back the tears. You bastard.. you ing animals! She cried, throwing her chair backward as she shot up into the upright position, making her way toward Gerold. He just wanted his daughter back! She cried frantically, as she began beating at the man's breastplate with her balled up fists. And you.. you let that monster burn him alive.. Two twin streams of tears rolled down her face. You let that monster murder my brother..

[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Arthur stood quietly and gently pulled Lady Stark off of the Lord Commander's breastplate. He gently pushed her into the Prince's arms. He looked at both Lady Stark and the Lord Commander. "We live to serve.

It was both comfort to Ser Gerold and a statement of the sad truth to Lady Lyanna.

[Gandalfus]

"I swore an oath." The ageing knight replied resolutely, though the words felt numb and meaningless as she banged her fists upon his chest in futility. "One that I cannot break, not for honour, not for gold, and not for love."

Ser Gerold then turned back towards the Crown Prince, a silent plea for reprieve in his gaze. "My Prince, His Grace wishes you to take command of the royal host, and has thus instructed me to fetch you. I am bound by my oath to compel you to return."

[Jokern]

It was all to much for the gentle soul of Rhaegar, who had enjoyed so much joy since he had run away with Lyanna. All of that came crashing down from Ser Gerold's words, leaving him empty and hollow. The prince wanted to be alone, to be left with his harp and his books for comfort so he could get his joy back. Yet what suddenly began to fill his body and soul was something else entirely, a feeling that he barely knew. It burned with a fire so intense he feared it would turn his heart to ash. Rhaegar was fearful of this fire that he knew lived within him, that lived inside all who bore his blood, his father who bathed in it. It was anger, but instead of destroying his heart, it gave it power and protection. Rhaegar felt his mind clearing, and he felt that he knew what had to be done.

The Prince of Dragonstone hugged his beloved, squeezing her tight and kissing her hair. He whispered gentle words to calm her down, even when his own heart screamed with primal fury. Rhaegar turned to the White Bull and the Sword of the Morning. The Kingsguard, the white cloaks that protected the Iron Throne. He would need them for what he had to do.

"You are both sworn to serve the Iron Throne, and I will not blame you for not stopping my father from committing this grotesque farce of a trial. I will follow his command and return to lead his host, for I bear the blame for it all. However, once I've won this war for him, I have no intention of laying down my arms. For too long has he ruled this realm with fear, paranoia and cruelty. For too long has he treated his own family with sadistic glee or jealous suspicion. I should have done this years ago, and I blame myself for not doing so sooner, but no one will stop me from freeing the realm from his tyranny. Gerold, Arthur, I will need your strength and wisdom if I am to succeed, so will you stand with me? Or must I consider you my enemies as well?"

[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Arthur stood quietly, his hand upon the hilt of the mighty Dawn. He unsheathed the blade in one easy movement. Placing hands on the pommel at either side of the hilt and letting the point dig into the stone of the floor, Arthur Dayne simply stood and regarded Rhaegar - his friend - for several long minutes. The Rhonyish silk looked strange coupled with the cloak the color of snow and Dawn pulsed with a strange white light.

For many moments, the Sword of the Morning regarded his Prince, his face blank. All his life, Ser Arthur had upheld his vows. While he loved the Prince as a friend and as a brother, he was asking him to shatter a life of oaths and chivalry. Thinking on it, his hands reached for the hilt of Dawn, almost unconsciously. Remembering himself, he returned his hands to their place on the pommel.

"I swore and oath to House Targaryen and to King Aerys. I cannot break it."

"And yet I did not swear an oath to allow men to be torched alive, to have a madman rip the Seven Kingdoms asunder."

Finally, after several minutes, Ser Arthur Dayne knelt and touched his head to the blade of Dawn. "Woe to the Usurpers and Woe to the Mad King."

[Gandalfus]

Hightower remained aloof, a gauntleted hand idly resting upon the pommel of his blade. Three kings had he served; Aegon was the kindest, Jaehaerys the wisest, and Aerys the maddest. Yet it did not matter who the king was, his name, his blood, his desires and vices. What mattered was the oath, the selfless devotion to an ideal. Oaths were meant to be difficult roads to tread, he had found. Many times, alone in the vast halls of the Red Keep but for Aerys, he had contemplated opening the wretch's throat and spilling his blood onto the barbed throne of the conqueror. It was red, like his own. The king had sliced himself upon that cruel chair enough for Ser Gerold to know that.

"I swore an oath to defend the King. To serve the king. No matter upon whose brow that crown rests, I cannot break that oath." The older man forlornly replied. Opposite him here stood the Prince and his sworn brother, in near silence. "I am not your enemy, Rhaegar. But if you wish to kill your father..." Ser Hightower swallowed. A whisper of wind climbed in from the window, causing his white cloak to gently flutter. "Then I must stand in your way."

[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Arthur sadly stood. He had soiled his own vows already, but a part of him had known that the White Bull never would. The Sword of the Morning spoke, feeling like every word shattered the peace of this place. "If that time must come,Lord Commander, then I shall be your foe."

An oath from Ser Dayne no longer meant much, but he hoped his Sworn Brother would understand.

[Gandalfus]

"You too swore an oath, Arthur. There are other ways to solve this." Gerold growled. It seemed Dayne's honour had abandoned him, that he would spill the blood of the King he was sworn to protect. To the seven hells with him.

[The Mad Skylord]

"Did we not sweat an oath to protect Prince Rhaegar? What will you do when King Aerys desires his death? You know well what he does to Queen Rhaella every night. Often have we stood together at the door ti their chambers - stood there as he raped her and brutally abused her. More than once it has fallen to us to make sure the Queen is not life threateningly harmed - after King Aerys has finished.

We have stood as he burned men alive for his sick and twisted pleasure. Watched them writhe on ropes or on stakes. The smell of burning flesh lingers in my nostrils. The screams of horror and agony echo in my ears. I still see flickering green flames as I sleep at night, see the tortured expressions of men and women and children who had done nothing to deserve such a punishment.

I am sworn to protect the King. Aerys Targaryen can no longer be called a king. He is an animal, traumatized by the light and acting on only his basest, most primal desires.

I can bear to watch no more people die for nothing, Gerold. If I must sully my honour to stop these atrocities, I shall. I can stand it no longer."

[Gandalfus]

"Then you're a better man than me." Ser Gerold grimaced, still not moving his hand from the pommel of his blade. Should he strike down Dayne now, and end this? He was sworn by oath to do so, yet hesitated visibly, not willing to strike down one who was remaining true in his own way. Rhaegar would be the king one day, after all. "Upon my honour and life, I swore to defend him."

[Jokern]

Rhaegar felt fear grip him as he watched the two men of the Kingsguard made ready to kill each other. By the gods, he thought, what monster have I unleashed. Before any of the two could argue anymore, the prince quickly stepped in between the two, stopping any further escalation of the conflict. The blame was on him, once again, and it was a horrible feeling. So this would be the power of a king, to divide those who had fought beside each other for years?

"Enough, I will not allow a battle with brother against brother. Both of you speak words of truth, and I cannot ignore that. Ser Gerold, you know as well as any man who has lived in the Red Keep the madness of my father, as well as his crimes that he has committed based on imaginary enemies. This cannot be allowed to continue. I swear upon my life to stop it, with or without you."

The Prince of Dragonstone turned to Arthur, his oldest and closest friend, the most loyal and noble of all. How lucky he was to count the man among his allies.

"Arthur, I'm afraid that Ser Gerold is right as well. You are a member of the Kingsguard, and I cannot ask of you to bar your sword against the man who is still King upon the Iron Throne. Nor can I make myself become a kinslayer, or I would be no better than Maegor the Cruel. There is a better way."

"What I ask of the Kingsguard is to protect my father and the dynasty that Aegon the Conqueror has built from his own madness, or else it will all turn to ash. I will win this war, but once I have I will call a great council of all the lords in the realm to determine my father's fate. He would never allow it, but I will not give him a choice. As much as we have grown apart over the years, he is still my flesh and blood, and I will do all I can to preserve his life. Will you stand by me then, when the Seven Kingdoms decides who shall wear the crown and sit the Iron Throne?"

[Pericles of Athens]

And what of my brother, what of Ned? Lyanna questioned, having retreated to a corner of the room. Will more Stark blood stain Targaryen hands.. will you bring your good-brothers head before this council? Her beautiful grey eyes were puffy and red from her crying, her cheeks stained with tears of untold sorrow. She thought of her stoic father's corpse roasted and smoking, of her sweet and handsome brother headless and marred.