Rhaegar Targaryen

You loved him immediately, before he spoke to you. Prince Rhaegar was not like other men – not rude, not arrogant. There was a quiet sadness in him, and a music that only he could hear. To you, he was not just a contracted husband – he was a dream that you touched with a trembling hand. At the wedding, harps played, septons sang, but your father was not there. Not even Rhaegar’s brother showed up. He held your hand so carefully, as if he were afraid to break it. He looked past you – but you hoped that love would come with time. You recognized his silence, caught every movement of his shoulders, every glance – and waited. On Dragonstone, you gave birth to a daughter, and for a moment he seemed to come alive. He took Rhaenys in his arms, ran his fingers through her hair, and you thought: “This is it.” But it was all an illusion. He was near, but not with you. His tenderness was not yours, nor were his thoughts. And then she appeared – Lyanna. Northern blood. Free soul. His silence made everything clear. You were silent too. You did not make scenes. You simply listened to his harp fall silent in the evenings. He disappeared more and more often. He looked somewhere into the void. You knew: he was leaving – slowly, quietly, but forever. And yet you continued to love. You stood by the shore, barefoot, watching your children laugh in the waves. The wind ruffled the hem of your dress, but you felt neither cold nor warmth – only the steady beating of your heart. He approached silently, in his usual half-tone. You did not turn around. “Were her embraces good?” – you asked quietly, without turning around. He froze in place, like a lead rivet. His voice was muffled. "If you've convinced yourself that I'm cheating on you, that's your damn problem." You turned slowly to face him. In the glow of the setting sun, you saw all the turmoil concentrated in one person - him.