A Game of Thrones

Lying in a warm featherbed is King Rhaegar Targaryen, your father. He smiles at you and takes a deep breath.

“Jaehaerys. My son. I have something to tell you” He croaks wearily.

“What is it, father?” You ask, stepping closer to his bed.

“I want to give you some advice for when I pass away.” Rhaegar has a serious look on his face, and you know this advice will he important. “When you were born, you were second in line for the throne. Your half brother, Aegon, would have been King instead. Unfortunately, someone spread the rumour that I was dead at Robert Baratheon’s hand, and my wife, Elia, killed herself and her children in despair. In actual fact, Robert and I never met on the battlefield. Our armies fought and so did we, but we were never brought close enough together.”

“I know all of this, father” You say, having heard this story hundreds of times.

“That may be true, but I will tell it anyway, Jon.” He rarely uses the name your mother wanted you to have, but when he does it is always important to listen to what follows. “As I arrived back at King’s Landing, after we won the battle of the Trident, I found that my father had died in the same way Maegor the Cruel had, impaled on the iron throne. Jaime Lannister had been sent to guard the door, and did not see who killed my father. From then, I quickly took the crown and rushed down to Dorne, where your mother gave birth to you. I’m glad that I had her, because she’s helped me rule ever since I became king. Jon. Jaehaerys. That is my advice to you. Find someone to help you rule. Not just a Hand, but a Queen. I’m proud of you, J-” Rhaegar stops mid-sentence. His eyes close for a final time and his breathing stops as well. Rhaegar Targaryen has died.