🐺 The Wolf thαt stole the Sun ☀️ || Elia Mαrtell ||
Stark!Reader • Tall!Reader • Rhaegar Targaryen knows about Elia Martell and the reader, along with Rhaegar not caring since he had Lyanna • Rhaenys and Aegon grow up believing Reader is the father )
Warnings: Canon-divergent violence, graphic violence, blood and gore, sword fighting, character injury, eye injury/eye loss, facial injury, broken bones, beheading/decapitation, death, murder, attempted murder, violence against the Reader, threats toward women and children, references to war/the Sack of King’s Landing, canon-typical brutality
Important Note: This is an AU divergence in which Elia Martell and her children are rescued before Gregor Clegane can assault and murder them. Elia’s canonical sexual assault is not depicted.
Let me know if ya'll want more 👀
King’s Landing was dying and the bells had not stopped their haunting tones.
They rang above the screams and splitting timber, above the thunder of armored horses and the crash of doors being kicked from their hinges. Smoke rolled between the narrow streets in great black ribbons, swallowing towers and choking alleyways while men wearing crimson cloaks butchered men who had worn the dragon on their breasts only hours before. Somewhere beyond the walls of the Red Keep, soldiers shouted that the city had fallen. Somewhere else, people were screaming the name of Tywin Lannister as though it were a curse.
You heard none of it clearly anymore.
There was only one thought left in your head.
You drove your sword through the throat of the man blocking the stairway and ripped it free before his body had finished collapsing. Blood ran over your gauntlet. Your cloak had been torn nearly in half, the grey wool blackened by soot and splattered red, and the direwolf stitched into the leather beneath it was barely recognizable.
You had ridden south so hard that your horse had nearly died beneath you, your hand petting his side as you realized you had arrived too late to save the city.
But you would not arrive too late for her.
The answering snarl came from somewhere ahead.
Not the terrified screaming of women or children.
You rounded the corner just in time to see a Lannister soldier thrown bodily against the stone wall.
Your direwolf was enormous even by the standards of the beasts whispered about in old Northern stories, a great monster with fur black as the night along and eyes the color of winter ice. Blood stained his muzzle. One dead soldier lay beneath his paws while another desperately crawled backward, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Varg did not pursue as the massive wolf looked at you.
Varg disappeared down the corridor.
You followed slipping off your steed, your hand petting the snout. "Go! I'll find you."
The horse nudged you then took off running, take out men on its way.
The Red Keep had never seemed so large.
You had walked these halls countless times before. You had stood in the throne room beside your father. You had drunk wine with Brandon and laughed until Ned threatened to leave you both behind. You had argued with Oberyn in the gardens, endured Doran’s quiet scrutiny in Sunspear, and spent countless stolen nights beneath these roofs with a Dornish princess who had never been yours to love.
Rhaegar had known, that had been the absurdity of it.The prince had known almost from the beginning.
There had never been some dramatic confrontation. No sword drawn beneath moonlight. No furious accusations about dishonor or treason.
Rhaegar had simply found you sitting beside Elia one evening, your fingers intertwined beneath a table, and looked at your hands.
Elia had answered quietly, “Oberyn always knows.”
Rhaegar had stared into his wine for several moments.
Then he had murmured, “Gods help you, Stark.”
That had been nearly the end of it.
Whatever affection Rhaegar possessed for Elia had never become the love she deserved. Their marriage had been political, courteous, occasionally tender, but distant. By then, Rhaegar’s thoughts had already begun turning toward prophecy, winter roses, and Lyanna Stark.
The irony had nearly driven you mad.
And somehow the four of you had become tangled inside the destruction of a dynasty.
You had warned Elia to leave.
When word came that Rhaegar had taken Lyanna, you had ridden to King’s Landing and nearly dragged Elia from the Red Keep yourself. But Aerys had refused to let her go. Rhaenys and Aegon were blood of the dragon. Hostages disguised as royal children.
Elia had touched your face that night.
“Go,” she had whispered. “Find your sister.”
“I am not leaving you here.”
“You cannot fight the entire Seven Kingdoms.”
“I can make a respectable attempt.”
Then she had kissed you and made you promise that if the city ever fell, you would come back.
And a Stark kept his word.
Another scream echoed through the corridor.
A child screamed immediately afterward.
Your blood froze. “Rhaenys!” You whispered as you ran
The door at the end of the passage stood open.
One belonged to a Kingsguard.
The other belonged to a Lannister man whose throat had been ripped open.
You nearly slipped on the blood as you entered, heart pounding in your chest. “Elia!”
You heard her before you saw her.
“Stay behind me!” Her voice was frantic.
Then came a growl so deep that it seemed to vibrate through the stones beneath your boots.
You entered the royal apartments and stopped.
Gregor Clegane stood across the chamber.
Even without his helm, he seemed less a man than some grotesque thing carved out of violence. Blood already covered his armor. His sword was in one hand. A sickening smile formed on his face as he clutched his sword.
Between him and Elia stood Varg.
The direwolf’s fur had risen along his spine until he seemed twice his already monstrous size. His lips were peeled back from enormous teeth. Blood dripped from one fang, and every time Gregor shifted his weight, Varg moved with him.
Elia was pressed against the wall behind the wolf.
Baby Aegon was clutched against her chest.
Rhaenys was wrapped around her mother’s skirts, her little form trembling as she was the first to see you.
Her entire face crumpled. “Papa!”
Gregor glanced toward you.
That single distraction nearly cost him his arm.
Gregor swung his sword downward, but the direwolf twisted away with astonishing speed and snapped at his wrist. Steel scraped across the wolf’s shoulder rather than biting deeply, and Varg landed between Gregor and the children again.
The direwolf backed toward Elia without taking his eyes from Gregor.
Your sword lowered beside your thigh.
Recognition slowly appeared in his face. “The Stark.”
You stepped farther into the room. “The Mountain.”
Gregor smiled, there was nothing human in it.
“Thought you Northern dogs were fighting somewhere else.”
“I was.” Your eyes flicked toward Elia.
There was already blood on your armor. A cut crossed your cheek. Your left shoulder had been struck badly enough that every movement sent pain down your arm.
“Elia,” you said quietly, never looking away from Gregor, “take the children and go.”
Gregor shifted, calculating
The direwolf’s ears flattened.
A soft whine came from him.
You finally looked at your oldest friend. “Protect them.”
That he understood, Varg backed toward Elia.Rhaenys immediately grabbed a fistful of his fur.
Elia stared at you. "No.”
Elia shook her head fiercely. “I am not leaving you.”
“You are leaving with our children.”
Something changed in her face.
Gregor noticed it.His expression twisted with ugly amusement, teeth showing. "Our?"
You turned your sword in your hand.
Gregor laughed. “The dragon prince’s little Dornish whore has herself a wolf.”
You moved before Elia could answer.
Your blade crashed against Gregor’s.
The force nearly tore your shoulder from its socket.
Gregor was impossibly strong.
You had fought large men before. You had sparred with Robert Baratheon, who could swing a warhammer most men could scarcely lift. You had fought beside Northmen built like oak trees.
He did not fight like a knight.
He fought like an executioner.
His sword came down again.You caught it, your knees nearly buckled. “Elia!”
Varg moved with her, keeping his body between the children and the fighting men as she hurried toward the doorway.
Rhaenys fought her. “No! Papa!”
Your heart nearly broke. “Go with your mother, little sun!”
Gregor shoved you backward.
Your spine slammed against a table hard enough to splinter it.
Varg barked sharply and pushed his enormous head against Elia’s side.
Gregor turned toward them.
You drove your sword through the gap beneath his arm.
Gregor roared.He struck you across the face with his armored fist.
The world exploded white as you crashed to the floor and something warm flooded your mouth.You spat out blood and rolled as Gregor’s sword smashed into the stone where your skull had been.
You felt something crack beneath your ribs as your body hit the wall.
You dragged yourself upright.
“You should’ve stayed down,” he growled.
You wiped blood from your mouth. “You should have stayed in whatever fucking hole spawned you.”
He charged, you barely blocked him.
Steel shrieked against steel.
Every strike drove you backward.
You had speed, Training and Discipline.
Gregor had strength that bordered on monstrous.
You ducked beneath one swing and slashed across his thigh.
You drove your shoulder into him.
His elbow crashed down between your shoulder blades.
His boot struck your ribs.
Your sword skittered away.
Gregor grabbed you by the collar and hauled you upward. “You came all this way for that whore?”
You drove your forehead into his nose.
Gregor released you with a roar.
You lunged for your sword.
You turned but it was not quick enough, there was pain.
A blinding, impossible burst of agony tore through the left side of your face.
You screamed as your hand flew to your eye.Blood poured between your fingers.
For several horrible seconds, you could not understand what had happened.
Then you opened your left eye.
Nothing.Their was Nothing.
Gregor was laughing. “You northern cunts aren’t so pretty with half a face.”
You dropped to one knee as blood ran down your cheek while sword lay several feet away.
Gregor approached slowly. "I'm going to take your woman in front of you."
You heard Rhaenys screaming somewhere down the corridor.
"I'm going to kill her, in front of you."
"Then I will kill those brats."
You thought of her tiny hand gripping your finger when she had learned to walk.
You thought of Aegon sleeping against your chest.
You thought of Elia beneath orange blossoms in Sunspear, laughing because you had complained that Dorne was too bloody hot.
You thought of every promise that had brought you here.
Gritting your teeth, you hardened yourself as you grabbed the dagger at your belt.
You threw yourself sideways.
You drove the dagger through the back of Gregor’s knee.
He roared as you ripped it sideways.
Gregor collapsed onto one leg while you scrambled for your sword as his hand caught your ankle.
You hit the floor.Gregor dragged you towards him while you twisted and kicked him directly in the broken nose.
His grip loosened, only for a moment, only for a chance for your fingers to close around your sword.
Gregor rose behind you as you turned and your blade went through his stomach.
Gregor stared down at you.
You stared back through one remaining eye and then you smiled, bloodied teeth in all.
Then you twisted the sword.
Gregor made a choking sound.
You pulled the blade free.
You struck the back of his knee.
The entire chamber seemed to shake beneath his weight.
You kicked him onto his back.
His blood spread beneath him.
You raised your sword with both hands. “This is for Elia Martell.”
Once. That is all it took to finally take the mountain down.
Gregor Clegane’s head rolled across the floor.
For several seconds, you simply stood there.
Then your sword fell from your hand.
Your palm pressed against the ruined side of your face.
You could hear shouting downstairs.
More soldiers were coming.You had minutes. Perhaps less.
You grabbed Gregor’s head by the hair.
You weren’t entirely certain why.
Maybe because Oberyn would appreciate it.
That thought almost made you laugh.
Instead, you staggered into the corridor carrying the severed head of the Mountain.
Elia was waiting, of course she was. She had made it only as far as the stairway.
Varg stood before her, bloodied and furious. Rhaenys was crying into the wolf’s fur. Aegon screamed against Elia’s chest.
Then at the head in your hand.
Then at the blood pouring down your face.
Her expression shattered. “Oh, gods.”
You dropped Gregor’s head.
Elia ran to you as her free hand caught your face.
Her fingers immediately pulled away, your blood coated them. “Your eye.”
Even with the city burning around you.
She looked ready to strike you. “You insufferable northern bastard.”
Elia made a broken sound somewhere between laughter and sobbing.
Her bloodied hand gripped the back of your neck while Aegon wailed between you.When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours.
“I thought he killed you.”
“Do not ever do that again.”
Elia immediately looked horrified for her actions of seemingly making it worse.
“Broken rib.” You smiled.
Rhaenys collided with your leg as you nearly toppled. “Papa!”
The little princess had both arms wrapped around your thigh.
You sank to your knees despite every protest from your body.
Rhaenys threw herself into your arms as you held her.She buried her face against your neck and sobbed. “I thought the big man killed you.”
You closed your remaining eye. “No.”
Elia made an incredulous sound.
You kissed Rhaenys’s temple. “Look at me, little sun.”
She pulled back, her dark eyes were swollen from crying.
You touched her cheek. “I need you to be very brave for me.”
She sniffled. “Like a wolf?”
You smiled. “Like a wolf.”
Elia shifted Aegon toward you without thinking.
You took him.The baby stopped screaming almost immediately.His tiny fist caught in the ruined collar of your armor.
Aegon Targaryen.Rhaegar’s son.
The realm would always know that.
But children understood fatherhood differently than maesters did.
Aegon would never remember Rhaegar holding him.
Rhaenys barely remembered him at all.
You were the man who had carried her through gardens on your shoulders.
You were the man who had sat beside her bed when storms frightened her.
You were the man she called Papa.
And when Aegon grew old enough to speak, he would copy his sister.
Neither child would ever think to question it.
Blood could argue with them if it wished and you didn’t particularly care.
Varg suddenly growled as boots thundered somewhere below.
Elia looked toward the stairs. “We’re trapped.”
“No.” You adjusted Aegon against your chest. “I didn’t come through the main gates.”
She knew that expression. “Oh no.”
“Remember the old tunnel beneath Maegor’s Holdfast?”
Her eyes widened. “You found it?”
“I don’t know whether that comforts or terrifies me.”
“Both is probably sensible.”
You took Rhaenys’s hand, Elia caught your arm.
She stared at you for a long moment. “Where are we going?”
“North first.” Your expression hardened. “Then Dorne.”
You looked toward the smoke-blackened window, your lips pulling into a thin line. “Rhaegar made his choice.”You looked back at Elia as your gaze softened. “So did Lyanna.” Then you looked at the children. “And I made mine.”
You squeezed her hand. “You.”
Her fingers tightened around yours. “You chose me.”
The shouting grew louder.
The direwolf moved ahead.Rhaenys hurried beside him with one hand buried in his fur.
Elia stayed against your side, keeping you upright.
And behind you, Gregor Clegane’s severed head remained on the stones of the Red Keep.
By dawn, the realm believed Elia Martell and her children were dead.
By midday, men whispered that the Mountain had been found headless.
By sunset, rumors spread that a wounded Stark had been seen riding south with a Dornish princess, two children, and a direwolf large enough to tear a man apart.
Years later, singers would change the story.
Some would claim you slew twenty men before reaching Elia.
Others would insist Varg killed fifty.
Oberyn Martell would personally encourage the version in which you carried Gregor Clegane’s head all the way to Sunspear and dropped it onto Doran’s breakfast table, despite Doran repeatedly insisting this had absolutely not happened.
The songs would call Rhaenys and Aegon dragons raised by wolves.
But the children themselves never cared much for songs.
Rhaenys remembered only fragments of that night—the smoke, her mother’s trembling hands, Varg’s fur beneath her fingers, and the moment you appeared through the doorway.
Aegon remembered nothing.To him, there had simply always been you.
When he fell from his pony, he ran to you.
When Rhaenys had nightmares, she crawled into your bed and wedged herself between you and Elia.
When Aegon first picked up a wooden sword, he announced that he intended to become “a wolf knight like Papa.”
Rhaenys corrected him immediately. “Papa isn’t a knight.”
“Because Papa says knights are southern nonsense.”
You nearly choked on your wine.
Elia slowly turned toward you across the table.
You suddenly became extremely interested in your plate.
And years after King’s Landing burned, when someone foolishly explained to Aegon that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had been his true father, the boy merely stared at them in confusion.
The lord attempted to explain bloodlines.
Aegon became increasingly annoyed.
Finally, Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “Rhaegar was our father by blood.”
Aegon looked at his sister.
You stood several yards away beneath the Dornish sun, taller than nearly every man in the courtyard, an eyepatch covering the scar Gregor Clegane had left behind. Varg, older now, silver spreading across his muzzle slept beneath the shade beside you.
Aegon considered this then shrugged. “Oh.”
The lord brightened, believing the boy finally understood.
Aegon pointed at you. “But that’s Papa.”
Rhaenys nodded as though this were painfully obvious. “Yes.”
The lord opened his mouth.
Rhaenys narrowed her eyes.
Elia laughed so hard she had to turn away.
You looked at the two children you had crossed a burning city to save, then at the woman beside you whose hand slipped naturally into yours.
The Seven Kingdoms could write whatever names they pleased into their histories.
Rhaegar Targaryen could remain beside Rhaenys and Aegon in every book of royal genealogy until the end of time.
But history had not held Rhaenys while King’s Landing burned.
History had not carried Aegon out of the Red Keep.
History had not lost an eye for them.
And as far as Rhaenys and Aegon were concerned, that settled the matter.
And when the Mountain had come for your family, a wolf had gotten there first.
