Rhaegar
His son is dead, they told him in the council.
Rhaegar watched the faces of the men in his council for a long time, wondering if any of them would be bold enough to say more to him now. None of them did, but the words were there on their faces all the same. His councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. Aurane Waters does not give a fig, he thought, and Sunglass looks fit to gag.
"And?" Rhaegar insisted, silently daring the eunuch to present his reports in front of the council.
"The Dragonslayer opened his throat with his sword, my whisperer writes," Varys said looking down at the scroll at his hands. "He drove his blade through the prince's throat after seeking him out for single combat in the middle of the battlefield."
"How could this be?" Lord Rosby lamented. "Prince Aegon had a dragon with him. A dragon, powerful and fully grown."
"Where was the dragon?" Aurane Waters asked, curious.
"Brought down in the battle by the rebels the letter says," Varys told him, clasping his soft powdered hands together.
"This is madness," Rosby shuddered. "The dragons dead, our armies lost, only the gods could save us now."
"Can we be certain of these tidings?" Aurane Waters asked. "Perhaps this is a ruse and not written by the hands of any of our men. Prince Aegon was situated too strongly to lose the battle. He even had the Kingsguard with him."
"Ruse?" Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. "My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring ties to king and council?"
Aurane smirked lightly. "I am not calling you a traitor, my lord. Perhaps your missives are wrong or misinformed. Perhaps this is some ruse of the rebels."
"There is no reason to deceive us here," Varys said. "The talk of the battle is already spreading throughout the realm as we speak."
"What do we do now?" Lord Rosby asked again. "With princess Daenerys and her beast still lost and now this. Without Prince Aegon and his dragon we cannot hope to win the war."
"All is not lost as it seems, Lord Gyles," said Guncer Sunglass. "Prince Aegon had Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard with him along with Ser Myles Mooton and his men. What of them?"
"Ser Barristan was grievously injured in the battle and was taken prisoner," Varys informed. "Our good Ser Myles Mooton was slain by Lord Robert Baratheon while defending the prince and Ser Jonothor is listed among the fallen as well."
"And the Lord Hand?" Sunglass asked. "Lord Jon was in the Riverlands as well, was he not?"
"He was too far away to be of any assistance in the battle."
"We have to call him back," Rosby advised, coughing. "The city will be left woefully undefended should Andrew Stark make his way down upon us. Yes, Lord Jon should be recalled back to the city to help us defend it."
"The Hightowers in the south, Stark in the north and Lord Tywin in the west. It seems we lack for no enemies in the realm," Aurane Waters said.
"And now with Prince Aegon and his dragon dead... Perhaps it is time to settle for peace."
He said it so easily that for a moment the King thought that he heard wrong. Rhaegar stared at the man in silence, aghast and enraged.
"My son is dead," Rhaegar declared in iron tones. "And all you can think about is how to protect your lands and title. You are disgusting me with your mindless chatter."
He learned what he wanted to learn from the letter brought by the Spider, written by the hand of Ser Barristan. His small council looked at the faces of each other when they were ushered into his presence. Somehow Rhaegar knew the tidings were bad before a word was spoken. One glance at Varys' smooth face sufficed to tell him that. "Stark did it?"
Varys nodded.
His mouth was grim. "How many dead?"
Varys wrung his powdered hands. "Several thousand, your grace. Both on our side and theirs. Foul work it was, and wicked. A dreadful night, dreadful."
Thousands, yet not managed to trouble the King except for the one. His son, his Aegon, his Prince that was Promised. That shook his heart more than anything else did. Every day as the wolf's war was waged anew in his realm, the King spent his nights gazing into the fires of the red wizard hoping for a glimpse of his son. And glimpsed him he did. At no point did he ever thought that he would lose his son and heir. He couldn't... Aegon was the Prince that was Promised, without him the fate of the world was likely to doom.
Rhaegar made a fist. "Has there been any survivors?"
"Ser Richard is leading them back to Stoney Sept. Most had fled the battlefield once the battle was lost and he writes that he is gathering all the ones he could find so that not everything is lost with the Trident."
He should have rather scoured those men who deserted. "Send a raven to Richard and ask him to return to King's Landing with all the men he has with him. We could use them here at the defence of the city."
"It will be done, Your grace," Pylos said. "What about Prince Aegon?"
Rhaegar hesitated. "What about him?"
"Your grace, perhaps we could send a raven to King Andrew to return the Prince's body so he can be laid to rest properly," the maester said.
"And go groveling to the rebel like his servant," Rhaegar growled. "I think not."
The young maester flinched and slid back into his seat. If anyone else from his small council had the same idea none of them dared to speak forth anymore. "We have no word from Jon yet?"
"None, your grace. We beg your pardon."
His fury was a fire in his belly. "I will have no more mine slaughtered. Stark will feel my wrath. Call the maesters and their captains. I wish to speak with them. I mean to pay back Stark in kind and only when I have done it and honoured my son will I sit down to mourn him."
"All of them, your grace?"
"Yes."
Rosby coughed. "My lord, where is the coin to come from to pay wages for so many men?"
"You will find them when the war is done. The slavers yearn for a different type of gold. I will take a blood tax from these rebels when they are defeated."
Rosby was plainly terrified. He nodded bowing his head. "And it's been a while since we heard from Baelish," the King said. He turned to Pylos. "Send word to the Braavosi to see if he's reached there or if he's chanced upon some mishaps on route. Mishaps are taking a liking to those who fight for my cause."
He left the rest unspoken. "Go and do as I've commanded. I have a son to avenge and mourn. Leave me."
As they were leaving the room he stopped them. "And no word of this letter reaches, Lyanna," he told them. "See to it. I will tell her of this myself."
He sat there in his solar for a long time after they left thinking about the war, the rebels, his destiny and his son. Somewhere north of here his son's killers were feasting and drinking to celebrate his son's death. He meant to look at their faces while they die screaming. He was curiously calm. Men were supposed to go mad with grief when their children died, he knew. They were supposed to tear their hair out by the roots, to curse the gods and swear red vengeance. But the dragon never wavered in its strength. I shall do the same. Strangely his thoughts were more on Lyanna than his thoughts were on his son.
The King stayed there in his solar for a long time, thinking. Finally when the sun had gone down he made to the rooms which now served as wife's cell. He found Lyanna crying softly on her window seat, trying as best she could to muffle the sound of her sobs.
Lyanna Stark never had the sort of beauty the singers cherished, but he had had loved her soft fierce face and her wild beauty fresh and untamed like a forest flower. He found his wife in a window seat huddled amongst a pile of silks and sheets, staring out across the sea. She hardly looked the young woman who impressed him and made him fall in love with. Instead she looked ghost of her past self.
Her brown hair was unkempt and tangled, thinning along the edges. Some strength remained in her beautiful grey eyes, as dark as rainy clouds. "It is Aegon, isn't it?" She never turned to look at him. She broke when there was no answer from him. "Why? You should have done something sooner," she murmured, when he took her in his arms. "Why did you come here now? You should have kept him safe? My boy . . . Our boys. . . We have lost both of them now."
Rhaegar held her in his arms. "Aegon was a good son. The best."
Lyanna wrapped her arms around him. "You told me he would be King, a great one. Now he is dead." She looked up at him. "Was it Ned's son?"
Rhaegar nodded. He saw Lyanna's eyes fill up with tears then. Her lips trembled. "I told you this would happen," Lyanna said. "I warned you. And now my son is dead because of your mistakes."
"I will avenge our son."
"You will do nothing!" Lyanna shrieked pushing him away. "You can't even protect our children. You will do nothing. Aegon is dead with the crows feasting on him. Jaehaerys. . . I don't even know if he is alive or not. All because you were too proud to right your mistakes."
Rhaegar stepped back. "My mistakes?" he asked. "I didn't hear you saying this when I did what I had to do in Starfall. I would sooner say that you played your own part in it, my lady."
Lyanna's lips trembled. "I did it for my sons," she murmured. "And now they are dead."
"Aegon died defending this realm as he was destined to do so," Rhaegar said. "He died honourably."
Lyanna drew back. "How can you say that? He is your son and he died for your sake. For our sake. Do you regard your own son so very little? How could you?"
"Because I am the King," Rhaegar announced harshly. "I had to make the hard decisions so you could have a peaceful life."
Lyanna scoffed. "I once took you for one," she said. "Now I see you for what you are. You are no better King than your father was."
The words turned up his rage. If he had been his father he would have had his tongue out for that or worse. But he wasn't. "You need some sleep."
"I shall sleep when my tears have failed me your grace." She backed off a step and returned back to her seat. "Now leave me alone."
He did as she asked and stepped out into the hallway to the cool evening air. Dusk had settled over the world and painted everything outside in shades of ivory and silver by the moon.
He meant to return to his rooms in Maegor's holdfast but his legs took him to the chambers of the Red Priest. The room was always hot despite it being situated in the damp basement of the Red Keep. A fire was roaring in the fireplace and Bezzaro was tending to another one in the brazier.
"I saw that you'd come to me tonight in the fires, your grace," he said never looking away from the flames.
"Did you also see my son's death as well?" Rhaegar asked.
Bezzaro looked up at him with his bright amber coloured eyes, glowing like embers in the dark. The red priest was clad in a hooded red robe that brushed the floor. Beneath the hood, his face was hard and bright illuminated by the orange flames.
"I have already told you great king," Bezzaro said. "I do not see anything the Lord of Light doesn't will me to."
"Did your Lord of Light forgot about his own chosen champion?" Rhaegar asked in his iron tones. "You said that Aegon was destined to fight in the great war."
"That I did. I only say what R'hllor's fires shows me."
"Your flames lie then."
"Never, great King," Bezzaro said. "R'hllor's visions are never misleading."
"Then you better tell me how is that my son died against Stark's blade before I kill you where you stand?"
"Today is not the day I die, your grace."
"Then you better give me some answers."
"I shall. All the answers you want and more. It is a tragedy of what happened to the prince, my King. There is truth in the flames, but it is not always easy to see. But not all is lost as it seems. Prince Aegon might be lost to us but the rest of your champions are still by your side to fight the evil in the north including the princess Daenerys."
"Daenerys? Daenerys is alive?" Rhaegar was surprised. The last he had heard of his sister was that she had fallen from the air with her dragon in the battle against the Hightower. No one had seen her after that.
"Alive and well. R'hllor has kept her alive for she still has to play her part."
"Where is she?"
"Here, come see for yourself." Bezzaro led the King to the brazier and bid him to look into the raging flames. Rhaegar looked into the swirls of red and orange flames. The air was blowing strongly through the open windows, giving rise to bits of ash to swarm around in the air. Rhaegar stared at the flames trying to see.
"Look deeper, your grace," Bezzaro said, placing a hand on one shoulder. Reaching up his left sleeve with his right hand, he flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As orange flames writhed atop them Rhaegar saw it then, the tall tower crowned with flame and shining black oily stones. Hightower he knew at once. But then the tower burned away then, and then he was standing in a black pit of darkness. The King held his right hand up and flexed his fingers to feel the strength in them. He felt stronger than he ever was. And his skin was smoking, like a dragon's hide.
Around him stood a dozen tall dark figures in cowled robes that hid their faces. In their hands were swords. He did not know any of them.
They spoke nothing and Rhaegar descended further into the darkness with them. Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from red stones down and down. Below the earth his foe awaited, he knew with the certainty of the vision; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him.
The steps ended abruptly on echoing darkness. Rhaegar had the sense of vast space before him. He jerked to a halt, teetering on the edge of nothingness. Suddenly he was standing upon soft sand and shallow water. And then the sand and water turned to snow.
It was too dark and cold. Rhaegar raised his hand and his fist glowed up like a torch, bursting in flames. Strangely the fire never hurt him. It soothed him and there was power coursing through his entire body.
His burning hand was the only light in the cavern. His hand was the only light in the world. He could feel he was not alone there. His sword was at his hip. Rhaegar touched the sword and closed his hand upon the hilt. As he raised the sword a finger of pale flame flickered at the point and crept up along the edge, stopping a hand's breath from the hilt. It burned with a warm light, now yellow, now red, now orange.
He peered into the gloom until he saw it. Something was moving through the darkness, he could not quite make it out . . . From behind a blanket of snow a shade emerged a shimmering sword in hand, blue and edged with frost. The sword burned with a silvery-blue light, and the gloom pulled back.
The great other, Rhaegar thought. My greatest foe. In the cool silvery-blue light of the sword, the shadow looked pale and fierce as it gained upon the King. Rhaegar moved his longsword back and forth, watching the flames shift and shimmer keeping the icy sword at bay. The air froze around the burning blue blade. When their swords clashed the world itself froze.
The fires that ran along his blade were guttering out. He thrust his fiery hand into his ghostly opponent burning him once and for all. Heart pounding, he jerked awake, and found himself in the chambers of the red priest. His right hand was thrust into the hot coals and the flames were dancing on his skin.
Rhaegar pulled his hand away swiftly. There were no burns on his skin and the fire was still alive on his hand just like it had been on his vision.
"There is your answer, my king," Bezzaro bowed his head. "Remember who you are. You are the Champion of Fire and you will fight the King of Winter and the Soul of Ice, both of whom might be one."
Rhaegar looked at his burning hand and then at the red priest on his knees. When he closed his fist the flames died out. He gazed at the brazier. "You. . . You will find out where the black dragon of my sister is," he commanded Bezzaro. "It's time the people see me for who I am once again."
"Your Grace," Bezzaro bowed his head.
Rhaegar glanced back toward the fire one last time. There was no vision there anymore. No shadow, no sword, no cold beings.
Outside he saw that darkness held the world in its cold grip. He must have spent hours looking at the flames, Rhaegar realised. The only sound was the wind from the sea and the only light was the torches burning along the walls and beyond the castle.
The days events troubled his mind more than he thought it would. The King's feet took him to some other place where he hadn't visited for a long while.
He walked across the Traitor's Walk and made it to the squat tower at end of it. He could see the torches lighting up the half-round tower where the fortunate of his captive were held. There would be nothing of the sorts in the destination where he was going though. The King entered the dungeons proper and the steps were the quickest way down, steep and straight and narrow, hidden in the walls. The Chief Gaoler offered him a lantern when he turned up there but the King refused. There was no need of a lantern for him. Bricks of different colours pressed close around him, fading to grey and black beyond the lantern light. Thrice he passed guards armed with spears, standing as if they had been carved from stone. But past the first level there were none. The only sound was the soft scruff of his feet upon the steps.
The dungeons were full of dust and shadows. He passed beneath three massive arches, down a torchlit ramp into the vaults beneath the second level, past cisterns, dungeons, and torture chambers to the black cells.
The King continued a flicker of flame lighting up his way. He came to his destination. A burnt out torch had been stuck in the sconce outside the door. The King lightened it up and opened the door, hinges shrieking. He stepped into the cold heart of darkness and placed the torch in a sconce and its light filled the cell.
Ashara Dayne looked up when her eyes caught the light. She sat up in front of him against the wall. Her every move was graceful. Her curling dark hair moved in the wind, and her eyes were the loveliest shade of purple that reminded him of the spectacle of twilight. They sparkled like stars in the dark, distant and bewitching. Even in this dark it was hard to miss her beauty and Rhaegar saw it.
"I almost mistook you for Viserys in the sudden light," Ashara Dayne said. "I had already refused him six times before and I was about to tell you off for the seventh time."
"I hardly blame Viserys for wishing to bask in your radiance. If only he had spent less time trying to peel your clothes off you and more about the good of the realm much misfortunes could have been averted."
"The last time you came to see me it was to talk about your misfortune," Ashara said. "What's happened now?" The woman smiled as if she knew her son was away from danger.
Rhaegar settled on a stool while Ashara Dayne had her chains. The dust and dirt came off in grey clouds as he sat down. "How do you know that it is not yours now?"
The Queen in the North scoffed. "Andrew was a gift from gods," Lady Dayne said. "Ned made him in me in the godswood all the while his old gods watched. He was born with the gods' blessing and they kept him safe and alive from your hands for so long not so he could fall before he brings you vengeance and justice."
Rhaegar chuckled. "Viserys wouldn't have liked to hear you tell how you made your son with Eddard Stark."
"Good," Ashara said. "All the more reason to tell him in that case then. I only regret not telling him that when I had the chance."
"What would you say if I tell you I mean to hand you over to your son?
"I'd say that you are a liar."
Rhaegar chuckled. "I truly am of the mind to hand you over to your son. Now though I find your company to be of more important than anything else."
"What do you mean?"
"Your son has been a thorn on my side ever since he was born. And the boy doesn't lack for courage or skill as well. Valiant and powerful, yes, like his father. He is regaled as the Born King throughout my realm. Even here in King's Landing singers sing of his legend from the streets and taverns and brothels thinking that I don't see them and his followers worship him like a god. A good death is all he needs to make it all just that, a legend . . . And you as well as I know that I could make an end of him just like I did to your husband. The fate of your son is in your hands now."
Ashara stared at him. "The fate of my son . . ."
"Tell him and his men to lay down their swords and yield the castle and no one shall die anymore. I know you care about the commons in a way no noble born does. Make your son step back and your smallfolk may have peace and live a long life. Andrew will be even allowed to have his father's crown and kingdom should he wish for it. You can be with your son, watch him grow old and have children of his own. We shall bring back the terms from Starfall alive. You and me both, as King and Queen for peace."
Ashara raised her head and looked up at him with her soft violet eyes. Tear drops glistened in the corner her eyes. "Andrew is continuing to defeat you, isn't he?" Ashara asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. "That's why you are asking me to plead for peace. He is winning." She let out a choked laugh through her sobs and that was too much for the King. The wound made by his son's death was still fresh.
Must you make me do this now? Rhaegar stood up abruptly kicking the stool away in a raging fury. The King walked over to where the Queen in the North stood and grabbed her by the thick black mane. He forced himself to smile, tugging hard at Ashara's soft hair until she gasped in pain. "You have displeased me, Ashara. I have been kind to you and your wretched spawn. I have given you this opportunity so that I could fullfil my destiny." Rhaegar grabbed her chin with long, rough fingers and turned her head to face him. "I have kept you safe when I could have handed you over to Viserys to do what he wants to do with you in his leisure. I could have laid you out like a whore for my entire army to use you for their pleasure. Even the slavers would have liked to bed Queen Ashara Dayne. I could have made a gift of the beautiful Queen Ashara to warm their bed for a night or take you as a mistress to lay with them and please them for the rest of your days." Rhaegar tightened his grip on her cheeks and Ashara yelped. "You should be glad that I haven't yet forced you to that fate. But I shall do so soon. You think your son is winning but you've not seen our numbers. You've not seen what I have seen. I had no problems feeding your husband's corpse to dogs and it wouldn't bother me to do the same with your son. When he dies thousands will die along with him. Your former bannermen and the people you oh so longed to protect. One by one all those who dared to side with him will fall. When they are finally done and no one is there to protect their kingdoms and people anymore, all those who had the misfortune of living in those lands will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, burn your fields and water them with blood. By the time I'm done no man will ever set foot in those lands anymore." Rhaegar gave a shook and yanked her hair hard until she sobbed again. "Is that what you want? You'll want your son's corpse to mourn. I'll send him to you so you can watch him whilst my men ravage you right where my brother's pyre was lit."
Silence followed his speech. He still held her, rough hands holding her hair and chin hard enough to bruise. He had pulled her hair so hard that she winced. Ashara clutched the clothing to her breasts. The king tightened his grasp on her further to make true on his threat. "Now will you do it or not?"
Ashara Dayne took a few deep breaths before she finally found her voice. "No," she said. "I will not."
"I could kill you now and no one would know it, my lady."
Ashara smiled through her tears. "It is a cruel thing to abandon your own child to the mercies of the world ruled by men like you," she said softly. "I will never forget Andrew's eyes, my baby's eyes gazing up at me with full of hope that I wouldn't send him away, that his mother would never not want him. And I will remember that face till the day I die. You squeezed the life out of my heart when you did that and there is nothing more cruel than that you could do to me anymore. You can try if you want."
The rage was still in him but nothing could be achieved by hurting her anymore. He let her go and removed his hands from her hand and jaw. "So be it," he said, sighing. "You leave me no option. If you will not listen, I'll make you listen. I will make the white marble of Starfall painted red with blood once again so that your son can see for himself what he's missed."