act i . chapter ix

PROPHECY
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THE SMOOTH WALLS OF THE RED KEEP reflected green. The was fire everywhere. Only it wasn't fire. It was Wildfire. The green flames consumed the entirety of the throne room. The walls were melting. The ancient bones of the dead dragons were alive and dancing across the ceiling.

And above the Iron Throne, the Big Black Dread, Balerion was coming to life. New red flesh and black fire licked across the severed head until a thin, forked tongue lolled out from between his teeth as long and sharp as greatswords. The scaleless dragon began to grow off the wall, slitted eyes rolling back into its head.

The breathing, bleeding, skinless Balerion fell, limp, onto the Iron Throne, all the hundred swords stabbing him at once. But to Rhaegar's horror, the beast did not die. The pulsing, bleeding skin of the dragon seemed to consume the entire throne and reforge it into scales that were blacker than nonexistence. The dragon was alive. And out of its mouth spewed green flames. Wildfire.

Its nostrils flared with intensity as it looked down to the center of the throne room where the green flames were spiraling around Rhaegar's father, the king. He was standing, arms extended and palms up. The maniacal laughter that escaped his lips was louder than anything else in the room.

"BURN THEM ALL!" he shrieked, his flesh melting from his face. The ominous phrase echoed off the walls, ringing in Rhaegar's ears. "BURN THEM ALL!"

Before another word left his melting mouth, Balerion's jaw opened an snapped shut around Aerys. The dragon's evil eyes flickered to Rhaegar and almost seemed to smile. Rhaegar wasn't smiling. Fear was crawling up his back and chest like a million spiders. Through the torrid flames, the Black Dread began to make his way. The way he slithered so with such grace. It was as if he had no legs to hold him back. His humongous, caped wings began to spread out over the flames, hiding any natural light from the colored windows above.

Horror befell his face as he turned to run from his own personal nightmare: the Targaryen destiny. He forced his legs out in front of him as fast as he could possible. Rhaegar felt the flames licking the heels of his boots as he rushed. The closer he goes to the door, the more desperate he became.

While the flames bit his feet and the roaring of the dragon-filled his ears, the strange sensation of freezing air began to fill his lungs and sting his nose. The farther down the hall her got, the colder it was. When Rhaegar reached the door, he knew the cold was coming from behind. Not caring, he wrapped his hands around the handle and undid the latch. The wind from outside threw the door open, Rhaegar going with it. With desperation, he grabbed onto the knob.

And it was hot. Searing. Rhaegar was screaming through the pain, trying to drown out the sizzling of his flesh. His boots were melting into his heels and his lips chapped painfully from the cold. But he had to get away from Balerion. It was all he could think about. His mind was screaming to get away from him. With all Rhaegar's might, he pushed his feet back to the ground, using the leverage he had from the hot doorknob.

He strained to take steps forward to the snow. His hands were shaking from the pain. When he tried to let go, his melted flesh stuck to the handle. He ripped it free and the doors slammed shut. Rhaegar fell into the snow, the heat of his hands sizzling and steaming out into the air. The blizzard whipped his silver hair around, freezing him to the core.

"The stars will bleed," a deep voice echoed in his head. He grabbed at his ears. Not again, he began to repeat in his head. "The Prince Who Was Promised..."

Instead of snow, something else began to fall. Something hot. Red. Looking up to the sky, Rhaegar tasted the new falling liquid in his mouth and found it to be blood. Disgusted, he spat the mouthful out and looked around the barren, snow-fallen tundra. When the blood hit the white snow, it turned into black crystals and came together to form great, glittering shadows that began stalking the castle. The sky grew dark and in it, a figure began to form. First, Rhaegar thought it was a dragon, but then he saw a white wolf. It was falling. Then it was a crow-black as night. Then, an arrow shot into the heart of the flying bird. Disappointed, Rhaegar watched it fall to the ground. But in less than a second, it arose as a dragon.

The beast growled and with its great furnace, melted the shadowed figures and brought fire back to the sun, melting the snow. The voice in his head continued, "...he will bring the Dawn."

"Plunge your sword and bring forth Lightbringer," it ordered. Rhaegar couldn't think about anything else. The voice had taken over his entire body. "The one you love most..." it echoed as Rhaegar stumbled around through the pain and came across an enormous white tree with a red umbrella. Around the base, blue petals stained with red were strewn about. He raced to the base for protection and saw that a laughing face carved with skill into the bark. Curious that usually, the faces on a weirwood were sad or angry. When he reached up to touch it, he felt that this tree was the key to something awful, yet necessary. So many things were awful, yet necessary. Rhaegar reached out and placed his hand on the tree.

The tree jerked him away from the new word into a small room that he was unfamiliar with. The room smelled of roses and fruit. There was a sense of love and belonging within the room. He took a few apprehensive steps forward, afraid of what he may see. The wooden floors screamed and groaned and blood streaked the white walls. Inscribed with the same red fluid, was the name, "Nissa Nissa." Through the door, Rhaegar saw himself standing at the edge of a bed, arms entwined with a woman that he immediately knew wasn't Elia.

They were deep in a kiss. Rhaegar couldn't see the woman's face. He knew he couldq walk around and look, but something told him that he knew. By the string of fabric that they held together, the seclusion of the place, and the laurel of blue winter roses on the dresser by the door, he felt as though he had seen enough.

He left through the door he entered and saw another at the end of the hall. He strode down the hall to leave. When he opened the door, he found that he was in the same place as before. Only this time, he and the woman were entangled with each other on the bed. Rhaegar was buried inside her, his head pushed into the crook of the shoulder underneath him. The woman grabbed at the sheets and his hair pleasurably, moaning, trying to avoid squirming.

"Don't leave Rhaegar," she whispered into his ear. "Don't go and die."

Before Rhaegar could even react, the floor under him dissipated and he fell through into a new place entirely. It was damp and dreary. Likely the North. The room was a grand place. Likely Winter fells. But the man at the head of the table was not Rickard. But Brandon. Not Ned.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" men shouted, raising their swords to this strange man. "THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Rhaegar watched with intensity, looking at him. Rhaegar could tell he was his. The weight of the word was on his shoulders in truth. Only a king carries that type of responsibility. But the boy, though he was Rhaegar's, he was also a Stark. Was this the child of he and Lyanna Stark? He looked like the wolf-maid with his dark curls and full lips. His eyes were dark gray and he had a long thin face. Even though Starks were generally quite plain, Rhaegar's genes seemed to give them a certain melancholic beauty.

"The same thing is coming for all of us," he said, his voice deep and northern. That told him that he had grown up in the North. Would Rhaegar not be apart of the son's life? "There is only one thing that matters: The Great War. And it's here."

The scene before him vanished and all he saw was ice and fire coming together to form a black hole that swallowed everything up. The darkness was drowning him. He couldn't breathe.

Rhaegar!

"Rhaegar!" a voice called to him while two, weak hands shook him as hard as they could. "Rhaegar!"

Gasping, Rhaegar shot up, his blanket falling off him, exposing his pale, broad shoulders and bare chest to the chill of the night air. "Rhaegar, are you alright?" Elia asked, placing a hand on her husband's bare shoulder. He flinched back, his mind still in the dream. It didn't take him long to come to his senses. He wiped his wet silver hair out of his face and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Elia," he breathed, looking her up and down, making sure she was alright. The pregnancy was already starting to show through her smallclothes. He fell back into a sitting position on his bed, burying his head in his hands. "I am so sorry, my dear. So sorry."

"You were having a nightmare. It was a lot worse than usual. Was it the same one?" she asked. She would never understand what he was sorry for. She would never understand the weight of the things he had to do. "Yes, it was," he lied. "Where's Rhaenys?"

"I had a handmaid take her. You've been at it for hours. You were screaming, shivering, thrashing, kicking, crying, talking. It was awful. I've been trying to wake you for hours. Are you sure it was the same dream?" Rhaegar nodded. Elia frowned. It made Rhaegar sad to see her sad. He reached out to touch her face, but when his fingers met her soft skin, pain exploded into madness on the tips of his fingers. He flinched back and took a look.

"What is it, Rhaegar?" Elia asked, standing on her tip toes to look at his hands. They were burnt extensively, the flesh either peeled off or barely hanging on. Blisters were already forming. Elia's eyes grew wide upon seeing the burn. She turned to leave. when she looked up at him, she saw his chapped lips and red nose from the cold. the ends of his hair were singed. She picked up his chin with her fingers as his teeth chattered. "You smell like fire, but you're as cold as ice. I'll go retrieve salve from the Maester."

"No," Rhaegar commanded. Elia turned around, confused. "No?" she asked. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "It's late. I'll see about it tomorrow."

"How did it happen?"

"I must have grabbed the coal tray during my nightmare," he lied again. The nightmare frightened me. Thats why I'm cold. Elia frowned and sat down on the bed next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

There was certain tranquility about the darkness, so late at night. Everyone in the castle was sleeping, yet here he was. Tomorrow's tournament events had everyone excited and resting, yet here he was. "I'm not going to miss this when I die," Elia confessed. "I'm not even scared. I hope my son goes with me so you can have a strong wife that gives you a strong boy."

Rhaegar sighed, letting his head rest on hers. "You're not going to die. Not for many years. You will live to see your son become king."

"I don't want my son to become king," she revealed. "I see what it's doing to you, a prince. I'm sorry that you will be king and I don't wish that on my son."

Rhaegar smiled ever so slightly. "You're such a wise woman. You should have been born to rule Dorne."

She shook her head. "I certainly don't want it for myself."

"That's a good quality for a leader," Rhaegar told her. "No great ruler was comfortable in their throne."

"Especially not the Iron Throne."

"Wise woman," Rhaegar repeated, fatigue laced in his voice. Elia sat upright, placing a soft touch on his shoulder and moved the sweaty hair from her husband's forehead.

"I wish I could fall in love with you, Rhaegar," Elia told him with the saddest smile on her face. "I love you. You are the best man I've ever known. So many women would die to have you as a husband for either your looks or your status, or your heart. I am the one who shares your bed, yet I can't find it in me to be in love with you."

Rhaegar nodded and wore a depressed smile. "You're my best friend. My wife. My queen-in-waiting. The mother of my daughter. Yet I have no lover," he related, gingerly moving her hand away from him.

Elia pressed a kiss on his hand. "Sleep and you might win your joust tomorrow." He nodded and looked out the window into the night. "I'm still sorry for my misbehaving tonight."

Elia shook her head. "Sleep."

Rhaegar let his body lay down and he closed his eyes for Elia. But between he and himself, there would be no sleeping that night. Only endless, nagging thought and the struggle against the weight that was trying to suffocate him.