playιng: [whispers] - [halsey]

0:48 ─────ㅇ────────── 3:13

The dream that had plagued Elia for the following nights messed with her sleeping habits. She would wake in the most ungodly hours, toss and turn, and pray sleep would come to her.

An entire fortnight had passed since their visit to Summerhall and still the witch's words plagued her dreams.

And every time she would wake with a start just as the Lion from her dreams sunk its fangs into her throat. It was never quite the same dream. Sometimes the foam-mouthed dog would be the one to wake her.

She tried essence of nightshade, but refused it after the fourth night in a row, afraid she would develop a tolerance to it.

Now it was midday and she willed herself to remain awake. Rhaella, Rhaegar, and Viserys along with a pair of handmaids, were in one of the common rooms with Elia and Rhaenys.

The girl was getting fatter by the day, blubbering and giggling at Viserys' attention. "Now you've woken the dragon!" The young Prince roared softly, tickling Rhaenys' belly lightly.

"Gentle, dear," Rhaella cautioned.

"I am being gentle, mother," he looked back to Rhaella, then returned to playing with Rhaenys.

Then Rhaella turned to Elia, "how has your sleep been?"

"Ah...I am still having troubles, but I do believe it will get better soon." Elia spoke softly.

"Good, good," Rhaella nodded.

A kingsguard came into the room, announcing the arrival of the royal painter.

The man arrived from Pentos with his wife in tow. They both bowed and set up their tools without wasting time. The woman served as his translator as she was the only of the pair that knew the common tongue. As for the man, he vehemently refused to speak anything but his mother tongue.

He was prejudiced towards anyone not from Pentos, but he was good at his craft, so no one complained.

Once the painter began adjusting the Prince and Princesses from Dragonstone, Rhaella and Viserys left the room.

Elia had been sat on a chair holding little Rhaenys and Rhaegar stood behind them. The painting was not complete, not on that day. The painting was left to dry, Elia took Rhaenys to the nursery room, and Rhaegar stayed to study the piece.

It was almost uncanny how well the painter had managed to capture them so far. Elia's soft smile and Rhaegar's serious face.

It startled him. Seeing himself mirrored and so emotionless. Had he always been this sullen?

Rhaenys was halfway captured and Rhaegar wondered if they would need to commission this painter once more in a few years. He would want a new one that showed Rhaenys as she grew up, a collection of her youth she could look back on fondly once she had become a woman.

He passed his hand over the unfinished Rhaenys, there must be another. There must be at least two more children to come from this union for the prophecy to come to pass.

It wasn't like he hadn't been trying, but it hadn't been so long since Elia's recovery from Rhaenys, and with her nightterrors, there wasn't really a mood for bedsport.

He paced around and sat on the chair Elia had been on, suddenly remembering the letter that had arrived from his uncle Aemon who was serving as maester at Castle Black.

As he read it, his ambivalence for what he's done or has yet to do took his breath away and made it hard to concentrate.

The dragon must have three heads but what lurks in the shadows will not wait for a woman to birth two children. The Prince who was promised was yet to be born, but whispers of the arrival of that darkness had already reached his ears.

He could not remember a time when the prophecy had not taken up his every waking thought.

He returned to reading the letter, this time turning his back to the painting.

271 AC ━ KING'S LANDING, SUMMERHALL

"From my blood come the Prince that was Promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire," Rhaegar set the scroll down.

The boy sat straight,  arms at each side of the scroll. He passed a hand over his face and sighed.

It was still daylight outside, he could see the sunlight through the window just above the corner he had settled himself in.

"From my blood..." there was more in this scroll, small and neat handwriting. It described a prophecy told to one Targaryen by his mother, told to her by a father.

However there was no date, no author. The prophecy indicated something dark and deadly slept beyond the Wall. And although it hibernated, it would wake, and it would bring destruction onto mankind.

And according to this scroll, the Prince that was Promised would come from the bloodline of Aegon the Conqueror, his ancestor.

How has this never been mentioned to him before? He could not remember any of his mother's  tales to have featured  this song of Ice and Fire. He knew magic existed on these lands, knew they were ancient and ancient beings might still exist here. But there was never a mention of an impending darkness.

He made to leave, turned quickly and bumped into one of the maesters. "Prince?" The man was surprised, not only from the wind being knocked out of him, but at seeing the young Prince still in this place at this hour.

"Maester," Rhaegar held the scroll out for the maester to see, but perhaps he'd shared his findings to another prematurely.

The maester mirrored his initial reaction, passing a hand over his face.

Rhaegar waited for a beat, thinking the maester would dismiss this scroll, or worse.

"There is one person who might know about this. I will send a raven and call for you when he responds."

The response arrived rather quickly, signed simply Aemon.

Aemon, was a Targaryen who'd denounced his last name and in doing so, he denounced the Iron Throne. Aemon was the brother of Aegon V Targaryen, an ancestor of Rhaegar.

Aemon revealed having known of the prophecy and in following correspondences revealed he had been the one to discover the scroll tucked away in an abscure section of the Citadel.

Aemon shared the scroll with his brother Aegon and had not heard of it since.

In his most recent letter, Aemon, although subliminally, suggested this prophecy was perhaps what had lead to the Tragedy at Summerhall.

"My brother, Egg, was a Dreamer and he dreamed the same thing often. Three dragons being resurrected from the spilling of the blood of a witch, a king, and a babe. He was convinced he was the Prince who was Promised, the man who would make the dragons return again." It didn't help that the Targaryens were losing power and their favor among common folk and nobles alike. "A dragon would change that, return the fear of the Targaryen name to these lands."

And so as the Blackfyre Rebellions were waged, Aegon gathered his family, the young, the old, even the pregnant Rhaella, with the knowledge that they would burn in exchange for three dragons. The Prince that was Promised would rise from the ashes of their corpses, and with him, the three dragons that were required."

It made sense to Rhaegar, at least in the bit of wisdom he had accumulated in his twelve years of life. The Prince that was Promised would rise from smoke and salt, the dragon had three heads, Fire and Blood. These were the three things he was sure of.

At the end of the letter, Aemon disclosed that he believed Rhaegar to be the Prince of the Conquereor's prophecy. His reasoning being the context of his birth, born amidst smoke and salt. Smoke from Summerhall, and the salt from the tears of those who survived it.

Although he did not offer further suggestions, or a word of solace, Aemon suggested the boy should pay a visit to Summerhall.

The day after, he rose earlier than usual, and made his way to the courtyard where the knights were donning their steels.

He stood before the master at arms, Ser Willem Darry, and in an earnest tone said, "I will require sword and armor. It seems I must become a warrior."

No one said a word, but the knights took interest. The young Prince had never shown interest in swordsmanship before so they were eagerly curious about his change of heart.

The man nodded, and looked down at Rhaegar, "have you grown bored of your books and scrolls, Prince?" And with a smile, he directed Rhaegar to the armory where the boy could have his pick at steel and armor.

Not much time had passed since then, Rhaegar was not yet a warrior, but on his body was the proof of progress. Scars pinkened and bruises darkened, his step was more sure, and he carried himself a bit taller with his back straightened.

Finally after a month since he'd taken up a sword, Rhaegar visited Summerhall. With him came two Kingsguards and Ser Barristan Selmy.

Upon their arrival, Rhaegar asked for some privacy and made his way through the ruins.

His surroundings darkened the further he went, and the outside sounds muffled. He looked around, one hand on the pommel of his sword and continued his venture.

"It was the only way," a most grievous voice said flatly. "Duncan, it was the only way!" The voice shouted.

Rhaegar whipped around quickly, unsheathing his sword and placing it in front of himself.

"That is not the way you hold a sword, boy," a different voice boomed in front of Rhaegar. He blinked his eyes, focusing on his breathing.

He wasn't a coward, he wasn't going to flee. He had his sworn swords ready to protect him, but he wasn't a coward. "Egg," the voice returned, then a flash of cold passed by him. He turned around slowly.

A tower of man stood with his back to him, unsheathed his own sword which startled Rhegar into retaking his defensive position. But the man only moved forward, slipping beside a bald boy, much younger than Rhaegar and showed the boy how to hold the sword.

At a blink, they were gone, vanished into the shadows. They'd seemed so real. Is this why Aemon had sent him here?

He kept moving in the direction where they once stood and as he moved he could smell the burning of flesh. He raised a hand to cover his nose but a sharp pain shot through his arm. He looked and there she was. A woman nearly his height with red eyes and white hair.

He stumbled back, regained his composure and recovered his position. The woman was now at the other side, quite a few steps away from him.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" She asked before he could finish.

Had this been a different circumstance, Rhaegar might've found the old woman parroting him to be hysterical. But this was no other circumstance and the situation was further from humorous.

"Who are you?" The witch asked again. "Do you know who I am, boy?"

"N-" he choked back his response and took a good look at the woman. Her white hair reached the floor, her eyes were two red beads, and she held a cane.

"You're Jenny's witch," he said it quietly, almost as if to himself. She was a feature in many of his mother's tales. He wndered briefly why the Witch appeared in his story, but not her prophecy or Aegon's. Most people at court knew her at least as a fabled character. The descriptions fit the person before him.

"You should be dead."

"Aye, but Duncan carried me out, oh," she wrapped her arms around herself. "He was so strong, so tall, and he never dropped me."

"Do you live here?" Rhaegar asked, loosening his stance, but not his grip on his sword.

"What do you want here? You soil my Jenny's resting ground with your presence, dragonspawn!" She spat, marching towards him.

Rhaegar took up his stance once more, he wasn't afraid of this old woman he tried convincing himself, but still.

"What do you know of Aegon's Prophecy? The Prince that was Promised?" His voice quivered.

She cackled, "a gift for a dream, little prince," she stopped right in front of him, sizing him up.

"I have coin if that is what you wish. I could bring more," his eyes went wide as he reached into his pockets, dropping the sword in the process.

The witch laugh again. "Moneymoneymoney! I don't need your money! It cannot bring my Jenny back, it cannot bring her Duncan back. Money is nothing!"

Rhaegar wished she would stop speaking so flowery and just say what she wanted.

"I am the Crowned Prince, the Throne will be mine. I can give you anything then."

The witch sneered up at him, "are you deaf? I don't want your filthy coins." She continued forward, hands out ready to attack.

Rhaegar moved backward, his sword left behind. The woman gripped him and it burned where she did.

His mouth fell open, he could not move, could not speak.

"I like music. My Jenny enjoyed the mellow sounds of the Singer's at court. I like that sort of music."

Rhaegars eyes danced to one side then the other, a plan was being conceived in his mind. "I'll bring you a song, and you'll tell me of the prophecy, Witch. You must keep to your end of the bargain or..." He thought, smiled. "I'll have you hanged," in truth he didn't mean this, he simply wanted to scare the witch.

"Very well," the witch spat, knowing that if things were to come to that, she could easily flee.

Upon arrival to the Red Keep, Rhaegar spents day after day crafting a song for the witch. He did not tell Aemon of this, he would only write once he'd discovered the prophecy for himself.

And so Rhaegar strummed on his high harp in the company of his lady mother, Rhaella, who filled the young boy with praise.

"I knew Jenny and the witch, but I did not believe her dreams." Confessed Rhaella. "Everyone at court did, Aegon especially, and look how that ended."

With his mother's approval, but not disclosing the reason for this song, Rhaegar set out once again to Summerhall.

He sang the song to the witch and to his surprise she wept, openly and without restraint.

"This is a good song, boy," she wiped at her face to dry the tears. "It is my favorite," she declared giggling.

At this Rhaegar giggled too. The praise he'd received for his music at court paled in comparison to such honest reaction.

The witch's voice drops, grows grave, "A dream that has been in the House of the Dragon since its inception, since before. A dream shared by those even time has forgotten the names of." She grabbed his wrist, Rhaegar resisted a bit, then stopped when she fixed him with her red gaze. "Do you want to know or not?"

He nodded. She placed her palm below his then swiped, staring straight into his indigo eyes, her own red ones glazed over.

"The star will bleed, and the dragons' stony slumber will end, that is when the Prince that was Promised will be born again. Amidst smoke and salt, and when the Long Night reigns, that is when you shall know he is returned."

Rhaegar exhaled loudly, even startling the witch.

"It is a dream that has been in your family, and I told your ancestor about it when I was brought to court. It had been forgotten until then. That is why brother was wed to sister, and it is why you are here."

In Rhaegar's mind, this all but confirmed that he was the Prince of this prophecy.

JUNE 281━ KING'S LANDING

He buried his face into her hair as he finished inside of her, hoping, praying his seed would take root again as it had already once. It had been too long since he'd been intimate with Elia, he'd almost missed the way she'd tighten and constrict around him.

Scents of flowers and spices lingered in her hair and on her neck, paired with the sweetness from her lips, Rhaegar had to force himself to roll off her unless he wished to keep his wife up until they were both helplessly spent.

She focused on her breathing, sat up, her curls falling down her back. She slipped a robe over her body and walked over to the tub to clean herself up.

Rhaegar's eyes trailed after her, the shadows contorting around her curves until she was out of sight.

He composed himself and stepped out of the covers as well, making his way to one of the windows. He looked into the darkness of the night. It was a moonless night, and a  comet streaked across the face of the sky, its blue and white tail trailing behind it.

The star will bleed. 

Under a bloody star. 

Elia had returned to bed and seemed to have fallen asleep. He turned back to the comet, this time convinced the child, the son to be conceived on this night, under this bleeding star, was surely the Prince that was Promised.