"He is here."
"But he does not understand."
"He can hear."
"But he cannot speak."
"The glass candles reacted to him. His dragon blood is true."
"As is his spirit."
"Yet he does not know."
"The dragons are awake once more. They will bow."
"The darkness grows. She knows of him."
"A new champion?"
"A servant."
"The future is broken."
"What can he do?"
"He will learn. In time, he might speak."
"The dragon must know."
"He must."
"The dragon will know."
The ghosts were relentless with their words. Their chants became synchronized as they circled the stunned Rhaegal, who found himself frozen in place. The darkness grew around him, but he could not speak. His mouth stayed shut, his words unspoken.
Rhaegal did know what to expect, and a part of him feared the worst.
And yet, as the countless ghosts continued chanting, the scenery around him began to change. In a matter of seconds, Rhaegal was no longer floating in the endless darkness. Now, he stood inside an elaborate tent where four others were also present.
Three of them were on one side while the other stood by himself, facing them. A large wooden table divided them.
One of the three was seated, a hand resting comfortably on the arm rest. He was broad shouldered, with short silver-gold hair. He was wearing armor and a circlet of Valyrian steel with big square cut rubies. A Valyrian steel bastard sword rested on the chair beside him.
One of the others, a woman, was draped over his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his neck. She was beautiful. Like the man, she had silver-gold hair, only hers was long, reaching down her lower back. She wore an elaborate black and red gown with gold trimmings which accentuated her slender form.
The third, another woman, stood to the side with her arms crossed. She too had long silver-gold hair which was braided as well as purple eyes. She wore ringmail for armor, which did not detract from her sensual and rather voluptuous form. Hanging from her side was a very familiar looking Valyrian steel longsword: Dark Sister.
The lone man facing them was tall, pale, and gray-eyed with wild brown hair. He wore the traditional armor of the North as he stood tall before the three.
Right away Rhaegal recognized who the three were.
'The Conqueror and his sisters.'
But while he could see them, it did not appear like they could see him.
Glancing down, Rhaegal quickly realized why. As with the ghosts, it seemed like his body had become incorporeal, shimmering in a blue hue in the tent.
'How?'
His question would go unanswered.
"You already know my terms," Aegon said as he looked at the Northerner.
"You had me send the maesters away. My brother is ready to negotiate-"
"Do you really think that your army can stand up to our flames?" Visenya cut him off with a harsh glare. "We've already torched the so-called king of the Reach and his men. We can do so to yours as well."
The Northerner did not back down. "Your dragons are not the only magic in this world, Targaryen."
Rhaenys chuckled. "My, he does have a spirit to him. Shame you're only a Snow."
"My blood is no less true than my brother's."
"That much is true," Aegon said. "My sister was…overzealous with her words. We do not mean to engulf you in our dragons' flames. For you already know what lies beyond your Wall. The true enemy. Killing you would be wasteful in light what is to come."
The Northerner looked stunned. "How do you know of such things?"
"The dragons have many secrets of their own, Brandon Snow," Aegon responded. "Your brother may not understand the full situation, but I know that you do. I know you believe in the stories of your ancestors. You've seen them. We've been made aware of them as well. This is why I have set out on my conquest. To prepare Westeros for what is to come. My sisters and I stand united in this goal."
Brandon swallowed the lump in his throat. "You seek to stop them?"
"Yes. For fire can melt their magic."
"A second era of winter must not come," Visenya declared, her voice full of conviction.
Brandon looked stunned once more. "To know of such things." He tried to regain his composure as he clenched his fists at his side. "What do you want from us?"
"Nothing more than your cooperation," Aegon answered with a wave of his hand. "The Starks will keep their kingdom. You will become the Wardens of the North. All I ask is that you acknowledge me as king and for your brother to give up his crown. I'm sure you understand what refusal will mean."
Rhaegal could not believe it. This was the moment when the last King in the North would kneel to Aegon without a fight.
'Was this the reason why?'
Did the king's bastard brother convince him to do it?
Rhaegal would never get to see the conclusion to the conversation as the air shifted. Right before his eyes Rhaegal's surroundings changed again. He remained in his spirit or ghostly form, only now he was standing in a different location.
There was a large and sealed vault with two people standing in front of it. Rhaegal recognized the fused black stone that made up the walls.
'Is this Dragonstone?'
"Mother, what is this place?" The younger of the two asked. He looked tall for his young age, with a thick neck, heavy shoulders, and huge arms. His silver-blond hair was short, and his purple Valyrian eyes were full of uncertainty.
A much older Visenya stood before him. She wore a modest silk gown.
"This is the secret that my father once shared with me, which I will now pass on to you, Maegor."
"Secret?"
"The treasures of house Targaryen. Everything that we brought with us from Valyria is housed in this vault, accessible only to those who share our blood."
Understanding dawned on the young Maegor.
"You sealed it with blood magic?"
Visenya scoffed. "Don't be a fool. It was done under the orders of Aenar Targaryen more than a century ago. It's been our greatest held secret."
"Why do you know of it? Why not father?"
"My father saw more potential in me than Aegon when it came to blood magic," Visenya said. "You forget, Maegor. I'm the first born. I wield Dark Sister not just for show."
"Forgive me, mother. I did not mean-"
"It matters not what you meant." Visenya ignored his attempts at an apology. "Aenys is weak, Maegor. I have tried teaching him, but he does not understand. Westeros does not love us. They do not accept us. They still see us as outsiders. They mock us. Aegon's processions throughout the realm have done little to appease them. They only fear our dragons."
Maegor just listened.
"If our dynasty is to survive, then we must remain firm. Do not forget our words, Maegor. They were chosen for a reason. We took up a sigil to better appeal to the Andals, but it highlights a truth that none of them can understand."
"What truth, mother?"
"I will teach you that and more. When you have your own children, then it'll be your duty to pass on this knowledge to them. Aenys is undeserving of it. His children will be no different."
"Yes, mother."
"Then come. I will teach you how to open the vault."
Rhaegal was engrossed by the conversation between mother and son, but before he could see the conclusion he was once again interrupted as the vision began to fade.
What he presumed was Dragonstone disappeared, as did Visenya and Maegor.
Now, Rhaegal was standing in a large chamber filled with books with an elaborate table placed in the middle of it. A man was sitting, his hands resting on the table. He wore the robes of a maester as well as an Archmaester mask of gold. Neither could hide the silver-gold hair nor the purple eyes.
Another Archmaester stood before him, the man's hands folded behind his back. His Archmaester mask and ring were of Valyrian steel. This Archmaester was bald.
Both were in their elder years, that much was certain.
"The realm will tear itself apart it seems," the bald Archmaester said.
The purple eyed Archmaester just stared at him in silence.
"Despite your father's attempts, the dragons mean to kill each other. A dance of dragons."
"Spare me your flowery words. This is nothing more than two fools grasping for power. I suppose my father never realized the disappointment Viserys would end up becoming. I wonder if he would have allowed Rhaenys to become queen if he had."
"He was king."
"And now he's dead, with his children planning to kill the other with their dragons. Of what use is he?"
The bald Archmaester shook his head. "You've never been kind to your family."
"Family has rarely been kind to me, but that matters little now. All of them are dead. Now there are only two fools who have allowed themselves to be manipulated."
"The Conclave-"
"It has little to do with me." He glared at the bald Archmaester. "You can proceed as you like. Dragons have never interested me any."
Rhaegal would never hear the response to the purple eyed Archmaester's statement as the scenery once again switched.
Now, he was standing inside what appeared to be a chasm. Having been to Dorne once, Rhaegal recognized the sands that stood on one end of the chasm, while the mountainside on the other was new for him.
What he did recognize was the fallen form of King Daeron I, the so-called Young Dragon. His gold and black plate armor was now stained with blood, his eyes opened wide even in death with sword in hand. The Conqueror's crown was still on his head.
There were many men standing around his body, laughing and jeering. One of them walked up to his body and roughly removed the crown from Daeron's head.
The man wore the light armor of the Dornish. The sigil on the armor was recognizable to Rhaegal. It belonged to house Wyl.
"As you see, these so-called dragons are men just like the rest of us," he mocked as he held up the crown. "They couldn't conquer us when they had their dragons. They cannot do it now. Dorne will never submit!"
His words were met with approval from those around him as they let out powerful cheers.
The scene did not last. The sands and the mountains vanished as they were replaced by a burning scene.
There was a chamber crackling with putrid green fire. The air was full of smoke. Men were screaming. There was a dark haired woman who wore a dark crown with a red ruby in the center sprawled on the floor, tears racing down her cheeks as she watched two men face-off in the middle of the room.
One wore a purple and gold doublet, with a red cape over his shoulder. His silver-gold hair fell down to his shoulders. He wore a gold circlet.
The other was a tall man donning the famous Kingsguard armor.
The two were old, and yet their forms were imposing even as the green flames roared around them.
"This was never going to work!" the Kingsguard cried out. "Going behind our backs-"
"It was the only way. If you had not interfered-!"
"They're your family!"
"I did this for my family! For the realm! Once the dragons have returned-!"
"There's no more time. I will not let you go through with this!"
"You will follow my commands!"
"The wildfire is already spreading. The ritual failed, your Grace. We must-!"
The green flames began to burn even hotter, if such a thing was even possible. Even in his form, Rhaegal could feel them.
And it was the last thing he felt as that scene too faded from existence.
The darkness was returning again, but before it could fully consume Rhaegal he saw quick flashes of more visions. He saw the Balerion flying from what looked to be an incomplete King's Landing to Dragonstone at great speed. He saw the Black Dread again, only this time it was engaged in fierce combat with a smaller silver dragon near a large lake.
There were other visions, but the only other which stood out was that of another silver dragon, this one more gray than pure silver, flying over the Gods Eye. There was a young rider on the dragon's back, a man with silver hair and purple eyes. His armor was emblazoned with the familiar silver seahorse that Rhaegal had seen many times.
Rhaegal had no time to digest any of this as he found himself once more surrounded by the darkness and the ghosts.
"He saw nearly three hundred years."
"It was his first."
"He does not understand."
"He will, in time."
"He must."
"More time."
"The candles will respond to him."
"The dragons will remain his eyes."
"Yes. The dragons understand."
"The dragons understand."
Rhaegal had no way of responding. He just watched on as the ghosts continued with their chants.
It was loud, and it felt as if his mind was going to shatter with all of the noise.
Then, as quickly as the darkness came, it vanished once more. The ghosts as well.
And Rhaegal?
He could only close his eyes in exhaustion.
---
The Citadel was in an uproar.
Marwyn could see it. His fellow Archmaesters were not pleased. They had not only been rejected by the king to study the dragons, but now the crown prince had visited the Citadel just to take away some of their most prized artifacts.
At least, this was what they would want you to believe. The glass candles were no more than decorations now. They did not function, and none of the maesters knew how to make them burn once more.
No, the real issue was the fact that Prince Rhaegal had proved that he could make them burn again all by his lonesome. Whatever delusions these learned men might have had about the prince's magical abilities were gone now. They could not deny the existence of magic when the instruments that had been used to disprove magic were now used to show the opposite.
Perceptions mattered, and the Archmaesters were displeased indeed.
After the prince went into a trance after touching one of the glass candles, he collapsed. There had been some concerns about the prince's health, but Qyburn quickly saw to the prince's care and concluded that he had only passed out. Prince Rhaegal was going to be fine.
'Just as well. The king might really burn this place if his heir was killed while in these halls.'
Marwyn still valued his life, and he didn't need to be a learned man to know that an angry Targaryen with a dragon was a scary proposition.
The prince was being transported back to the Hightower to rest. The two Kingsguard with him were keeping a close eye on him as they rode back to the Hightower.
It was unfortunate for Marwyn that he was unable to speak to the prince in private, but as he stared at Qyburn who now stood inside his chamber Marwyn knew that he would have another chance in the future.
At least, he was able to see something interesting.
"Your prince has made a lot of enemies."
"They were never going to be his allies."
"Oh?" Marwyn was taken aback by Qyburn's retort. "I knew you were growing tired of the Citadel, but to say such things-"
"I have seen many things while in the service of Prince Rhaegal," Qyburn cut him off. "I have learned many things as well. This world is a big place. What the Citadel considers knowledge is but a small fraction of the truth. I know they do not like that. I know that they will act against it."
"The realm is going through a rapid change," Marwyn said. "Everyone is trying to keep up."
"Are you?"
Marwyn was able to crack a small grin. "I'm thriving as much as you are. For I have seen my own share of things during my travels. I've come to realize that this is a big world as well. Which is why I want to know how committed you are to witnessing as much of it as possible."
Qyburn's hand twitched. "I'm still waiting to fully begin my studies. I have much conjecture."
"Even for the smallest scraps of knowledge, we are willing to do what we must," Marwyn agreed.
"Sticking with Prince Rhaegal grants me many benefits."
Marwyn grunted. "I'm sure. Your prince does not allow that benefit for the rest of us."
"He does not trust you."
"Smart of him. The Citadel has many agendas."
"So I've been told."
"So you have." Marwyn studied him. "You know some then. Good. That means I don't have to worry. Then you should also know this. I'm willing to pledge myself to your prince as well."
Qyburn raised an eyebrow at this. "What?"
"There is someone who's very interested in your prince, and I find myself being their errand boy for this ride. But it also aligns with my desires, so I'm willing to go along with it. I want to join you on Dragonstone."
Qyburn's response was quick. "Prince Rhaegal would not agree to such a thing. Especially when you're an Archmaester. Recent events have made him more distrustful of you than ever."
"If I'm such a danger, then why tell me such a thing?" Marwyn argued. "It's because you know that I don't follow the same beliefs as many of these fools. I have my own aspirations."
"Yes. The return of magic."
"Precisely!" Marwyn could barely contain his own excitement. "I've always had doubts. Beliefs. But now, I'm more confident than I have ever been. Just think of it. A new age, not stifled by men too afraid of their own shadows."
"And you believe Prince Rhaegal will help."
Marwyn resisted the urge to scoff. "Don't you?"
Qyburn did not reply.
"Those old fools want me to make you bend the knee to them," Marwyn carried on. "It's why I summoned you here. Or rather, why they think I did. They'll believe that they have someone on the inside if you accept me. It'll make them more confident and less volatile. For a time."
Marwyn cared little for all the politics occurring in the realm. He cared less for the politics of the Citadel. But if they helped him get what he wanted, then he was not ashamed to use them.
"I know what they want," Qyburn said, looking frustrated. "And your idea has some amount of merit. I know the type of person that you are."
Marwyn looked hopeful.
Qyburn then added, "However, it's not my decision to make. I can make an argument for your case, but Prince Rhaegal will have the final say."
Marwyn was still pleased with the outcome.
"That's all I ask for."
---
Rhaegal frowned as he awoke to the beaming eyes of Malora staring down at him. It took him a few seconds to realize that his head was resting on her lap.
It took him a few more seconds after that to realize that he was in his own private chamber inside the Hightower.
"I've been hearing of the stir that you caused at the Citadel earlier today, my dragon prince," she said, her voice chirpy. "It's too bad that I missed it! Those old men must be freaking out about what all of this means!"
Rhaegal was a lot less chirpy. "Why are you here?"
Weren't his Kingsguard supposed to keep intruders out? Or did they think that Malora was not a threat?
"But you must tell me!" Malora ignored his question altogether as she stared intently down at him. "What did you see? What did the glass candles show you?" She pouted here. "The fact that you were able to make them burn from just approaching them makes me mad. You have too much magical power in you. It must have reacted strongly to the glass candles when you approached them."
Rhaegal felt exhausted, to the point that he wasn't sure if he could walk properly right now. But even so, he remembered everything that the glass candles showed him.
Not that he would ever tell Malora this.
"I saw little. I was able to see the Wall. That's all."
Malora huffed. "Okay, fine. Don't tell me. I didn't think that you would. Your distaste for my family is still too strong for you to see my usefulness."
Yeah, sure. That was all it was.
"Can you at least tell me if you accomplished what you wanted?" Malora asked, her tone softer.
More than that.
Those ghosts were an oddity. He did not how to explain them. Rhaegal knew that he was going to have to practice hard to master the glass candles before he arrived at any conclusions. He had a feeling that the more he delved into the glass candles the more he would see of them. Whether that was good or bad was anyone's guess.
There was a tangible fact that he could discern from all of this, however.
'There's a secret vault in Dragonstone.'
Rhaegal had no idea what it contained, but if there were any relics of Valyria within then they were invaluable.
A part of him always wondered if there were more secrets that his Targaryen ancestors brought with them to Dragonstone when they escaped the Doom. Just two Valyrian steel swords felt insufficient, but that might have just been his greedy nature of wanting more.
Now he knew that there was indeed more to the Targaryen fortune.
'After Maegor's death, that knowledge was also lost.'
How careless. Perhaps the Conqueror had informed Aenys of the secrets of Dragonstone. Maybe Aenys also told his firstborn son. But after the chaotic period following Aenys' death as well as the succession crisis, the knowledge was never able to be passed down to subsequent Targaryens.
'Another mistake.'
His predecessors had committed so many of them.
"Well?" Malora's expectant eyes broke Rhaegal from his thoughts.
"I have achieved plenty," Rhaegal answered simply.
His vague answer just made Malora huff again.
"Fine. Keep your secrets. But when I have a super cool one, then I won't tell you!"
"Yes, yes. How unfortunate." Rhaegal's tone was as monotonous as it could be. "Now leave me to my rest. I have no desire to sleep in the same room as you."
Rhaegal ignored her disappointment as his thoughts drifted toward the future.
After making sure that the pouting Malora was escorted from his chamber, Rhaegal would get his needed rest.
He would spend several more days at Oldtown. Thankfully, he would recover quickly from his exhaustion and was once again mobile within a few hours, finding that his fatigue was more mental rather than physical.
If one quick use of the glass candles exhausted him this much, then more training was needed.
More heirs and lords from the Reach would come to pay him a visit at the Hightower, offering personal vows of loyalty that were probably not worth a damn. Still, Rhaegal was a gracious prince and accepted these pledges, recognizing their practicality.
The maesters, as well as Qyburn, would come to him with an offer about taking one of the Archmaesters in to his service. To better help "guide him" against the trickery of the Alchemists' Guild, or something along those lines. It was not something that had ever been done before as far as Rhaegal was aware. For an Archmaester to leave the Citadel and enter into the direct service of the crown prince….well, it would send quite a message throughout the realm.
The desperation from the Citadel was plain to see, but their squirming did little to appease his anger.
Rhaegal would also follow through on the Most Devout of the Starry Sept's suggestion and receive an official blessing of the Seven. It was not done out of an act of faith but more so an olive branch to the Faith.
Stepping inside the Starry Sept did not fill Rhaegal with a sense of devotion. The sept itself was magnificent, but there was no presence of a deity that he could feel. If the Seven did exist, then it did not exist inside this temple.
Most of Oldtown came to see the moment that Rhaegal was blessed. He knelt before the Most Devout and accepted his kind prayer, almost as if he was mimicking the Conqueror's official coronation within these walls almost three centuries ago.
What would a genuine believer feel in this moment, he wondered? What had Aegon felt? For this was an honor that many aspired to. For Rhaegal, it was nothing special.
It did not stop Most Devout Mattheus from feeling like he had accomplished some great victory after the ceremony concluded.
Rhaegal's visit to Oldtown had been most prosperous indeed, and his accomplishments here, combined with those in the North, would have great ramifications for the future of the Targaryen dynasty.
---
Brandon enjoyed the cold air on his skin as he rode through the barren road with the rest of his family.
'I've missed this.'
It was the first time that he had traveled outside of the North, and Brandon would not say that he had enjoyed it all that much. Sure, seeing Rhaegal again was fun. So was seeing all the beauties the south had to offer. But the North would always be his home.
Speaking of southern ladies, there was a dark haired beauty with striking purple eyes that caught his fancy in particular. Unfortunately, Eddard had seemed interested in her as well, and Brandon did not want to hurt his little brother and so never made a move.
Perhaps he should have. Brandon did not know if he would ever see her again.
'Ashara Dayne.'
A Dornish lady of all things. Brandon wondered if the old gods were playing a trick on him.
"Yuck. You're thinking about that Ashara person again, aren't you?"
Brandon's daydreaming was interrupted by Lyanna who was riding with him. Unfortunately for his little sister, their father forbade her from riding her own horse during their way back to Winterfell. A punishment for her insolent behavior with the princess apparently.
"What are you talking about?" Brandon tried to pretend that he did not know what she was talking about.
Lyanna stuck her tongue out. "I see it in your face. Ned was looking like that too. What makes her so great? Even Shaena said that she was like a sister to her."
Really now?
"She's close to the princess?" Brandon was interested. He did not have much of a chance to interact with her. He had noticed her hanging around Rhaegal and Rhaegar at times, but he assumed that was only because her brother Arthur was a close friend to the Targaryen twins. He did not think that Ashara herself was close with the sole princess of the realm.
"Yeah. Something about her being honest. I don't know. I didn't really see it. She didn't look special to me."
Oh? Was Brandon imagining things, or did his little sister sound jealous? Despite their constant bickering, had Lyanna found a kindred spirit in Princess Shaena? And so she didn't like the fact that someone else was close to her?
'Cute.'
"One day you might understand, little sister," Brandon teased her. "When you fall in love."
Lyanna grumbled. "I don't get what that means. Do you love Ashara?"
Love? Probably not. But Brandon wasn't about to talk to his sister about his less than platonic admiration toward the young Lady Dayne.
"As I said, one day you might understand, little sister."
Lyanna shook her head. "You make no sense sometimes."
Brandon had to chuckle.
Their ride continued in peace until one of the riders up front suddenly shouted.
"Lord Stark! A moment please! There is something you might want to see here!" The rider was pointing to something off the road where the snow was piled up high.
Brandon recognized the rider. He was one of their household guards from Winterfell.
Right away Rickard rode to the front while Lyarra stayed behind with them.
"Wait here."
Brandon and Benjen didn't need to be told twice. Lyanna on the other hand was trying to peek over his shoulder.
"What? What is it? What happened?"
Their mother shushed her while Rickard dismounted from his horse. He followed the guard off the road to where he had been pointing at with several others trailing after them. They stopped after several meters, forming a circle around something. Even from a distance it was not hard to see that Rickard and his men were amazed by what they were seeing.
Brandon squinted his eyes to try and see what they were gawking at, but all he could make out was the snow.
Benjen looked worried. "What do you think father has found?"
"I'm sure it's nothing," Lyarra tried to reassure her son.
Lyanna whined. "I want to see. Let's go see, Brandon!"
Their mother fixed them with a glare. "You will do no such thing. You will stay where you are. Do you understand me?"
Before Brandon could respond, Rickard started to walk back toward the road. Only that he was not walking empty handed. In his arms were two small creatures, while the guard from before carried two small bundles of his own.
Two of the bundles were gray while another was more silvery-gray. The last one was black.
"Rickard. Dear, what is it?" Lyarra asked right away as Rickard approached them.
The Lord of Winterfell gazed down at the two bundles that he was carrying which soon began to move, squirming in place.
"Direwolves."
Brandon's breath hitched when he heard this. He was certain that Lyanna shared his reaction, especially after the two bundles in their father's arms opened their eyes, revealing two sets of golden eyes to the world.
None of them noticed the raven flying over their heads.