After all, how could one dispute when one brings up the fate of the world, the necessary sacrifice for all the living to survive the... long night.
There had always been some rumours among the Nobility and the Maesters that the Targaryens were sometimes blessed with the power to see the future in their dreams.
The most famous examples of them are Daenys the Dreamer, the one who saw the doom and saved the Targaryens by bringing them to Westeros, and Daeron the Drunk, who was said to possess the eerie ability to speak about the future in riddles that somehow always turned out to be true in hindsight.
And there are even debates among the Maesters that Aegon I Targaryen, the first king of Westeros, was particularly motivated to conquer the Seven Kingdoms because of a threat he saw in his dreams.
The Nobles, of course, always believed it to be horseshit or fortunate coincidences that happened to match with the ramblings of someone who was suffering from the famous Targaryen madness.
But Barristan knew that there was some truth to all that.
Because he had seen too many of those fortunate coincidences happen in front of his eyes over the years, starting from when the prince was just a young lad.
Sometimes it would be simple things, such as the premonition of a particularly strong storm, or a substantial feeling that the upcoming winter would be particularly short, but other times it would be an ominous dream of someone's tragic death, whether it be an old cook living in the same castle or a beloved guard far away in Dragonstone.
But these sure predictions were few and far between, and most of the time, the dreams were vague visions of people he had never seen before, but knew for sure that they were his family, whether from the past or the future.
He saw their struggles in great detail, their sorrows, their heartaches, and their triumphs.
Of course, only Ser Barristan and Ser Dayne had ever been privy to these details, and even the Prince's mother only ever had a vague idea about this.
That too was because, in the beginning, when he was but a child, he would often run to share those vague visions with her, of seeing Winter that never ends, of seeing endless darkness, of watching great tragedies occur over the Seven Kingdoms, of seeing the dead... walk.
But of course, as all mothers do with their child's fears, the queen only ever attributed it to simple nightmares, and just silently coaxed him with false promises, so slowly the Prince stopped sharing them out loud.
But for anyone who was close to him, it was easy to see the signs, to understand that the episodes never stopped.
They would see the prince off for the night after a feast; he would go to sleep with a smile on his face, but the very next morning, he would wake up with a pale face and haunted eyes as if he had just survived a deadly fever.
And then for weeks on end, he would have that melancholic look in his eyes as if the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders. He would isolate himself and brood while staring into nothingness, with no one able to point out the trigger behind this abrupt sadness.
But even more than those infrequent dreams, there were two that he was obsessed with more than any else, the ones that he believed in fully.
In fact, one of them was so famous that people from all over the world believed in it, from various kinds of charlatans, such as the wood witches, to the numerous Red priests and priestesses in Essos, which honestly did not help much for its authenticity.
The prophecies he was speaking of here were, of course, the one with the 'Prince that was promised,' and the more Targaryen exclusive one of 'The dragon must have three heads.'
These were the ones that the Prince had always been running around, trying to fulfil over all these years.
Sadly, though, destiny was fickle, and even the second one, which should have been easy for most men in their prime age to achieve, turned absurdly challenging because of the frailty of the Dornish princess, as the Maesters had made it clear that another pregnancy would likely kill her, and the prince could never accept something so cruel.
But of course, the solution he found for the problem was not much better either.
Alas, this time, not even the prince could have foreseen the chaos his single decision would cause in the realm, and by the time he learned about it all in his distant hideout in Dorne, it was far too late for him to change anything.
The madness of his father, the recklessness of the Stark heir, the bravery of the Old Arryn, the cunning of the Fish, the silent revenge of the Lannister Lord, and the cowardly acceptance of the Nobles in the capital who stood and silently watched the tragedies happen.
And most cruel of all was the hidden, sinister hand, because of whom the crucial letter that the Stark girl had sent to her family, explaining that it was all her choice and that she had not been coerced, disappeared.
All of these incidents occurred in the short span of a few months, as if someone was pushing the wheels of history from behind, pushing for the downfall of the Targaryens, making one feel as if it were all... predestined.
And now, even with the prince finally here, it was useless, as the cards had all been dealt, and the board already set, and the possibility of talks of peace had been repeatedly rejected, so the war was inevitable.
What was worse was that the prince could not even step aside and let them through to deal with his father.
Because, while not many knew about it, the Mad King had gone so mad that he was holding little Aegon, Rhaenys, and their mother hostage not only against the Dornish to force their army to fight for him, but he was also using it against the Prince to make him come out here and do his bidding.
How tragic it was that even as the Prince of the Realm, the man couldn't even ensure the safety of his own children and his wife.
Barristan could only imagine the frustration and helplessness he must have felt when he was turned away at the gates of the Capital and not even allowed to meet his family for what could have been the last time...
But even so... for him to speak of his death like this...
"We all have our part to act in this play of Fate, Ser, and while I am uncertain about mine, I know for sure that your part does not end tomorrow, and that you still have a long and gruelling journey in front of you." Prince answered with a solemn look on his face, "We will all need to make sacrifices for the future of this world when the time comes, for the countless innocent men, women, and children out there, for all the living."
"I understand," Barristan replied, knowing that it would be pointless to argue with him when he got caught up in his vague dreams like this, as if he were seeing a different world, so he did not continue his line of questions and asked instead, "How will serving Robert help, your grace?"
He was outwardly showing compliance, but inwardly the knight's will firmed up, and he decided that regardless of what happened out there tomorrow, he would not leave the prince's side, and even if he had to fight the whole army by himself, 'I will stop Robert, and keep the prince alive, even if it is the last thing I do.'
"It will," Rhaegar's voice turned faint as he once again turned his back to him, "The Targaeryen dynasty may end soon, but our seeds will survive somehow... and they will grow, through suffering and adversity, like sword tempered in fire, stronger for every burn they endure, and eventually the time will, you will know when, when you shall have the opportunity to serve a dragon once again, one who you will be satisfied with, even more than me, you must take that chance, Ser Barristan... you must..."
...
The old man's eyes snapped open as he looked around wildly with panic in his eyes.
The familiar haunting voice still echoed in his ears, telling him to wait... but the very next moment, what came into his sight was still the room of the Lord Commander in the White Sword Tower, which he had inhabited for many a decade, and not the clearing from his dream, leaving him sighing in disappointment.
After taking a few deep breaths to gather his bearings, Barristan opened his eyes fully and grunted as he sat up on the cot before he began massaging the various joints in his arms and his knees to relieve the faint ache that seemed to have become a constant companion of his starting a few years ago.
'I am getting old,' he thought as he slowly stood up and began going through with the familiar routine that he had been following faithfully ever since he became a Kingsguard.
Drank a glass of water, used the privy, washed his face and his legs, changed his clothes, and finally cleaned his equipment before wearing his armour.
His body subconsiously performed these with precise movements as if he had done them a thousand times, but all while his mind kept going back to that dream of his wondering if it was sign, after all, he had not seen that one in a long, long time, and not matter how he tried to evade it or explain it away as a coincidence, he knew very clearly in his heart that the reason behind it was that... boy.
There were many times in the past decade or so when he had been tempted to leave, to just pack a small bag, cover his face and head to Essos to find the last remaining Targaryens wandering alone.
He had made many a detailed plan regarding this, of how he would go about it, the path he would take out of the capital, the ship he would board, the disguises he would wear, the Free City he would land in, and how he would go about searching for them.
But every single time, he stopped himself at the last moment, because he knew that he would be taking the easy path out, that he would not be fulfilling the wishes of the Prince as he intended it, because if taking care of the prince and the princess in hiding had been the goal from the beginning, then he never would have been told to surrender to Robert.
So he always convinced himself that he still needed to be patient, not to be impulsive, and to silently wait for that moment the prince had talked about.
But now...
'Perhaps the time is already here,' came the unbidden thought into his mind before he immediately shook his head, 'It is still too soon to tell; I need to observe slowly to be sure.'
Clearing his head of all of his cluttered thoughts, Barristan opened the door to his room and climbed down the stairs into a corridor that led straight towards the large training grounds in the Red Keep.
It was still towards the end of the hour of the wolf, and barely a hint of dawn had appeared on the horizon, so there were not many people out there during this time except for the guards on night duty, and a handful of maids and servants who were hurrying towards their master's room to prepare for the day.
The reason he woke up so early every single day was that he liked to have the training grounds all to himself for about an hour or so, so that he could peacefully go through his conditioning routine before it became cluttered with the rabble of Nobles that the King had deigned to host in the Red Keep that day.
But unfortunately for him, his regular routine hit a snag that day, as when he arrived at the grounds, he found it already occupied by the person he least expected to see here.
"Ah, there you are, Ser Barristan. I was hoping to run into you here," said the boy, who had been the reason behind his hazy dreams.
///
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