Chapter Twenty-one: Red

Notes: Happy new year everyone! Enjoy the first 2016 chapter! ;)

Lyanna:

Lyanna sighed as she got up from her chair. The day had been boring, with no company from either her children or her ladies. The former had been scattered through the castle, and the latter she had dismissed in her dour mood.

She was worried for everyone in her family, though their new situation seemed a lot better than before, she was not happy. Jon could barely be seen outside his chamber, and in fact, Lyanna had not even talked to him for three days now. Rhaegar had also locked himself in his rooms, refusing to see her. He gave no reasons for it but Arthur believed it was out of shame.

Even her more joyful children had been acting strangely as of late, Aegon spent his days in the training yard or riding outside the walls of Winterfell. Though Lyanna actually doubted that it was the full truth, she knew Aegon better than he thought she did, and she could say exactly when he was lying and why he was doing so. Despite having not even a single drop of Stark blood in his veins, Aegon strongly reminded her of Brandon. He was just as wild, playful, gallant and bawdy, each of those aspects came to life in different situations as they befitted him. Lyanna had never seen his bawdy side, but she was sure of its existence.

And lastly came Nym, she was the most strange one during the past week. She looked as if she was avoiding everyone and surprisingly spent her time with Sansa. Strangely enough, she seemed to dodge the boys, whenever Aegon got close to her she made an excuse and disappeared. The same applied to Robb, Theon Greyjoy and Jeremy Gilbert. Though the two latter ones were more favored than their priors.

Lyanna wondered what had changed, while not having their awful problems anymore, each and every one of them was abandoned in their own ways. She had to end it, but she did not know how.

It took her a while before she finally gathered all her courage and willpower to get up and make her way to Rhaegar's chambers. Ser Balon and Arthur were guarding outside, as alarmed as ever. The Swann knight's expression did not change, but Arthur raised a brow at her. When none of them moved to let her in, she frowned, "Can I see the king?" She asked impatiently.

Balon Swann intentionally reverted his gaze from her, leaving Arthur to deal with her. Arthur cast her a long look, trying to refuse her silently, but she won that game of stares, and Arthur sighed, "Wait here, your grace." He stiffly said before going inside the room.

Rudely, he closed the door behind, so Lyanna did not hear whatever sentences that had been traded between the Kingsguard and her husband. When Arthur come back, his face was still forbidding, yet he let her in.

Inside, it was everything but a room that would befit Rhaegar. Looking around, she saw a true mess of different things, and amidst it all, Rhaegar was hunched on a seat close to the window. His pale hair was tangled in a mess as it ran loose on his shoulders, covering his face in a veil of silver. She realized that she had not seen him since that night by Jon's bedside. He looked as if he had forgotten his physical existence, the always neat and tidy Rhaegar was now a shell of the man he was. It was even worse than those times when he was completely lost in his madness, or that day when he was poisoned.

"Rhaegar," she softly murmured, afraid of startling him.

He was not, however, disconcerted, and it took him like ages to finally look up and meet her gaze. His eyes were dim and feverish at the same time, begging silently. His face was colorless and expressionless both.

"You shouldn't be here," he spoke up, his voice throaty and untried of not talking for a long time.

Lyanna felt a burning lump in her throat, he was so miserable and heart-breaking at the moment. "I very well can," she put steel to her voice, "I am your wife, after all."

That only seemed to bewilder him even further, "Please, just leave." He nearly pleaded.

She shook her head disobediently, "I will not. I won't leave until you actually talk to me."

Her words seemed to work in opposite, for he grew silent once more, turning back to stare out the window.

"Rhaegar, please," it was her turn to beseech now, "Talk to me." She was getting desperate with him.

No answer came, but she could see that he fluttered his eyes shut, as if in pain. She had seen this before, once upon a very long time ago, the day he told her of her father and brother's fates. He was tormenting himself with whatever thoughts he had.

"Stop it," she finally commanded, fierce but not unkindly, "Stop brooding and talk to me."

She went forward, mindless of the scattered objects around her, and blocked his view, hands clasped in front of her, waiting for his answer.

He looked up at her like a defiant boy. But this defiant boy had eyes full of shame and unshed tears. When she did not give up, he sighed, just like the way Arthur had a short while ago.

"Fine," he whispered, more to himself than her. "What do you have me say, Lyanna? I failed you, I hurt you. How can I bring myself to talk to you, now?" He asked, eager to be turned down. He wants me to hate him, she realized, he wants me to blame him and accuse him for it.

How can I do it when I love him?

"You saved me from Robert," she started, her tone mild, "And rode to war for me, you avenged my father and Brandon's deaths. You did not fail me." She said nothing of the years in between, of the times that most certainly were now haunting Rhaegar.

But he did not fail to notice that, "And what of afterwards? I sent Elia and Rhaenys off, and my own siblings. I rejected my son and abused you." His voice was weak at first, and there was a self-hatred in it, but by the time he was finished, he was nearly shouting, "All because of that damned prophecy!" He choked on his own sob, highly unlikely of him.

Lyanna composed herself and shakily reached for his hand, the hand that once had been strong and full of life. It was now cold and felt like a pile of crumbling bones under her touch, like the hand of an old man. "And a vile man who did this to you." She softly added.

"I did this to myself," Rhaegar said, firmly.

His hand was now truly shaking beneath her palm, in a white rage. Even looking at him made her heart ache. Everyone still agreed that he was handsome, but she saw behind that first impression. He had once been ethereally beautiful. Now his eyes had dimmed and his face was nothing but bone and skin. His lips were withered and his strong body had lost its strength. He was more like a man twenty years his elder, like a version of his father, though still more beautiful and bearable. And his fingers, oh his fingers, they had once been long and lean, playing those beautiful tunes for her, now they were crooked like animal claws.

"Rhaegar," she started.

He did not let her finish, "Leave me be, Lyanna. I beg you." He said, pulling his hand away.

She saw that the longer she tried, the worse he became, thus she obeyed. The sight of him had left her too shaken to even object further, and the look in his eyes was unbearable for her. She felt his heavy gaze upon her back as she made her way outside his bedchamber.

Arthur most likely read her features to know what had happened, though mayhap Rhaegar's shouts had also helped. "Your grace," he said, "Allow me to escort you."

Ser Balon seemed unaware of anything, or he was hiding it well. He only nodded at his sworn brother and let him leave with Lyanna.

Once in her room, Arthur looked at her with worry, "I told you it wasn't wise to see him now." His tone told her that it was not good for her, not Rhaegar.

And he was right, she had to admit. "He looked so...fragile." She muttered.

Arthur fixated her with a sympathetic look, "He's woken up of a trance that had lasted for fourteen years. Anyone would be like this if they had done what he has," he took a deep breath, "And he's Rhaegar. He forgives everyone but himself, forgets everything but his own wrongs."

That was, sadly, true. Lyanna knew this melancholic side of her husband well enough, but never before had that melancholy been mixed with such a heavy guilt. It was not that she did not blame him at all, she did. But the point was that he had had no control over his thoughts, no control on who he was.

And that prophecy, it had doomed them all. The three heads of his dragon sprouted one extra head, an unwanted prince, she thought to herself. She had given him his Visenya, but an Aemon as well. Jon is the bane of his life while he is the joy of mine, it was ironic in some ways.

But her thoughts sent her back to Rhaegar, to the man he had become. Of course, she had seen him many a time in his aged look, but this time it had been different. All those years she had felt like living with someone other than the Rhaegar she once knew, but now that Rhaegar had come back, in the body of the mad dragon king. It has to be his punishment, she mused, being trapped in this body with the memories of his sins.

She realized that Arthur was eyeing her worriedly, she had been so lost in her thoughts that it had frightened him. "What do you suggest?" She asked.

Arthur took a moment to think on it, "Normally, I would say that leave him be until it passes. But this time, I don't think it would pass on its own. We need to do something about him before he hurts himself in one way or another."

"What do you mean?" She asked sharply.

Arthur leveled her with a look, "You're not the only person he refuses to see, Lyanna. He does not let us or any other servant enter his rooms, whatever little food I have forced him to eat is not enough. He declines to meet everyone and I doubt he has a sound sleep at nights. It is not good for his health, especially now." He explained. "I try to take the most possible shifts to guard him, but even then, I cannot see what he is doing inside that room. I'm worried, because in his state, he is capable of doing the most foolish things."

Lyanna did not want to think of those foolish things at all. But the horrible images flooded to her mind, like torturing visions. Was that window of his room close to the ground enough? Was it small enough? Did it even matter if he had a sharp blade in his chambers?

Suddenly she was not just sad, she was worried sick. "Post more guards, Arthur. Four, at the very least. If you hear any unusual sounds, don't hesitate." She urged him.

"I will," he solemnly replied, "I'll keep my eyes and ears open, and take the best of Kingsguard with myself."

Despite his calming tone, she could see that if Rhaegar truly intended to do anything unwise, there was nothing all those fine knights could do. Absolutely nothing.

The Broken Dragon:

The laughter of the children filled the room. They were all there, laughing and teasing. Even Elia and Lyanna were chatting happily. It made him feel left out, they were enjoying their time without him. How could they?

He could hear Rhaenys and Visenya's giggles mingling with Aegon's loud laughter. Aemon was also there, giggling as well. Foolish boy, he thought, he doesn't deserve to be with them. He quickened his pace, forcing the old Gerold Hightower follow him. He could not comprehend one more second, letting them enjoy their time, without him.

Once he opened the door to the nursery, the laughter died away, at least those of his wives. Six pairs of eyes stared at him, each with a different color. The sudden grave silence only added to his anger, did they think him an idiot?

It was his youngest daughter who broke the spell. Visenya flung herself at him in a way he only saw a flurry of black hair lunging at him. He managed to hold her still just in time and pick her up, holding her light figure in his arms. She giggled once more, unaware of the grim mood around her. "Father!" She exclaimed.

He smiled at her, his Visenya. She loved him, unlike that other ungrateful girl, she loved her father. Soon, Aegon joined her, forcing him to put her daughter down so he could catch the boy. He put her back to the ground and looked around the room. Rhaenys seemed totally ignorant of him, he meant to give her a lesson in greeting the king in the best way when he noticed someone tugging at his legs. Having just snatched Aegon from the ground, he wondered who it was.

He instantly pulled away when he found out who it was. That black haired boy had thought himself worthy of his attention. The filthy little monster, he thought angrily.

"Father," Aemon said, his voice as eager as Visenya's had been, but much quieter.

He did not bother to look at him, "Get off me, boy." He ordered.

The little idiot looked at him dumbly before crawling back to his mother's embrace. Good, let him learn to respect his king.

Lyanna looked up at him with disdain and incredulity in her eyes, soon followed by a much more displeased Elia. He ignored them and turned his attention back to his son.

However, while in his hands, he murmured into his hair, "Why didn't you hug Jon?" His boyish voice was innocent.

Rhaegar pulled him away instantly, looking square in his eyes, "Do not talk of him." He commanded, feeling content when Aegon did not continue.

Looking back at his wives, who were now comforting Aemon -as if he needed comfort- he knitted his brows in a frown. "Should you not greet your king?" He demanded.

Lyanna acknowledged him with a look while Elia did not even bother to look up. That idiot Dornish princess thinks her place is far higher than mine, he though with anger.

He was about to unleash his anger at the ignorant woman when someone tugged at his feet once more. Looking down, he saw Visenya's big grey eyes looking at him, "Play with us, Father." She begged.

He wanted to shout at her and tell her that the dragon did not play like foolish children, but the look in her eyes was so intolerable. Visenya, hisVisenya, could not be denied anything. But it was only her and her brother that he wanted to grant their wishes, so he dismissed the rest of them. Rhaenys did not say anything as she followed her mother outside of the room, but Aemon looked wistful in Lyanna's arms. Ungrateful boy!

His brother was coming, his fool stupid brother was coming back to the capital, with the girl. He had strictly ordered him to not set foot there again with that vile girl. The foul monster who had killed the late queen with her birth. She was like the rest of them, a horrid ungrateful creature, just like Rhaenys and the boy Aemon. Worst of all, Viserys had not even bothered to inform him of his arrival. Only when his ship had docked, the king had been told.

Connington insisted on sending a party to greet the prince and princess. How dare he suggest that the girl was a princess?

"They can go back to their castle for all I care," he spat, "Not that they are grateful for even being permitted to live there. I could have given them Summerhall and still did them a favor."

"Your grace," Connington started, "They are your siblings, if his grace do not greet them as such, people will talk."

"People!" He sneered, "The dragon doesn't care for lowly people." Nor could it be treated in the way that Connington was treating him. He kept it to himself, though, for he was still much better than those fools in his council, or out there in their castles. Tywin Lannister, for one, was amongst those fools who thought himself capable of accompanying a dragon. As if his son's sins could be easily forgotten. The Wall had been a mercy to Jaime Lannister, the turncloak and oathbreaker who had killed the previous king, Rhaegar's father.

He turned back his mind to the present day, when he would soon have to confront his idiot of a brother. Connington was still droning over how he should show some affection for his siblings and such. The man bored him, "Stop it at once, Connington." He barked at his Hand.

He was wise enough to shut his mouth. Which was good, otherwise he would have ended up like Ilyn Payne. Maybe he could even be his headsman afterwards, though Payne would not be happy about it.

Alas, not long after when he had finally shut up, another flea came into the room. It was one Lewyn Martell, announcing the arrival of his siblings. Rhaegar immediately frowned at the Kingsguard, "Tell them I'm busy. Have the queen tend to whatever they need." It was a good thing, handing them to his wife. She would surely find a way to pull them into her net of broken people, where she kept her precious son.

He did not attend the supper that his wife had planned. He could deal with Viserys, but the girl was another matter. He despised being in the same room with that kinslayer.

It was a week when he finally agreed to meet Viserys. Soon, his brother would have a lesson in obeying his king. The arrogant boy thought he could ignore his strict orders and bring the girl to King's Landing, to his court.

Viserys entered his solar with a stiff bow, not one befitting to honor his king, "Brother," his tone was just as stiff and cold, "I hope you had not been ill, we had not seen you since we came here."

Rhaegar regarded him with a glower, "Maybe I have been so. The presence of our filthy sister is enough to make me feel so." His brother did not reply. "I had given you my strict orders that she is not to leave Dragonstone, much less to come here and humiliate me in front of all the court."

"She is not humiliating you in anyways," Viserys finally made to answer, "Have you even seen her?" He did not wait for answer, "No, of course you haven't. She is a sweet girl, brother, a true Targaryen beauty. And she is innocent by all accounts, do not insult her."

"Oh? Is she? I recall her killing our mother when she came out of her womb." He replied, "She is a monster that killed our mother while being born. For all I care, she can drown herself in the Narrow Sea while she's in Dragonstone, I would not have her here." He said.

"She is our sister!" Viserys bellowed, "And if you were not this ignorant of the world outside your precious royal mind, you would have seen it for yourself." He laughed bitterly, "Oh, but no, the dragon should not bother himself with these matters. It should tear the kingdoms apart, the way his father did. Maybe one day you'll end up like him, our father. Or worse, like Maegor. You recall him, don't you, brother? Maegor the Cruel they called him. Maybe someday they'll find your lifeless body upon..."

He did not get to finish, the little brat. Rhaegar slapped him with fury building within him. "You shouldn't have said that," he roared, "You've awoken the dragon."

Despite his obvious pain, Viserys looked at him with disgust, "You're not the dragon I once knew. That one used to be gentle with us and had a love for everything serene." He said before leaving the solar. Rhaegar could only quake with anger as he did so.

How dared he compare his fate to that of Maegor's? Was he threatening him about something he knew would happen? Did he mean that he was plotting to overthrow him?

He was suddenly afraid for his life. Who would protect him if someone was truly plotting against him? Most of the kings relied upon their Kingsguard, but Rhaegar was not the most. After his father had been betrayed and slain by his own Kingsguard, Rhaegar had little to no trust in them. Any of them could just stab him in the back without a second thought. Maybe he should dismiss them all, especially Lewyn. He had very good reasons to hate him, after all, he was the uncle of his Dornish wife whom Rhaegar had sent away. Maybe he ought to replace them with loyal men to his house, or even some foreigners. Foreigners had no allegiance within the Seven Kingdoms and would stay loyal to him.

But then again, by dismissing his Kingsguard, he would set seven mighty warriors loose in his realms, who would most likely seek revenge. He would have to keep them content if he wished to live.

The Kingsguard did not matter now, first he had to get rid of Viserys. He was a boy, true, but a dangerous one at that. As long as he was away in Dragonstone, he would not plot against Rhaegar. Aye, he had to keep him there.

He was content, finally being able to get rid of that useless boy. He thought he could get away with poisoning him, the little shit. Aemon would pay for what he had done with fire and blood. Aye, he would die screaming, pleading for mercy, as the flames consumed him whole. What a pleasant sight would it be.

During the first day after being poisoned, he had pleased himself with the mere thought of it, and now it would become true. He planned to execute him right after the trial, the look on Lyanna's face would certainly be pleasing. Besides, he wanted to see Aemon let his feelings loose. The boy, recklessly, had no feeling, he would never get angry or cry with fear. His face was always a calculating mask of ice, betraying no emotion. Even his voice was a hollow one, as quiet as an assassin trying to hide his tracks. Now, he had made a mistake by poisoning Rhaegar. A mistake that would cost him his life, a fatal mistake for himself and a welcome one for Rhaegar.

The trial began, making him more and more pleased by each passing moment. When Aegon came and summoned his own witness, Rhaegar was truly pleased. Aemon would now see that even his brother held no love for him.

But then Damon Salvatore ruined everything. He could no longer see the boy burn. Obviously that impulsive knight was the man who had poisoned him. It would not be wise to call Aemon guilty. Even the dragon had to care for what the lowly people thought, at some points.

When the man dared to ask him a trial by combat, he wanted to refuse and burn him on the spot, in a trial by fire. However, Aemon decided to make himself a lickspittle by volunteering to fight Arrec Bracken.

What a joyful moment it would be, seeing him fail miserably in a fight with some lowly knight.

"No," Lyanna wheezed.

The look on her face was precious, but nothing compared to when she would see her soon dead, beaten to a bloody pulp by some unknown knight. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow I will see it all.

His head swirled with all those memories. The last one hurt all the worse. He could have had sent his son to an early grave and enjoyed every moment of it.

It had been a week since he had closed the door and locked himself inside his bedchambers. He felt an overwhelming guilt and shame on the account of what he had done during the past fourteen years. He had always hated his father for being the mad king he was and he had become even worse than him. He had become the very same man he had once tried to overthrow because of the madness that had invaded the realm.

Rhaegar ran a hand through his hair, unaware of the tangles that blocked his way. Lyanna had just left him with a new pang of feelings to deal with. How could she still want him? After all he had done to her and her family, she still stood by his side, no matter what. Not until a few days ago he had realized what she had done, the great burden she had carried without a single complain.

He realized that he was shuddering in his chair, filled with self-hatred and tears that would not fall. The window he had been looking out of it, seemed like a frame for him that he could see his misdeeds inside it. He no longer saw the grey stone walls of Winterfell and the woods outside it, all he saw was people who had suffered because of him.

The door creaked and opened, but he did not dare to look upon whoever that had entered. Soft footsteps followed, and within a second, he saw Arthur's white cloak in front of himself. He had come to him more than once in the past days, and yet Rhaegar had not even spoken to him. Even when he came in to announce Lyanna's presence, he had only nodded his agreement to see her, which had been a mistake, for Lyanna had been way too gentle with him.

Every time, Arthur would try to soothe him or get him to eat something, anything. But to no avail. Rhaegar could not bring himself to even look him into the eyes. Alas, his old friend would not give up. Rhaegar was aware that it was mostly Arthur who had guarded his chambers during the last week, he could hear his voice talking to his sworn brothers from time to time.

"You should eat something, Rhaegar." Arthur said, firmly.

He winced and shook his head defiantly, yet did not say a word. A cold gust of wind came through the window and made him shudder all the worse. Sadly, Arthur saw that movement and narrowed his eyes in worry. He walked to Rhaegar's bed and came back with a thin yet warm blanket. Rhaegar wanted to protest as the knight laid it on his lap, making it so that it would warm him by some. However, he did not say anything, still afraid of speaking.

Arthur did not leave even when Rhaegar was safely covered in the warmth of the blanket. He stood behind him, to do what, Rhaegar did not know. Finally the Kingsguard spoke up, "You should leave that chair and get some sleep in your actual bed." He advised, so firmly that left no place for further argument. At that moment, it was the king who obeyed his sworn shield.

He gripped the hands of the chair and pulled himself to his feet, probably leaving it for the first time in at least four days. But his limbs had grown weak and numb, so he fell back to his chair with a groan.

Arthur was immediately by his side, concern written on his features. "Here, let me help you," he said as he stretched his hands to hold Rhaegar.

It was shameful, the way Arthur carried him to the bed like a babe. But there was no way he could make it there on his own feet, he could barely even feel them. His head swam like he was underwater and his eyes failed to see anything without the added element of haze, everything seemed too flurry to him.

Arthur then handed him a cup which he had not seen lying on the table. He paid no mind to its content, hopefully it was some sort of poison that would kill him silently. It was ridiculous, where had that thought come from?

Whatever it was, it was sweet and warm, like a relief washing over him. But it doubled his numbness and before he could even utter a word, his head had fallen to his pillow, soundly asleep.

His sleep, however, was not sound and undisturbed. It was a fitful combination of past events and meaningless visions. He dreamt of Trident, where Robert Baratheon had managed to send him flying from his horse with his warhammer. The Stormlander had died soon afterwards, due to his wounds. But he had had the mercy of somewhat a clean death, where Rhaegar's wound had been more subtle with deeper effects, a torture for both himself and his family.

But the Battle of Trident was just the best part of it, after that came the horrible visions. First it was just a memory, his father burning a petty criminal alive in the Great Hall. Aerys laughed pitilessly at the man's shrieks while Rhaegar had to watch with disgust. Suddenly it was no longer Aerys who was sitting on the Iron Throne, Rhaegar saw himself. And the burning man was no longer some unknown criminal. Through the flames, he saw a familiar figure, one that refused to give out a single scream, even though in obvious agony. He watched helplessly as he saw himself laugh, just the way Aerys had done. Finally, a shrill shriek of anguish escaped his son's mouth and it was the last sound he made. After that it was only fire and the disturbing smell of burnt flesh. While his dream-version laughed, he watched with horror.

Then, mercifully, the scene changed. But not for the better. This time he saw an army of corpses, half of them no more than animated bones. Some of them had rotten flesh and some were just freshly-dead corpses. He saw not much of their details, for he was somehow soaring above them, like a bird. The corpses were marching through a land of snow and ice, in a bone-chilling cold. Some of them wore furs and scraps of wool while some others had black cloaks of the Night's Watch. There were men, women, and even dead children amongst them. Around them, fog and mist covered the ground, and above them snowflakes fell to the ground.

There were flashes as well, some that disappeared so fast that he could barely see them. A castle was on fire, a village burnt down to nothing but ashes, a bloodied raven looking down at a battlefield. A blood-red thorny rose cut a lioness, thorny veins strangling a white wolf, a dragon was ripped apart by the creatures of darkness. He saw a viper biting a dragon and bringing it to its knees, a dark grey direwolf sat at the foot of a gigantic statue, with a black wolf by his side, a single purple falling star brightened the sky above them.

He woke up in cold sweat, the sky outside was a deep blue, right before the dawn. It was warm, despite the wind that howled outside. The source of that warmth was a fire that danced in the hearth, casting long flickering shadows on the walls.

It took him some long moments to recover from his dreams and come back to the bitter reality, one that was heavily placed on his shoulders. Every moment of his nightmare was swimming in front of his eyes. Every time he blinked, he saw Jon burning alive while he laughed at him.

He had made the kingdom bleed during the war and even afterwards. By afterwards, he did not only mean Greyjoy's Rebellion, rather his own reign as a king. He had mercilessly executed people for little crimes, burnt most of them alive. Some of them had been no more than eavesdroppers, some gossiping folks who had dared to talk against him. He had let lesser lords fight with each other over pieces of lands, and had sat aside and enjoyed their petty fights and quarrels. And all while, he had suspected his own family members instead of those other lords who sought power. He had let servile men inside his court and enjoyed their company while they stirred his thoughts against his brother or anyone else they saw fit. He had made a horrible display of a king, mixing Maegor the Cruel with Aegon the Unworthy and his own father, the Mad King. He could only wonder what would they call him once he was dead, mayhap Rhaegar the Vicious, or Rhaegar the Monstrous.

"I don't care for dying as long as I see Aegon instead of you upon the throne." Lyanna had told him once, when she had held a dagger at his throat.

It was most likely true, Aegon would make a prominent king, much better than Rhaegar himself. He was quite able with the arts of ruling and fighting both, where Rhaegar was beyond hopeless in both. One day, he might have been better, but now the time and madness had washed over him and took his abilities with itself.

Even if he had regained his sanity, he knew he could never get over his past. What could he do when he could not even bring himself to talk to his wife, or leave his chambers? He doubted he could ever leave those chambers or have a proper talk with Lyanna, less so to rule a kingdom. Now he was Rhaegar the Unwilling, a king who hated being one.

His nightmares kept repeating themselves in his mind, he could hear Jon's final scream so clearly that he doubted it was not real. Maybe Jon was actually screaming now. He could hear Robert Baratheon's voice just as clearly, and the ringing sound of his warhammer when it hit his helmet.

His eyes flickered to the jeweled dagger that lay on the floor, where he had most likely thrown it in his blind rage a week ago. The rubies on its hilt glittered under the light that came from the hearth, reflecting the flames. The rubies were the color of blood, and it reminded him to much of it, like trickling droplets of blood.

He got up from his bed, his legs still shaky and unsteady. His stomach hurt from days of not eating anything, and his head from his restless sleep. He had to support his weight on the bedposts and almost crawl.

Someone had ridden him of his clothes and all he now wore was a woolen black tunic. The same person had tried to clean up the mess as well, but with little to no succession. Only a few pieces of garment had been put back into the closet and he noticed that his sword and other dagger were missing, as if someone had tried to keep the blades away from him. The jeweled dagger was still there only because it was half-hidden under a fur-trimmed cloak.

He crawled his way to the dagger and took it with his right hand, which hurt less than his left. The blade was sharp, it cut his palm as if it was butter. As a thin line of blood trickled to his wrist, he once more took notice of how red the rubies were. His own blood was much brighter than the rubies, and he could not help but to think that maybe a good amount of blood would be able to match the color of the rubies.