Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people...

Quick Summary: Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?

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Chapter Eighteen:
Whispers in the Dark

They were getting closer, Rhaego could sense it.

They came to a locked door which thrummed with something at once alluring and terror inspiring, and Daenerys held him back before he could approach it.

"I can feel something inside there, a dark presence," she whispered. Why she suddenly took to speaking so quietly, Rhaego did not know, although as the seconds passed he too could sense a chilling maleficence which seeped through the woodwork and seemed to call out to him. He could not deny the fear which grasped a hold of his chest, its icy fingers snaking down into his gut and making him cower behind his mother's skirts. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, but he knew it was the only way to get to his dragons and so he stayed rooted to the spot.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah questioned. Clearly he felt no such thing.

"Can't you feel that?" she asked, her eyes widening as the thrumming grew louder.

It knows we're here, Rhaego realised with dread.

"Muna," he whimpered, hating how pathetic he sounded but unable to quench his need for the safety of her arms as she wrapped them protectively around him and lifted him up. He clung to her, wrapping his little arms as far around her shoulders as he could and inhaling the smell of her hair deeply, calming himself with effort.

"Don't worry, I will protect you," she reassured him. It did little to extinguish the terror in his stomach though, for he knew that hollow words and promises held no power against the terrors in the dark.

"What's the matter, boy, don't like my pet?" A voice clattered into his mind, the sounds slightly distorted but the essence all too familiar. The familiar sensation, identical to the mind who had been blocking him from the dragons all this time.

Pree.

The Warlock had somehow tapped into the mental frequency which the dragons and Rhaego used for their communication, sneaking into his mind uninvited with his slick, sneaky voice.

"Release my dragons," Rhaego demanded, his anger making him bold despite the heady taste of fear, metallic and raw in his mouth.

There was no response save a roiling smug amusement, and soon the sense of Pree bearing down on his mind had evaporated followed quickly by the strength of his anger until he was left with only the panic from before as the darkness clawed at his mind from behind the door. He brought his fingers up to his mouth in a nervous habit and buried his face into the crook of his mother's neck, whimpering softly as the strength of the darkness grew.

"What is wrong, my prince?" sweet Nagis asked, perching on the tips of her toes so that she could place a reassuring hand over his bunched up fist.

"Bad," he told her, his voice strained.

Her eyes flitted between his earnest expression and the door, wondering what it was that affected him and Daenerys so much. Not being able to discern anything, she raised an apologetic eyebrow and gave a smile. "If we stick together, we will be fine."

He nodded, unconvinced, wishing he could believe her simple words. She squeezed his fist in her calloused hand and stuck next to Daenerys and Rhaego firmly as the queen decided on their next move. There was never an option in Rhaego's mind, the darkness would have to be faced as they could not turn their backs on the dragons. He just wished he could draw strength from their bond now for he was trembling all over with fear.

"Whatever Pree throws at us," Nagis whispered fiercely, feeling the shake of his hand under hers, "we shall defeat it. You are dragon, my prince. You can face anything."

Her words and the determined glint in her liquid brown eyes heartened him and he smiled down into her face, drawing strength from her courage as he usually would his dragons. "'Gis a dragon," he said, bursting with pride for the quiet girl who had been his most faithful companion and had grown so fierce and strong in such a small time. "Zaldrīzes-Ītsos." Little dragon. Like him.

She flushed with pride and he felt the fear dissipate as he gazed into her face.

"We will get your dragons back, Rhaego," she promised heatedly, forgetting herself to his delight. She had never used his name, only his title, and hearing her say this he grinned foolishly.

Daenerys, who had watched this exchange with a secretive smile, nodded and placed a hand on the girl's head affectionately. "Thank you for your courage, Nagis," she murmured. "Let's face whatever Pree has in store for us. Together."

Nagis' smile split her face at Daenerys' words and she nodded enthusiastically. Rhaego motioned for his mother to place him back down, determined to be brave and walk ahead on his own two feet. At Nagis' side. As they faced the door about to enter, he felt the grasping of the darkness and his resolve wavered. He reached across the space between himself and the slave girl and took her hand in his slick, sweaty paw nervously. She smiled down at him, bashfully, and clutched his hand tight in her own, feeding strength into him as they held tight to each other.

"I've got you," she whispered as Daenerys reached out to open the ominous door before them. "Fear cuts deeper than the sword." Rhaego looked at her quizzically. "My grandfather said so, anyway. He was a water dancer."

He had no idea what that was, and secretly he thought it didn't sound very impressive, but the words sounded bold so he gulped down the lump in his throat and armoured himself in their strength.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

He took an unsteady step, placing his feet one before the other with effort.

Fear cuts deeper.

The door was fully open now and he felt a wall of darkness hit him, chasing the air from his lungs in a swift blow. Despite having braced himself he found himself staggering back under its weight and fell to his bottom, undignified and once more terrified, panting rapidly as a presence surrounded him.

"My prince!" Nagis lunged to the ground after him and covered him with her own body as the darkness swept over them, whipping her hair and howling in their ears like a hungry wraith.

Fear cuts deeper.

Taking deep breaths he calmed the frantic heartbeat in his chest, fighting down the terror as the shrieks and howls engulfed them. He heard Nagis whimper softly and held her close until the worst had passed. It felt like an eternity of terror.

"Rhaego." Danerys' voice was muffled, sounding distant and disconnected.

"Rhaego," Nagis whimpered. He could feel gentle hands on his face but the world slowly faded as the darkness subsided and took him with it.

"Hold him, it may be the shaking sickness again," Jorah suggested faintly. Then their words trickled away to nothing and Rhaego was hurled into oblivion.

Fear cuts deeper, he told himself in an effort to force his mind to grow calm as he felt the suffocating darkness crash in on him from all sides.

A pair of glowing eyes opened before him and he felt their knowing stare burn right through him, razing into his very soul. Slanted and fiery red, they appraised him. He reached out with his mind, hoping to identify this being, but was repelled with a strength which sent spikes of pain through his temples.

"My how we've waited for this day, Princeling of Dragons," the voice hissed softly, seeming to come from all around him. "Your birth brought magic back into the land, brought us back and returned to us our power, laying the whole world at our feet ripe for the taking. However we were captured by this human and bound to do his bidding, for now. That fool Pree feeds on our magic, thinking to keep us as a pet for his whims." Soft laughter filled the expanse and sent a chill across Rhaego's skin, prickling the hairs at the back of his neck. "Us, a pet!" The laughter grew and Rhaego shuffled nervously.

He felt the presence close in on him and let out a gasp as it pushed against his mind insistently.

What do you want with me? He longed to ask, but his words faltered and never left his tongue.

"The warlock was crafty, stealing the dragons and harnessing their power," the voice continued in velvet tones which brushed up against Rhaego softly. "Yet he underestimated us all, we think."

Rhaego felt he could agree with that. The warlock's days were numbered.

"For today he gave us," the tone of the strange voice then turned hard and sinister, causing Rhaego to flinch and cower, as the one word echoed around him, "you."

Rhaego stumbled backwards and swatted pointlessly at the nothingness in front of his face with feeble swipes of his hands, in an automatic response trying to defend himself from the owner of the menacing eyes and voice. The laughter rang out around him again and he whimpered.

Fear cuts deeper than swords, he told himself to no avail. Try as he might he could not fight down the terror welling up inside him, not alone. He needed the dragons, his mother, Jorah or Nagis. Alone he was just a frightened child.

The laughter grew and swarmed around him, filling his head.

"Muna!" he cried out pitifully, covering his ears with his hands and crouching to the ground in a ball. He could not drown out the laughter as the voices closed in on him.

"You are ours, Dragon Princeling, and with you we will become the most powerful in all the realms. All will fall before us and that warlock Pree will feel the brunt of our anger. But first," the voices turned strangely soothing and child like, sending shivers up Rhaego's spine, "we must devour you, little one. How strange that something so puny could hold the key to our power."

Through half closed eyes, Rhaego could make out the glowing eyes approach and he screamed.

Dragons, mother, anyone please hear my cries and save me.

He could feel the dark presence pushing against his mind with more power now as it grew closer but then a different pain spiked through his whole body, drawing a feral scream from his lips as a heat like fire coursed through his veins. He had shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to witness his last moments, and so he did not see the pulsating glow which lit up the tracks of his veins and arteries, as if it were wildfire itself flowing with abandon to mingle with his very lifeblood.

The eyes narrowed and he felt the darkness recoil with an inhuman roar.

There was a long pause during which time Rhaego still would not open his eyes but his whimpering faded to silence as he realised that no harm had yet befallen him. The pain, too, had dulled to a throbbing ache and when he opened his eyes at last he saw that the searing agony had never been from the creature of shadows, but from the substance which lit up the pathways under his skin dazzlingly.

He gasped and traced a vein with a trembling finger, unsure of what this meant.

"He is a true dragon." The voice shook with awe and Rhaego looked up to meet those once fearsome eyes. They looked smaller. "We cannot eat him," it hissed with disdain. "What a waste. If he cannot be devoured and his power cannot be added to our own, we must destroy him."

The voice sounded uncertain and Rhaego picked himself up to his full height, small though he was, and glared right at the glowing eyes. It took all of his determination not to wet himself as he faced those eyes, but he held his own and glared at them as fiercely as he could, despite his knees knocking together in an un-princely manner.

"Try," he growled, confidence surging through him as he faced off this creature of shadows. The substance in his veins pulsed slightly and he felt a warmth seep through his mind, washing away his remaining fear. What did he have to be scared of, really? He was the child of a man with hair uncut; he was the child of a woman born of storms; he was the heir to a dynasty of fearsome kings; he was the prophesied stallion who mounts the world; and, most of all, he was Rhaego, brother to dragons. This wretched creature, whatever it may be, would be made to cower before him, for Rhaego would whimper no longer.

A peal of laughter, which sounded forced to Rhaego's mind, followed this challenge. "The night is dark and full of terrors," the voice purred dangerously.

Rhaego shivered, despite himself.

Clenching his fist and taking a moment to watch with fascination as the glowing lights snaked up and down his arm, he steeled himself.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

He saw Nagis' face in his mind's eye, her bright, fierce eyes as they held his gaze, the set of her chin and shoulders as she squared up her own reserves of courage, and he felt stronger, bolstered by the memory of her bravery.

He thought of his mother and their dragons, reminded himself what he fought for, and in that instant the stabbing pains racked his body yet again as the pulsating light which flowed through him flickered and then all at once he felt an explosion surge from him, repelling the creature with an agonised scream and a hiss while causing a pain spiking through his mind so great that it engulfed him.

He felt himself lose consciousness once more.

Only this time, when he came to the only eyes staring down at him were the kindly ones of his mother, Jorah and Nagis. His head felt like it was on fire and all of his limbs ached and felt heavy, while behind his eyes it was as if spears of agony drove themselves into his brain, but he was alive and safe so he gave them all a weak smile.

"You're okay," Daenerys gushed, the worry of the last few minutes, or however long it had been in reality, were already etched deeply on her face. Nagis gave him a relieved smile and Jorah nodded.

He was too weak to respond and had to be carried through the room from which the dark creature had emerged, fear like a vice gripping him once again lest they come across it while he was in this state. Yet there was no sense of its presence as they passed through and both Rhaego and Daenerys sighed with relief.

However, as they were crossing the threshold at the other side of the room Rhaego felt a breath of cold air waft over his face and he turned himself in Jorah's arms with difficulty.

"You will face us again, dragon boy. You better hope you are as lucky next time." The voice washed over him and he shuddered, hoping they were wrong and he would never hear that horrible voice, or see those horrific eyes ever again.

"I see you survived my pet," Pree's mind was in his own, again. He groaned softly at this new invasion, too frail to repel the Warlock's stubborn words.

"I did, but you won't," he replied weakly, taking pleasure in breaking the news to the Warlock that his creature would turn on him, given the chance, even as the effort of communicating sent spikes of pain through his still raw mind.

"Rest, my prince," Jorah pleaded, jarring Rhaego back from the psychic link with Pree with his words. "You look like you need it."

Rhaego knew he was right and, brushing Pree's mind aside with the last reserves of his strength, he started to nestle into the knight's arms to find a more comfortable position. He would just rest his eyes slightly while staying awake until they found the dragons. He could not rest properly until then, he told himself.

He clearly underestimated the toll his encounters had taken for he soon found himself fast asleep, aware suddenly on a new level of the magic which permeated this villa, just waiting to be harnessed for either good or evil.

Too weakened in his unconscious state to wield it for his own use, he found himself drawing it into him without meaning to as he slept, bringing forth startling and vivid dreams while healing his mind slowly.

Rhaego knows him, the man sitting there in a hazy room of bright tapestries and stone walls. His uncle, the man he had met earlier, with his shoulder length platinum hair and luminescent eyes the colour of mother's. He held in his arms the baby, the one he had delighted in watching before.

Aegon, his cousin.

Rhaego toddles over and gazes up at them both, tugging on Rhaegar's silk tunic to ask him what he was doing here. Again. Rhaegar does not seem to notice him, all of his focus drawn to the babe in his arms. Rhaego tugs again, getting frustrated, unused to being ignored. No one dares ignore him, usually. He is a prince.

"Aegon, what better name for a king. He is the prince that was promised and his is the song of ice and fire." Rhaegar speaks softly, talking either to himself or the baby, and still he acts unaware of Rhaego's presence. Then, suddenly to Rhaego's surprise, Rhaegar's eyes meet his own and he says intently, "There must be one more. The dragon has three heads."

He didn't know why but he felt in his heart somehow that these words held great importance. The dragon has three heads.

Then, ignoring Rhaego once more and laying Aegon down in a crib, Rhaegar takes up a silver harp and begins to play a hauntingly sweet melody.

One more what, though? Rhaego wants to ask. What do you mean with the three heads? He had three dragons, was that what he was talking about?

There is a wail of a baby in the next room and Rhaego, seeing his uncle and cousin have suddenly disappeared, runs towards the sound on unsteady legs, falling a few times but picking himself back up. He enters to a scene which turns his stomach, seeing the baby cousin he had so adored, albeit briefly, having his brains dashed out against a wall. Blood and chunks of brain fling carelessly around the room, littering the huge hands of a man the size of a mountain, and Rhaego makes to scream but finds his throat is muffled so no sound comes out.

"Baby," he whimpers to himself as the wails are silenced. Watching with his own eyes as the promise of this prince is dashed across the room, anger wells up inside him, white hot and blinding. I will avenge you, sweet cousin. Tears prick in his eyes and blur his vision.

He does not have time to think on it for the dreamscape changes with dizzying speed and an old man, older even than Jorah with a white beard and rheumy, light purple eyes is seated on a strangely deformed, twisted, prickly throne in a room bigger than Rhaego had ever seen with dragon skulls up and down the full length of its sides. He looks around him with wide eyes, glancing up at the dragon skulls which are huge, twenty times bigger than he, before watching the man on the throne.

"Prepare to use the wild fire," the man orders, a quiet madness shining in his cloudy eyes. Spittle flies across the room as he speaks and Rhaego grimaces. Then the man stands up, far more quickly than his age should allow and slams his fist down upon the throne's arm rest, leaving a sticky trail of blood flowing down one side of it, snaking between the moulded swords. As he raises his quivering arm in the heat of his fury rivulets of blood are revealed as they wind down his arm, soiling the fine silk of his gowns. "Let him be the King of Ashes," he bellows across the room. His words reek, even to the young Rhaego, of the desperate act of an unstable man.

Yet what does this mean? Who was this angry King and who was to be the King of Ashes? What did it have to do with Rhaego?

This vision, too, recedes and is instantly replaced by a dragon made of cloth, being cheered by people as it winds through the streets of the commoners, strutting around and making the simple folk believe it to be a true dragon. Rhaego scoffs, baffled that people could believe that this flimsy creation of men could be a true dragon, yet the crowd lap it up with raised arms and cries of adoration.

"Aegon, Aegon."

Yet Aegon is dead. He saw it happen in his earlier dream vision.

Smoke and mirrors, a voice whispers into his mind, not fire.

Still they cry out their praise for him, this fabric creation. That is, until a true dragon comes along and sets fire to the cloth, burning it to ashes and causing the commoners to weep while proving to all around that this had never been anything more than a mummer's farce.

Fire cannot kill a dragon. It is known.

His mind thick, clouded with weariness, he struggles to think what these things might mean. As he wonders at it all, the colours of his dreamscape merge into a swirling cacophony of vivid chaos until all that is left is a throbbing mess of fluorescent lights, blinding him.

Strange thoughts bombard him time and time again as he tries to make sense of all he has seen.

The dragon has three heads.

The cloth dragon was burned to dust.

Fire cannot kill a dragon.

It was only after his mind had churned these ideas around repeatedly, until they was all that he could remember, that he was allowed to fall into a deep slumber, rocking gently in Jorah's arms as they made their way through more and more weaving corridors in their unending journey to free their dragons.