Rhaegar

He killed a dragon," the king said.

"He did, my king." The messenger's voice was dulled by exhaustion. On the breast of his faded surcoat, the red three headed dragon of House Targaryen was half-obscured by dried mud and sweat.

"And my son?" Rhaegar asked. The messenger flinched for a moment. He looked down at his worn boots caked in dried mud. No wonder his son's men raced to him all their way from White Harbor.

"He sent Prince Jaehaerys to the Wall, Your Grace," the messenger said never looking up from his boots.

To the Wall. The king knew he should be happy that Jae was not sent to a block and an executioner but somehow he couldn't help to bring himself to it. He had sent enough men with his son to hold Winterfell and here they are with a sack of bones and some stupid legend of the Born King while his son is freezing in some frozen chamber of his. His scroll might tell him that they were destined for it but not like this, defeated and humiliated.

His small council members had fallen very quiet as the courier told his tale. The only sound was the crackle and hiss of the log burning in the hearth at the end of the small council room.

The moment they brought the messenger from the north in, Rhaegar knew that not even a single breath he had in his lungs meant good. He had put an end to the court and brought him to the small council chambers at once. It would do no good for the realm to hear this long dead legend once again. It will only stir up the chaos that's already made up for me. Derek's disappearance, his son's banishment to the Wall, the north is lost for sure now. The boy would be coming south by now if the messenger from Winterfell was anything to go by. Damn the north, damn them all.

Somehow the day he had been dreading all these years had come at last. So it had all been for nothing. The blood, the sweat, the battles, the bodies . . . all for naught. So that Stark's son could grow out from his grave to come and haunt me.

"How could this happen?" Mace Tyrell grew puffy and red. "How? The Stark line was ended that day, cut down to pieces . . . how could this boy have survived? There must've been a mistake."

That is why I told likewise to you, you fat fool, Rhaegar thought. One word of Stark and you'll tremble in fear. Mace Tyrell's only accomplishment was making the last stand against Ned Stark's forces to help them retreat in the Battle of Wolfswood and that too was done by Randyll Tarly.

"There is no mistake, my lord," the courier said. "We'd locked the castle and left no way for anyone to get in or our, yet it was not enough. No one was expecting an attack. Stark killed the men upon the walls during night to keep them from warning. The prince told us it had been the outlaws. Ser Derek had gone out to deal with them before . . . well, with what we thought was them. No one was expecting to see him there, your grace. The people started fighting the next day and he came out from his hiding when Prince Jaehaerys called in his dragon. And he . . ."

Killed it, that left unsaid.

"We all saw him, my lords," the messenger continued. "The people recognized him at once and he even had the wolf with him. The white one, big as a horse with eyes red as blood."

"What of Darkfang?" Jon Connington asked.

The bloodstained messenger shook his head. "He took the cream of our garrison to deal with the outlaws, my lord. But we've heard nothing else."

"You said he came out to slay the dragon," Jon Connington prompted.

The man gave a weary nod. "It's some dark sorcery, my lord. Andrew Stark might have wounded the beast but it was the weapons he used killed the dragon. Don't know what is that he used to coat on his spear but it was darker stuff even the dragon was afraid of it. And his sword . . . it didn't melt. We all felt the heat coming off the beast but it did nothing to the sword."

That is interesting. The insides of a dragon was always burning hotter than a thousand furnaces lit up all at once. He wondered even if valyrian steel could endure that much of heat. Somehow he think not.

"And what were you doing during all of this?" Rhaegar asked.

"The prince challenged him to a single combat, my king," the messenger said. "We tried to tell him that it's unwise after what had just happened but he insisted. The castle folk opened the gates to the direwolf too."

Smart boy, Rhaegar thought, swirling his cup and staring down into the winy depths. Using his wolf as an advantage to put fear in the minds of his enemies like they did with their dragons. He does have some brain. That didn't surprise him, given Andrew Stark was as much a son of Ashara Dayne as he was Ned Stark's. After all the last thing she ever did was to outwit him to save her son though.

"You were sent to Winterfell to guard the prince, weren't you?" Aurane Waters spoke up for the first time. "Yet here you stand and our prince is at the Wall with the Night's Watch."

"You don't know what it's like there, my lord," the messenger was saying. "You were not there. The beast was close to his side, as big as a horse. It wouldn't let anyone near him."

"Gods save us," Varys swore.

"The prince told us to take the bones back, my king," the messenger said. "Only a few of the men I brought from the north are still with me. The others quietly got away."

"Curse them all." the Hand of the King sounded more angry than surprised. "We need to get prince Jaehaerys back."

Rhaegar pressed his temple with his fingers. He need to bring Jaehaerys back from the Wall but not before this new Stark king is dealt with. The boy is posing a threat as much as his father did.

"Your work here is done," Rhaegar told the messenger. "I'll have the steward provide you meat and mead. You may leave."

The man looked up and bowed hesitantly and took his leave.

There was a deep silence in the room after he left.

"How could it happen?" Mace Tyrell asked again, breaking the silence. "Prince Jaehaerys gone, a dragon lost . . . this is a catastrophe!"

By then Rhaegar had enough of him. "I am sure we are all grateful to you for pointing out the obvious, Lord Tyrell," he said. "The question is, what shall we do about it?"

As always Tyrell had no answer to it. "Good," the king said, "I expected that."

"Beg your pardon, your grace," Grand Maester Pylos broke in. The young master was trembling, his face as pale as snow. "If I may, there was a raven earlier this day with this letter. See here." He took the rolled parchment and gave it to him.

Rhaegar examined the roll of parchment sealed with hard grey wax bearing the direwolf insignia. Stark, he knew at once. He crushed the seal open with his thumb and flattened the parchment and read.

To Rhaegar Targaryen

You killed my father and my mother and destroyed my family. You hurt my people did us harm although we had not done you any previous injury. You tried to eradicate my family and now I'm coming to get my justice for your crimes against mine.

You gave support to the tyrants who had done my people harm, and put my people to blade. You killed my father through treachery and took pleasure in it.

Know that any chance for peace my father wanted with you ended right in that moment you made your toast at Starfall. To get my justice for all your crimes, I am therefore leading an expedition against you, to pay this long lost debt.

Approach me therefore as the lord of the seven kingdoms to settle this once and for all. If you are afraid of suffering harm at my hands by coming in person, send some of your friends to do your fight for you. If you want to say anything to save yourself, let me know in proper terms or I shall take steps to deal with you as a criminal. On the other hand, if you wish to keep your throne, then stand and fight for it; but do not run away, for wherever you may hide yourself be sure I shall seek you out.

It was signed,

Andrew Stark,

Lord of Winterfell and King in the North.

For a moment Rhaegar's eyes fogged over the words and he saw the pair of grey eyes he had seen once in Braavos moonturns before. He could not say whether it was because of fear or of surprise. So Slynt is dead too. One less lackey for me to deal with. This is the one who had come so close to killing him at the gutters of Braavos. He could feel those cold eyes in these words.

"My lord?" Jon Connington called, when he had been staring at the letter for too long.

Rhaegar extended the letter to his Hand and bid him to read. Rhaegar did not miss Jon's eyes going wide open as the eyes of the lord hand skimmed over the contents of the letter.

"Do it," Rhaegar said calmly.

Jon Connington took a moment to catch his breath and then started reading. When he was done, Rhaegar looked around the table to see the faces of his council members. Everyone of them had gone pale. The eunuch hid his features nicely but the king saw the shock evident on his plump powdered face. He could see Littlefinger calculating at the very moment, no matter placing his bets. Even Ser Gerold showed a flicker of surprise.

"These are the terms the boy king offers me," Rhaegar said after a while.

Littlefinger scoffed. "Stark has got some balls, no doubt of it," he said mockingly. "I bet he is all talk."

"He killed a dragon and sent my son to the Wall. Sure this is all talk for you," Rhaegar said acidly. "Damn him and damn me. I knew this day would come sooner or later. We hunted the pack but let the pup get away and now the pup has grown up into a wolf and is back to hunt us. I knew this would happen and that's why I asked Viserys to get the boy at all costs. Instead my brother was so interested in Ashara Dayne's cunt that he seemingly forgot her son and what I had asked him to do."

"If only Prince Viserys had caught him in the first place," Mace Tyrell spoke quietly.

Rhaegar snorted disdainfully. "If only Ned Stark hadn't bred Ashara Dayne in the first place," he said to his master of laws. "Can you go and stop Eddard Stark from fucking a babe into his wife, Lord Tyrell?"

Tyrell shook his head. Rhaegar continued, "Yes, I believed so. You can't stop it from happening no more than you can blame it on Viserys. The cow has been milked there is no way of squirting the milk back into its udders. No good ever comes from thinking about the past."

The king turned to his hand. "Jon you have the Stormlands with you, yes?"

"Yes, your grace," Lord Connington bowed his head. "My cousin rules in my stead."

"Good," Rhaegar said. "Send a raven to him and ask him to call the banners. We cannot let Robert join with this boy."

He looked at Lord Tyrell. "Send a raven to your heir and get him to call your banners," Rhaegar commanded. "Send one of your sons to Highgarden and march your army back up north, my lord."

"At once, your grace," the lord of Highgarden said.

"If it is war he wants then he shall have war," Rhaegar told his council. "If he thinks himself to be the next Eddard Stark I'll show him how I killed the first one. We should march on Stark at once before he could join forces with Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon."

"Pylos, send a raven to Sunspear and ask Doran Martell to call his spears. I've had enough of this Born King stupidity and I intend to make him a legend quickly. Now, leave me. All of you."

Ever the soul of obedience, his council members rose to depart, one by one, even Ser Gerold. "

Rhaegar eased himself back onto his chair. He poured the wine from the flagon into his cup and took a sip thoughtfully. The rich Arbor gold was cool in his mouth.

A decade of peace and still Eddard Stark manages to trouble him from his grave. Curse him and his bones. Curse me for trusting Viserys and Slynt. All I have are lickspittles, lackeys and jackanaps. Even his own son had failed him. The dragon falling before a wolf. Madness. Absolute madness. Rhaegar wondered what his father would think of that.

Stark is the true power threatening his realm, the same way his father once did. Taking him out will cripple the north once more. But he had to do it somehow. He reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. It was the last thing Rhaegar Targaryen would ever have anticipated. But somehow the time for it had arrived.

He finished his wine and set the cup aside, thoughtful. A part of him was more pleased to end the boy than he cared to admit. Another part was remembering the battle in the north, and wondering if he was about to repeat it again.

Rhaegar stood abruptly, and made for the door. Outside the moon had already taken the place in the clear, starless sky. He took a long breath and climbed down the stairs leading to the lower floor. The king crossed the Traitor's Walk which led to the squat, half-round tower through where the dungeons could be accessed. The top floor of the tower held the cells for prisoners kept in a degree of comfort, to the knights and lordlings who might be ransomed. The entrance to the dungeons sat on the ground floor. Rhaegar made his descent down to the dungeons. It was not far away. Soon he came upon the hammered iron door which stood at the entrance of the dungeons.

Inside, the corridor was so poorly lit that Rhaegar took a torch from the sconce on the wall. He did not have to walk for long to reach his destination. Two men dressed in the dark attire of the Targaryen guards, their faces hidden behind their helms stood guard at the entrance of the dark, dank emptiness which stretched down.

"Leave," the king told them. The men uttered no words and left at once. He lowered the torch and the light bathed the steps descending into the darkness.

Rhaegar stepped down the narrow stairs one at a time, his heels scraping against the rough stone as they descended. It was very cold within the stairwell, a damp bone-chilling cold that set him to shivering at once. It was always cold in here, he knew. Unlike most others he knew the history of this place.

During the construction of the Red Keep, Maegor the Cruel had decreed four levels of dungeons for his castle. On the upper level, were the large cells where common criminals may be confined together. They had narrow windows set high in the walls. The second level had the smaller cells where highborn captives were held. They had no windows, but torches in the halls cast light through the bars. On the third level the cells were smaller and the doors were wood. The black cells, men call them. That was where the traitors and turncloaks were kept. But there was a level lower still. Once a man is taken down to the fourth level, he never sees the sun again, nor hears a human voice, nor breathes a breath free of agonizing pain. Maegor had the cells on the fourth level built for torment. It was there he had kept his most prized possession. He reached the bottom of the steps. An unlighted door opened before him.

For the sake of his own well being Rhaegar had keep the cell very near to the door. There were more sinister things in the deeper levels that no man would wish to see. He put the torch in it's sconce on the wall and shouldered aside the heavy wood-and-iron door and stepped into the darkness. The little light through the small openings on the door showed him his way but spared him the foul views farther.

"Fancy another visit, my lord," he heard the voice before even seeing the person. Years spent in the dank cell hadn't taken away the sweetness it had. "I am not yet dead if that's what you'd wished to see."

He heard the faint rattling of the chains as he stepped inside the cell. The plate of food left beside the door stayed untouched.

"I see you had no taste for the food I give you."

"I'm always wary of your fabulous generosity. "

The king could hear the voice in the darkness, sweet as a hymn but he wanted to see. He crossed the cell gingerly and turned up the oil lamp hanging low from the ceiling. The lamp gave enough light to wash the dark cell in a lowlit gloom. It was then he saw her curled up in the corner with her arms around her knees, pulled up against her bosom and face buried in the white roughspun gown. When she felt the cell lit up she looked up. Her dark hair fell down her shoulders, tangled as if she had woken from a night's sleep. Her face was pale but the dark and cold had done nothing to fade the beauty. She stood up when she saw him there. Violet eyes sparkled in the orange glow of the lamp. Though garbed in peasant's clothes Ashara Dayne was more beautiful than any Queen or goddess adorned in all their royal finery. Even after a decade of life in darkness and chains, the beauty and grace of the woman is still apparent.

"You have not eaten for some days I suppose."

"Spare me your false concerns, my lord," the queen in the north seethed. "Do you think I fear death?

" On the contrary, yes, I think you do fear death, my lady," Rhaegar replied.

Ashara Dayne scoffed. "Bare your sword and put my head on the block. You'll see how afraid I am of death then."

"There is no need for that Lady Dayne," he told her. "I know you fear death by your own existence." He let the words hang in between them in silence. When she was quiet he continued. "I've seen men in the upper levels going mad, clawing their eyes out, begging to be given the mercy of death just for a glimpse of sun. Yet, you, staying in here where no one has ever been for centuries managed to desperately cling on to your life with every bit of your strength for god knows how long."

"You see my lady, such courage, resilience and desperation to live just makes a man wonder why is that?"

Ashara gave a defiant look at his face, so sudden and surprised.

Rhaegar smiled at her defiance. "In your place Lady Dayne anyone else would've sung sweetly for the Stranger to come and take her. You had nothing else in this world to live for. No husband, no brother, no crown but still you lived. That leaves us with . . . where is your son?"

Ashara gave a laugh, a wild, free laugh. "I did put Andrew in the river as I told you but not in the manner you thought. I put him on a boat and sent him away from your clutches," the woman growled at him. "I will fight your dragons tooth and nail before I'd let you harm my son."

"Sent him where?" Rhaegar asked. "Do you know that, my lady?"

Ashara looked down at the floor, trying to hide her shame. But Rhaegar saw her guilt in the light of the lamp. A mother's heart, aching for sending her child away to be on his own.

"Who would've thought of it, my lady," Rhaegar said to her, "that a five-year-old boy whose breath still smelled of his mother's milk would survive out in the wild and one day come so close to kill the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?"

If the Queen in the north was not surprised before, she was certainly surprised now.

"That's right, my lady. He survived. I once said that you had left very little of yourself in your son but I was wrong. Like his mother your son won't just die." Rhaegar took Andrew Stark's letter and threw it at his lady mother's face. "There, the letter your son sent to me."

Ashara got the parchment in the air with her chained hands and read it. When she was done, she started laughing.

"Funny, isn't it?" Rhaegar asked.

"You are a cunning old bastard, Rhaegar, " Ashara said with a smirk, "but what you fail to understand is that your days are numbered, your grace. My son will finish what his father started."

"Would he though?" he asked her. "Over his own mother? Why do you think I kept you alive all these years? I knew this would happen the moment you fooled Viserys and got your son away. I knew that when it happens it'll not be me who would stop it, it will be you. You were the queen in the north and your son and your people would back down the moment I show them that I have you. Queen Ashara the Benevolent is still remembered in the north, my lady."

"Would you threaten my life, your grace?" Ashara Dayne asked. "Put a dagger at my neck and threaten to cut my throat? I'll do one up and cut my throat myself just to see you pay for your crimes."

"Who said anything of killing you," the king replied. "It will be such a shame to finish it off so easily. I have thousands of men here in King's Landing, all of them would do anything to have a little taste of you. Deny my offer, my lady and I'll feast you for the entire city and make your son watch it."

Rhaegar left the words hang in the dark as he put off the light from the lamp. He shut the door behind him and walked outside the corridor. Perhaps that is for the best, he thought as he left her back alone in her dark cell. Wake up the dragon and burn them all as his father used to say. Burn them all.