Rhaegar

The messenger's doublet was blackened with smoke and dirt. A smear of bloody trail marred the golden glitter of the rose against the deep green of his tunic. The King received him in the small audience chamber in Maegor's holdfast rather than in the Small council chamber as the matters of war was always done. It would've been just a bother to walk all the way to the small council tower to receive the news there in the empty hall with none of the members present in the capital. Jon Connington had already left the city for the Riverlands to battle the rebels, Lord Tyrell was in the Reach, Baelish had gone to Braavos to win the Braavosi. Only Pylos, Aurane Waters and the eunuch still remained in the city whilst the others were away on the King's missives. He met the messenger with them in the audience chamber with the remaining lords that were still in the city sworn to the Red Keep and Dragonstone. Lords Celtigar, Sunglass and Rosby stood up as he entered, along with Lords Tarly and Rowan and Beesbury. Oberyn had made good with his promise in delivering the prisoners he had released from Robert's camp. He greeted each with a curt nod, spoke a quiet word to Varys, and seated himself in the king's place at the head of the long table, between grand maester Pylos and the eunuch.

The messenger had claimed the place at the foot of the table, standing wearily clutching his bandaged arm against his chest. When called to bring in the news he had carried in front of the king, the man came forward. The man was a shambling skeleton, limping heavily as he stepped forward. Just looking at him was enough to tell the king what might have transpired in Oldtown. He gazed at him as he started with his story.

The others groaned and complained as the messenger said his story: Lord Celtigar, aged and sour, wore a mantle patterned with red crabs picked out in garnets. The handsome Bastard of Driftmark chose sea-green silk, the white gold seahorse at his throat matching his long fair hair; pious Lord Sunglass wore moonstones at throat and wrist and finger, muttering a prayer whenever the messenger spoke about the casualty of a lesser lordling. The eunuch was wearing nicest of his purple and lavender silks. Even the recently freed captives looked fierce in their leathers and mail, having regained their strength with their freedom. Only the young maester was poorly dressed, in his black robes of the citadel and his chain along his shoulders.

The war was tearing the Seven Kingdoms asunder and half the smallfolk are groveling for bread crumbs in the streets and here are my proud lords covering themselves in gold and gems.

Oh, the lords had been courteous and gracious enough, lending whatever they could for this war though he could tell how uncomfortable it made them to do that. "How could that be?" Lord Rosby said in a grievous tone. "We had more than enough men to threaten and even occupy High Tower, especially with that dragon."

"I don't know what happened, your grace," the messenger said. "Hell awaited us that day in Oldtown, my lords. Nothing more, nothing less. There was naught but death and fire in the city."

"What of the princess?" Aurane Waters asked, strangely calm. "And the dragon?"

The messenger shook his head sadly. "Princess Daenerys fought bravely with that black beast of hers," he said. "The last I saw of her was when she was leading an attack on the High Tower itself. Lord Commander Gerold was with her as well. They never returned back. None of those who followed them returned."

"Ghosts, wolves, gods, now what, the hell has risen up against us as well with its demons." The master of ships scoffed.

"This is the gods' doing," pious old Guncer Sunglass muttered. "These are demons and destruction are sent to chastise us for our sins."

If the gods were to chastise men for their sins they would start it with the people of this city, Rhaegar thought bitterly.

Instead the king regarded the man warmly with a slight look and then turned towards the messenger. "Where has Lord Mace turned to?"

"Lord Tyrell fought bravely, your grace," replied the messenger. "But he was injured in the fighting. Ser Vortimer Crane is having the command of the army now."

Bravely? Then why is he running back from Oldtown, without my sister at that. He should have never trusted Tyrell with the command of the army to attack High Tower. Ser Gerold would have been a better choice and it would have left no room to leave Mace Tyrell with a hurt pride. After all who better to lead the Royal forces other than the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But after what happened with Jorah in Oldtown the King had been hesitant to hand another army to a Hightower.

Varys gave a pitiful sigh. "No one could doubt the valour of our good Lord Tyrell. His wound is healing, I trust?"

The messenger frowned. "One day he seems stronger, the next . . . it is worrisome. The maesters have assured that he will live. He is not yet fit to ride a horse and fight in a battle."

He did not want to hear when Tyrell would be able to fight again, or if he would even be. The loss at Oldtown had left a bad taste in his mouth. It was only made all the more bitter with the loss of his sister and her dragon. He had hoped the war in the south would be over with in a short time with the Tyrells dealing with the Baratheons and all the other Stormlords. Once that was done, he could have turned his entire attention to Ned Stark's son in the North. Now the south proved to be as big of a thorn on his side as Andrew Stark was. All Tyrell had ever accomplished was lose more men in the battlefield and allow Robert to join forces with his goodson. And now with the defeat at Oldtown, he would have to keep his eye open for enemies from the south of King's Landing as well. The road to the capital was now wide open for the Hightowers. Rhaegar doubted that Lord Leyton would be bold enough to march on the city right away, but he was not sure was the old man of Hightower might do anymore. He had not expected the Lord of Oldtown to turn against him after all, something the King regretted not being aware of. He ought to push Prince Doran to send more Dornish spears to make up for the losses in the Reach and keep check of the Hightowers. If he could be persuaded to attack some of the holdings of the Hightowers at least to put a pause on their advance. The Prince of Dorne surely commanded more than just a few thousand men he'd sent with Ser Daemon. Doran Martell had always been cautious and prudent and careful. Despite having promised his daughter's hand to his son the Prince of Dorne was still so cautious to pick his battles. What had Elia told of her brother? Doran likes to watch and listen more so than to talk and act. He never fights a losing fight. For the first time in years Rhaegar Targaryen found himself missing his first wife.

He dismissed the messenger with a flick of his wrist.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Lord Rosby lamented. "All we've ever been hearing are disasters, one against another."

Aurane Waters smiled a silken smile. "That's not all we have heard, my lords. We had such delicious tidings from the Trident. We heard of our brave Prince Aegon trapping the northerners outside Harrenhal and broke them against the river. Losses were heavy on both sides, but in the end our loyal men prevailed. Lord Hornwood is reported dead, along with the heir to Stony Shore and a thousand others. We have taken several highborn captives as well. Robett Glover leads the survivors back the way he'd come in bloody disarray, little dreaming that he will have our valiant prince and his dragon hunting him down."

"That's not all," Varys said. "Good news keeps on coming from our Lord hand whose brave men have taken castles upon castles of the Riverlords as they march up towards Riverrun. Pinkmaiden Castle, Acorn Hall and Wayfarer's Rest have all fallen to our brave Hand with little opposition."

"Gods be praised!" said Lord Guncer Sunglass. "A great victory for King Rhaegar!"

What did the gods have to do with it? thought Rhaegar. Jon did it all by himself. Not long ago Sunglass was blaming the gods for the defeat in Oldtown."

"And a terrible defeat for the north, certainly," observed the Red Viper, "yet one in which Andrew Stark played no part. The Dragonslayer remains unbeaten in the field. As long as he stays that way the lords and knights and the smallfolk behind would be less likely to desert their mighty saviour."

"What do we know of Stark's plans and movements?" asked Mathis Rowan, ever blunt and to the point.

"He has left Riverrun with his army, leaving his wife in safety of the castle as he marches south to meet Lord Jon," announced Rhaegar. "My son has sent word that he is preparing his army for the crossing and a final thrust at Riverrun from Harroway's Town. He's given command of the fords at the Red Fork to Ser Jonothor Darry. When they are ready he shall join Ser Willem at the crossing. As soon as the Stark boy starts south, Ser Jonothor and Aegon will descend on Riverrun, capturing the rebel's queen and everyone else in there."

"You are certain Lord Stark means to come south?" Lord Rowan asked. "Even with Prince Aegon close at the crossroads?"

Randyll Tarly spoke up. "He would risk himself getting encircled no matter what he does. With Lord Jon pressing in from the south and Prince Aegon in the east he would have no choice but to engage one of them before both armies descend upon him. He would have to come into clash with one of them sooner or later as he can't be on both places at once."

Varys cleared his throat. "As regards the Starks . . . There is also issue in the Iron Isles. It seems as if tragedy has stuck the Greyjoys as they've lost Lord Balon and two of his children to the seas. All with the return of his younger brother, Euron."

"The ironborn are the least of our concerns," Celtigar said. "They had not taken any side in the war. This sudden vacancy in power left by Lord Balon would keep them occupied amongst themselves still on their rocks. I say good for us."

"May I remind you that the Greyjoys now command the biggest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms," Aurane Waters said. "Of course since Ser Jorah Mormont lost our great Royal fleet in Oldtown. Andrew Stark controls all the lands south of the Wall to the Trident, Stormlands risen out of our control, Hightower causing trouble in the Reach and the ironmen now hold the means to launch an invasion as well, one that we would have very little chance of defending against without a proper fleet of warships. The ironborn longships command the sunset sea, and are well placed to menace Reach, Dorne and even King's Landing should they prove to take the side of the rebels. But on the other hand should we use them wisely we can set them upon to menace Lannisport, Fair Isle, and even Casterly Rock."

Rhaegar had almost forgotten about Lord Tywin. They had not heard anything about the West after Lord Tywin's defeat at Stoney Sept other than the fact that he was retreating. But somehow Rhaegar knew that it was not everything.

"There is Lord Tywin to deal with of course," Varys said. "My birds in the West bring very little songs from there."

"Oh, the old lion has be bloodied," said Gyles Rosby cheerfully. "He's not like to trouble us anymore, not after the lesson he's learned at Stoney Sept."

Rhaegar stirred. Tywin Lannister had defied his orders, openly committed treason against him and here are these fools mistaking the lion for some cat frightened at the bark of a dog. "I did not see Lord Tywin coming to King's Landing in haste to bend the knee and beg for forgiveness and swear fealty after Stoney Sept," Rhaegar told them. "As long as he stays in the field against my family he is a traitor and a rebel and he will be treated as such. Now if you are done with bleating I would like to discuss what we shall do about Oldtown." Rhaegar eyed Lords Tarly and Rowan. "Lord Randyll, I want you to gather all remnants of your force here and make for the Reach at your earliest convenience. I want you to take command of Tyrell's army. Lord Rowan and Beesbury and the others will accompany you. I expect you to keep the Hightower army pinned up in the Reach."

"Of course your grace," Randyll Tarly bowed his head.

The King turned to Oberyn. "Oberyn I expect you to send word to your brother," he said. "Ask him to send a good contingent of the force he's amassed at the passes to raid over the domains under Oldtown. I would write a letter myself but I think a letter from you would be better."

Oberyn smiled a sly, dangerous smile. "Why not?" he said after a short pause, chuckling. "Dorne has been fighting with the Reach for centuries. It is nothing new to us."

Rhaegar nodded. "I think I have heard enough counsel from you all for one day. Anything else you want to tell me?"

The councillors all shook their head. "We are done then. Now leave me."

Obediently, the other councillors made their farewells, Varys the first to depart and Tarly and Rowan and Beesbury and the rest. When the chamber was empty but for the king, Rhaegar cursed the gods for bringing this upon him. He would have beared the losses well if it wasn't for the loss of the dragon. And his sister. All he had ever did was to prepare them to the best of his abilities for the great battle. But they only sought to disappoint him bitterly. Jaehaerys in the North, now his sister in Oldtown, both had lost their dragons, the tools which would have made a much bigger difference in the war against the great other. They were destined to fight and win the war against the one enemy. But the King's doubts only grew with this war. They had already lost two of the dragons. If they couldn't defeat a rebel how are they supposed to defeat the great enemy.

After the seemingly fruitless day the King had need of his priest's counsel. Ser Oswell and Lewyn accompanied him to the red tower. The men had taken to calling it by that name after Bezzaro had taken his residence there. The red priest's room was dimly lit, yet warm and alive with a red gloom. He found Bezzaro hunched over a huge leather scroll. A twisted thing it was, almost feet long from end to end, taking over most off the table with words of gleaming black and a handle of dark Valyrian steel. Rhaegar ran his hand along it. The scroll was warm and smooth. Strange sorcerous writings had been cut into the bands that girded it. Valyrian glyphs, he knew.

"I hope you know what you are seeing there?"

"I see what R'hllor wills for me to see, your grace," Bezzaro replied.

"I wonder if he ever wants you to see anything," Rhaegar said bitterly. "You couldn't tell me of my son's demise. Now you have failed me with my sister as well, wizard. Why was it that you were not given any visions of that?"

"Not everything happens the way it seems, your grace." The red priest was so calm it only angered the King.

"I ought to cut off your head and cast you out on the sea from whence you came to me, priest," Rhaegar said. "You told me that they were destined to fight in the great war. You saw it in the fires. Now one of my sons is sent away to freeze in the Wall and my sister is dead. How do you expect them to fulfill their destiny now?"

Bezzaro smiled slightly as he gazed into the glowing embers in the brazier. The dying embers quickly to flames, burning bright as red and yellow flames swirled. "R'hllor is not yet done with Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Daenerys, my lord," Bezzaro said. "They are right where they are supposed to be."

"But..."

"Your sister is alive, your grace," the red priest said. "She still has her part to play in putting down this Ice King shrouded in death and the winter he brings with him. So does your son."

Rhaegar wondered if he was true. He must be, the King thought. The wizard had never failed him before as much as he claimed otherwise. And no one had seen Dany die or her dragon. "What do they say?"

"Much and more." The red priest pointed to one of the twisting symbols. Bezzaro brought forth a lantern and lifted it upon the glyphs. In the shifting lantern light the glyphs and symbols seemed to writhe and turn as if they were alive. Now they seemed to glow and in the next moment it seemed to grow large as if they would jump out of the scroll.

Rhaegar pulled away from it. "Where did you find it?"

"Asshai," Bezzaro told the King. "But it is still older than its days in Asshai, going back to Valyria."

"What madness did the valyrians possess which led them to create something like this?" Rhaegar said. "What would have been so important that they had to write down in something like this?"

"It is no madness," Bezzaro simply said. He took the scroll from the table and handed it to Rhaegar. He ran his palm along its curves. "It is no scroll that any man could read. Only the rightful heirs are even worthy of reading it."

"They glow," Rhaegar said looking at the glyphs and symbols on the scroll. They glowed red and orange and yellow and finally the ink returned and then he saw the words as clear as sun.

He brushed his hand across the scroll and the ancient glyph seemed to sing beneath his fingertips. For half a heartbeat he wanted nothing so much as to read it out himself. It is a precious thing, and more powerful in the hands of Bezzaro than it was in his.

Rhaegar placed the scroll down on the table. "Go pray to your red god. Light your fire, and tell me what you see."

Bezzaro's dark eyes seemed to shine. "I see dragons."

"My sister's?"

"No. Dragons much larger and mightier than those."

Rhaegar scoffed. "You have already told me of this, wizard. How do you expect to bring forth more dragons?"

"R'hllor never lies, your grace," Bezzaro said. "I'll say it again. You know the price for it."

I know the price. How could I forget it after paying it? "Tell me something that I do not know, priest."

"The King commands, and I obey," said Bezzaro. "Before this night would end, you will come to know of a terrible thing that awaits you. Keep watch over the iron gate and the shore from the shadows and you shall know the truth of it. Do not take it lightly, great King for your greatness would end in your doom otherwise. "

And so it came to pass. That very night the guards he had posted in the bay by the iron gate came to the King as he was supping alone in his chambers. Between them hung a bloodied and bruised man, swinging from the shoulders of to tall and strong men. He had been beaten and battered a lot. His eyes were blackened and completely swollen and blood dripped off his nose and mouth. "We caught him trying to make off in a sail boat, your grace," the guard at the head said. The captain handed him a scroll bound tight. "He had this on him. The bastard tried to hide it from us as best as he could."

Rhaegar opened the little parchment and looked at the words written over it. He didn't even have to look at the bottom to know whose words they were. He knew the handwriting as good as he did his.

"Leave," the King said. "Hand him over to Longwaters and throw him in the dungeons. I will deal with him later." For the longest time he did not do anything. All night he sat with the parchment in his hands, watching the scroll intently. He had half a mind to burn the letter and forget that it had ever happened. But the words of the wizard was still fresh enough on his mind. 'Do not take it lightly,' he'd said, 'for your greatness would end in your doom otherwise.' Had the man slipped away with this letter in hand, it would have certainly doomed him.

Rhaegar wondered what Bezzaro would have him do about it. Somehow he knew the answer without the red priest's counsel at all. The price he has to pay. A dear price indeed.