A/N: Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. It'll be called Dragonshield and tell a story of the Conquerors being more cunning, the Starks being more in the loop, and Maegor changing things greatly by marrying his niece Rhaena instead of Alys Harroway, not to mention a much more robust Faith Militant uprising. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)

Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)

Enjoy and please comment :D

Chapter 52: Visions

The first thing Jon Connington noticed were the ravens. Massive flocks of them, squawking at men for the bodies of the dead. Truly the stench of death bothered Connington more, but it was the ravens that surprised him. He hadn't known there were so many wild ones in the entire Seven Kingdoms… let alone the Riverlands.

All over, the scars of the Second Battle of Harrenhal littered the ground. Thousands dead both rebel and loyalist, including those too wounded to escape. Those of theirs that could be patched up were taken back to the maesters, while all rebels and their own mortally wounded were speared where they lay upon Connington's orders. Smallfolk from the fallen keep were already digging the mass graves.

And the men… most had fallen asleep where they stood. There was no way this army could advance further. Perhaps before Connington gave the halt order, but now…

"Connington!"

Groaning, the Lord Hand dismounted. If there was one person who would be exceptionally pissed up to a murderous level, it was the man sidling up right to him. "Yes, Lord Robert?"

Blue eyes blazing, the man looked as if he wanted to kill the Hand. Instead, Robert settled for a beefy finger in his face. "We had em!" Behind him, Lords Oakheart and Tarly, not to mention Stannis, frowned darkly. "We had the fuckin' Dragonspawn dead and you had to stop our advance!"

"Advance?" Connington laughed in his face. "Take a look around, Robert, our men are passed out from exhaustion. There was no way for us to pursue, especially with the Freys…"

"Oh, piss the Freys," Randyll Tarly grunted. "Walder couldn't outrun a snail cause he'd try and figure out where the slug is off to. There was no threat."

"I was just about to kill the rapist Dragonspawn!" Robert screamed, spittle spraying out of his mouth.

Stannis, glowering, crossed his arms. "Methinks you stopped the advance so your precious Rhaegar would get away…"

Connington cut him off with a right hook, sending Stannis sprawling. "Fuck you. Next time, it'll be a hangman's noose for such treason." The suddenness of his actions shocked the other Lords dumb… even Robert, oddly enough. "We can discuss our strategy from here on out in Harrenhal keep. Dismissed." Offering him one last glare, Robert grabbed his brother off the ground - the Reach Lords joining him in heading back to their commands.

"My Lord Hand?"

Looking up, Connington saw it was his own cousin, Ser Ronald Connington. He was battered and drenched in blood, but otherwise unharmed. Thank the gods for small favors this day. He knew not his late uncle's child that well, but the desire to see the Griffin be lost to history was not one Connington wished. "Ser Ronald… cousin." He walked to him, clasping the knight's hand. "Thank the Seven you have emerged alive."

Nodding, Ronald shifted on his feet. "The battle against the Northmen… they fought like savages…"

"Yes, half-wildlings they are," Connington dismissed.

But the knight of Griffin's Roost was still uneasy. "Rhaegar fought among them. Robert's blow struck him down."

This caused Connington to freeze - blood running cold. "What?" No… no, it can't be…

"Eddard Stark stopped the killing blow, but fall Rhaegar did." It was then that the Hand noticed the helm in Ronald's left. A beautifully forged piece of steel, dragon wings ascending on either side but with a noticeable dent, metal split open and covered in blood and hair… no brain matter though.

He does live… "I'll take that. Thank you, cousin - be sure to go and clean yourself up. Fetch some hot food in the keep."

"Of course, my Lord." Bowing, Ser Ronald was off.

Cradling the helm in his hand, a single tear fell from his eye. My silver prince… Gods, what he was doing, it all taxed him greatly. There was nothing Connington wished more than to mount a horse and defect to Rhaegar. Fight alongside him as it was meant to be… but alas, as long as the Stark and the Martell remained his queens then there was no chance of his.

Sorrow and worry soon boiled away, a white hot anger replacing it. Lyanna… Elia… both whore-harpies that bewitched my silver prince. Never did he hate anyone as vibrantly he did them… even Robert or Aerys were mere disgust or anger rather than hate. Renly trapped the whores in Starfall, but as long as the walls held there was no chance…

Looking down at the helm, suddenly it clicked. "That's it…" Mind a cauldron of activity, he made back for his horse, eager to return to his tent and set his newest plan in motion.

One that would deal with the meddlesome Queens once and for all.


A great cacophony echoed from the Great Hall. Chandeliers and torches streaming light, the smells of breads, soups, and every variety of roasted meats wafting through the halls. Every highborn had piled into the palace as part of King Aerys II Targaryen's weeklong thanksgiving to celebrate the victory at Harrenhal - cups of wine raised in triumph at every bombastic tirade of how the King's glorious leadership would see the end of the traitorous prince.

Not that the smallfolk would enjoy the same spoils from the granaries or cattle lots. A pittance sure, not enough to improve their views of the man that covered their city in a haze of noxious smoke.

But as the celebration continued late through the night, the hallways of the Red Keep were deserted. Servants drawn to serve the highborn - in more ways than one - one hooded figure used the opportunity to sneak out of Maegor's Holdfast. Passing silently through the corridors, her dark cloak gave her a vital stealth while cutting across the gardens.

Door opened a crack before closing it behind her, Rhaella removed her hood - silver hair glittering in the moonlight. She sighed, looking about her at the copse of tree. Rhaella didn't know what drew her to the Godswood, but now amongst the spiritual place Lyanna always spoke about… slowly stepping towards the heart tree, a surreal wave seemed to pass through her. Hand drifting to where her babe grew inside her.

Wordlessly she knelt, careful of the growing swell in her abdomen. With the new gods having never answered her prayers over years, she felt the gods of her mother and gooddaughter could hear her.

"Old gods… gods of the First Men…" Rhaella closed her eyes, head bent before the oak tree. "Please, I beg of you, let this madness not be the end of House Targaryen." Her voice trembled with the weight of the last many moons. "Bring my son, grandchildren, and gooddaughters safe and whole from the chaos that surrounds them. From those that would do harm to them for the sake of gold or land…"

As she prayed, the calm from before grew. Awash in it, sweat cold on her skin in spite of the chill all around. "Protect Viserys…" Of all who suffered, his perhaps was the worst of it all. Aloof and quiet, the cumulative effect of the atrocities Aerys made him witness were slowly breaking him. Rhaella could see it in his eyes. The light was slowly leaving. "He is innocent, great ones - do not let him suffer so… protect the light of his soul from the darkness that consumes my husband." A prayer for Aerys died on the tip of her tongue - he was beyond saving.

Her mind turned to the bane of her existence… or blessing depending on what part of her looked at it. The one that filled Rhaella's thoughts. "Please let Jaime have peace..." Rhaella felt a tear slip from her mind. "I want him so… I never thought I would ever desire Joanna's son yet I do… and yet I can't have him. Bring the both of us peace and finality, I beg this of you…" Sobbing softly, the emotions of the moment were close to overwhelming.

Passing by, a liberated flagon of Dornish red in his paw, a knight of the crownlands in service to House Targaryen happened to be passing by. He staggered unsteadily, looking for a place to drink his treasures by the waters of the bay - perhaps bring a servant girl here for some 'fun.'

He was just about to belt out an obscene brothel ditty when his drunken brain overheard someone speaking within the godswood. It was a quiet night but the voice was faint - he had to struggle to hear it, curiously leaning against a gap in the wall to witness...

"And please bring my son a swift victory upon the battlefield." Eyes widened. Queen Rhaella... "He is my only hope, great ones. Grant him the crown he so deserves."

A greedy smile formed on his face moments later, wine slowing his thinking. "So the queen is a traitor…" he murmured softly to himself, clicking his tongue. Cowardice may have kept him from serving in Chelsted or Robert's armies, but ambition rooted him firmly in court to serve the King. To smoke out traitors and northern spies out on his behalf. This would be my greatest find of all. The rewards Aerys would give him for discovering treason in Maegor's Holdfast itself would be massive indeed.

He almost simpered with glee, dreams of an impressive castle in the Riverlands filling his mind. "A loyal man that I am," the knight mused aloud as he looked out over the bay once more. His senses were dulled and unable to notice the figure approaching him from behind. "I should always report to the k-" He couldn't finish the sentence, sounds mere gurgles as a knife ran through his neck. Bubbles of blood escaping.

"You should have wandered somewhere else, cunt." Jaime Lannister held the knight's head firmly, twisting the dagger. Holding firm against his struggles as the blade shredded his throat. "For the Queen." Soon, the struggles stopped.

Drawing the dagger back, Jaime let out a satisfied breath watching the man that would threaten his beloved keel over - slumping over the parapet in a heap. Fists clenching in unreleased anger, he grabbed the legs. A heave found the corpse falling off the cliff of Aegon's High Hill down to the black waters below. No trace of him ever existed.

Anyone that threatens Rhaella will join him.

Wiping the blood off his armor with a rag, Jaime hurried just fast enough to see Rhaella leaving the Godswood. The shrouded yet still beautiful Queen racing back to her quarters. "Oh, my Queen…" Jaime murmured to himself, heart clenching at seeing her so scared and alone.

If you wish to kill anyone, kill Aerys.

He felt a cold sweat wash over him. You will die… Not if Rhaegar won. Would Rhaegar want you to become a kingslayer?

Would Rhaella? Conflict consuming him, Jaime looked towards the great hall for what seemed like hours before sighing and instead heading towards the Holdfast.

Knocking at the familiar door… to the chambers where his dreams had come so wonderfully true barely two weeks before… the gentle affirmation brought him inside. Finding Rhaella dressed down in a nightshift and robe - no sign of her dark cloak. Clever girl..."My dearest Queen," Jaime said, bowing.

Eyes glossing over him, the tone of his voice making Rhaella shiver with lust. It was filled with love and caring… few had ever truly cared for her, none of them till Jaime being a lover of hers. Lover… There was the guilt again. "My dearest knight..." Despite herself and her guilt, Rhaella responded with barely veiled desire.

The melodious sound went straight to his crotch, but Jaime suppressed it. Knowing her conflict, he would wait as long as she needed. "Did the gods heed your prayer?"

Rhaella's mouth dropped in shock. "How did…"

"I am your loyal Kingsguard," Jaime chuckled, walking over to kneel before her. Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss on the soft skin. "It is my duty to follow and protect you." And how I did protect you tonight...

The words made her smile. "Thank you." Gesturing for him to sit across from her - Rhaella didn't trust herself if he sat beside her - his question came back. "I hope that they heard, Jaime. I was as sincere as I could be." She sighed. "They are the gods of my mother, yet I know nothing about them… how they could help my son."

"Well, if they are watching over him then even in defeat they are." Jaime watched her knot her brows in confusion. "Apparently Connington refused to pursue Rhaegar's army. It managed to escape to Riverrun."

Now that surprised Rhaella. "Why?" Even someone like her, clueless in military matters, could sense that was a total blunder.

He shrugged. "Still playing both sides, I suppose."

Rhaella snorted, scowling deeply. "After everything he's done, all he can expect from my son is a date with the block." Looking away, she closed her eyes. "If he wins."

"He'll win, I promise you," Jaime whispered.

The Queen wanted nothing more than to latch onto him and never let go - seek out the love he was so clearly dying to offer her - but she needed to be strong. For Joanna… it can never be. "Let's hope the old gods and the new hear us, Jaime." She didn't acknowledge when the knightly title dropped from her address of him. Nor when a chaste pair of arms wrapped around her, letting Rhaella relish in some manner of comfort.


Crack!

"Get off him, Ned!" begged Yohn Royce, only to be shoved away by the Lord of Winterfell.

"You fucking coward!" To the gasps… or cheers of the crowd of lords that watched, Eddard Stark slammed his fist for the third time into the face of Ser Stevron Frey. "Where the fuck were you?!" Valeman, Riverlord, and Northman alike were stunned at the 'Quiet Wolf's' expression of pure rage. While the latter found it purely awesome, nearly all looked at the heir to the Twins and felt it was ultimately justified.

"Fuck you!" snarled Stevron, lips curling into a sneer on his weasley face. He tried to get up, only for Ned to uppercut him, sending Stevron toppling once more. Still an heir at age nine and for, in comparison Ned's youthful vigor easily won.

The next blow came instead from Elbert Arryn, blonde hair tousled into a mess as he advanced on the hapless Frey. "Fuck him? Fuck you, you worthless cunt!' With a kick, he slammed into Stevron's gut, the man doubling over with a painful cry. "Your lecherous curr cunt of a father promised his bannermen a fucking moon ago. Where the fuck were they when my men were getting slaughtered?!" Another kick, Ned joining in with a right hook to the jaw before several men darted in to finally pull them apart. "I'm not fucking done yet!" Elbert screeched, though neither Royce nor Lyonel Corbray would let go.

Coughing, trying not to retch from the throbbing in his stomach, Stevron nevertheless had enough of his more infamous father in him to glare at his tormentors. "I shall have you drawn and quartered for this!"

"With what authority?" Jorah Mormont replied, voice dripping with disdain even as he and Greatjon Umber dragged Ned away - in the distance, Willam Dustin and Theo Wull held back a very irate Rickard Karstark, the Lord of Karhold with his knife drawn, eager to seek revenge for the death of his boy on the cowardly Frey. "The House skill of getting one's cock up at seventy namedays to sire children off one twelve and ten?" That drew laughs or snickers from the Lords. Everyone knew Walder Frey's reputation… and that the position upon the Trident and the mountains of silver taken from his decades of toll collecting were all that kept him a going concern.

Stevron went red. "My father is…"

Ser Bronn cut him off. "The Late Walder Frey, I should say." No one held their tongue as they laughed at the rising Stevron, shaky on his feet. "His men were late, and we nearly fuckin' died. I'd punch you myself if I didn't want to stain my leathers with your blood." Fuming, Stevron reddened under the jeers and insults… begun by a Northerner and a jumped-up sellsword no less.

Simply the sight of him made Ned want to strike him again, but the Greatjon shook his head. "Not worth it, lad. Go take a walk and cool off. Most of what needs to be said has been said." Growling under his breath, Ned nevertheless nodded and headed out of the Great Hall of Riverrun. The strategy meeting of the battered army of Rhaegar Targaryen had been almost over when Stevron Frey finally made his entrance after weeks and weeks of delay.

Thousands had fell in the defeat at Harrenhal… and if not for Lord Bolton they would have been all mopped up by a full envelopment of Reach knights. Ned blamed the Freys responsible. Responsible for both the army and for his own goodbrother, trapped in an endless sleep.

Making his way inside the royal chambers, Ned found a rather strange duo standing vigil over the still form of his goodbrother. "A surprising sight," he observed.

Hunched over his King, Septon Meribald offered a wan smile. "There are multiple journeys one can take to get to enlightenment. What man of cloth would I be if I didn't try to understand the others?"

Crossing his arms, Ned looked at Melisandre with a smirk. "And you?"

"In all honesty, Lord Stark, I'm surprised I found one member of the Faith of the Seven not a judgmental hypocrite."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Lady Melisandre," Meribald replied.

Ned's amusement at the apparent contradiction disappeared as his gaze fell upon Rhaegar. A sad complexion taking him over. "Is there any hope for him to come out of it?"

Sighing deeply, Meribald shrugged. "I spoke to the maester of Riverrun, he said in his experience the wound to his Grace's head is minor. That he should have woken… perhaps there is a spiritual component here, which is why the Lady and I are present." Bending down, the rumpled septon placed his forehead upon Rhaegar's - mumbling a prayer to the Stranger to abate his coming for the King.

As for Melisandre, she ran a hand along Rhaegar's arm before gazing at the flames. "The divine wishes something of his Grace. That is why he is still shrouded by sleep and agony."

Stepping towards the Red Priestess, Ned looked her in the eye. "How would you know of this?"

"The Lord of Light speaks to me… sometimes in riddles, sometimes more directly, but always with a higher meaning beyond the specificity of such a vision." Angular face beautiful in the flickering firelight, her red eyes gave away nothing. "There is a special purpose for his Grace. The one born in Salt and Smoke, ordained to bring the Promised Prince into the world."

Ned snorted. "Words. Flowery and with great conviction, but words." A part of him… the one that witnessed the vision in front of the Weirwood of Winterfell, nevertheless didn't completely disbelieve Melisandre. "And there is no other explanation?"

Melisandre cocked her head. "You may ask the maester himself, Lord Stark. He will confirm what he told us."

He waved his hand. "That won't be necessary." While he didn't trust Melisandre, there was no reason Meribald would lie in his opinion. Resting his head upon the mantle of the hearth, Ned closed his eyes for what seemed like minutes. "Leave," he finally spoke.

"My Lord?" asked the Septon.

"I wish to say my peace to his Grace… as his family." Meribald nodded, humbly leaving the Warden of the North to converse with his goodbrother. Melisandre raised an eyebrow, but a stare from Ned saw her leave as well. The lessons of Dragonstone - where the Queen nearly caught her trying to seduce the King - kept her knowing her place. Making certainty not to overstay her welcome.

Alone with Rhaegar, Ned walked to him. Looking over the expressionless face of his sleeping goodbrother, Ned sighed. "Brother… you can't keep yourself like this." He shook his head. "No, you can't leave Lya like this. Not Elia or Rhaenys… not Egg or her Grace the Queen." Ned reached under the thick blanket for Rhaegar's hand. "Not for your unborn babe… he doesn't deserve to live and grow without his father…"

There was no doubt in Ned's mind that he would care for Lya, Elia, and the babes with his life. even raise the child as his own gods' forbid the worst - but that was no option to wish for. The best father for his unborn nephew was his sire. Certainly Ned knew the only proper father for his own seed would be himself and no other.

"I promise, brother, I'll always keep them under my sword and shield… but I beg you, don't let it ever come for that. Fight." After ten minutes passed without incident, a heavy breath passed Ned's lips. Wordlessly he made his exit, passing a young maid and Ser Barristan on his way out.

He would be getting drunk that night.


Snow… sprinkling down from the heavens upon the ground in a white blanket. Lyanna immediately felt a calm wash over her. Extending her arms, she bathed in the falling snow - the wonderful memories of her childhood popping in her mind with every chilly prick of the snowflakes.

"Lyanna…"

She perked up, looking around her. "I'm in the godswood." It has been over a year, yet she would never forget the spiritual heart of Winterfell. Every tree, every bush, every rock where her father would sit and wipe his sword - waiting for her younger self to jump on him in a pile of giggles.

"Lyanna… Lyanna…"

Turning her head, she stepped towards the voice. "Hello?" Pushing aside the underbrush, Lyanna came to a strange sight. In the middle of the clearing was the great heart tree, face fierce and leaves blood red. The sap flowed from its face - an even more powerful shade of crimson. It unnerved her greatly.

"Lyanna Stark." While the previous voice was soft and enticing, this one dripped with harsh judgement. "You have betrayed the gods of your ancestors."

She flinched, staring with shocked eyes. "No… I would never," Lyanna stammered.

The voice was unforgiving. "You have laid with someone not your husband. Polluted your marriage bed with the darkest perversion." Materializing around the tree were three figures, ones that made Lyanna gasp.

"Why did you do it, little pup?" her mother asked, sadly.

"Our death was your fault," Brandon shouted.

She fell on her back, tears in her eyes. "No! It wasn't like that!" Eyes found her father. "You know I never…"

"You put everything at risk." Rickard Stark was harsh, every trace of warmth nonexistent. "Our entire House close to extinction because of your lust."

Elia's beautiful face came to mind. Lust and caring in her honey-brown eyes. "No…" They were in love. A family…

Suddenly a black mist swirled around her. "It's not too late." Soothing, seductive.

Lyanna shut her eyes. "Go away!"

"You aren't condemned forever by her."

"She's my love!"

"She uses you." The mist transformed into a spiral, it's head the snout of a fierce dragon, yet sympathetic in the face of the heart tree. "She will kill you. Kill your babe…"

Covering her swell protectively, Lyanna hunched in a ball. "Stop…"

"You know it to be true." The wind picked up around her. "You destroyed yourself… you sully your good name… you desecrate the gods by laying with someone who will betray you…" The gentle snowfall slowly transformed to a gale. "Hurt you… kill your child…"

Screaming, Lyanna's wails were drowned out by the roaring wind as the swirling, blinding snow surrounded her...

Eyes flying open, Lyanna found herself not in the midst of the godswood… the soft sheets of her chambers in Starfall were like a cloud to her aching back and feet, yet such weren't on her mind as she woke.

"Lya?" a soft voice called to her, the drowsiness not entirely masking the concern in the tone. "What's wrong?" Elia's lithe form pressed against her nude back, equally bare to the world.

Lyanna sat up, heart racing. She instinctively covered her bare breasts - having grown along with the swell - and hated herself for it. What did I do? Why did I dream that? Her other hand covered her forehead, trying to ease the pounding.

The voice was still stuck there. Whispering the most toxic things. Inducing the darkest thoughts.

Bed shifting, Elia moved to sit up too - hugging Lyanna from behind. "You were moaning in your sleep, as if fearful." She pressed a kiss to her wife's neck, feeling how she trembled. It broke Elia's heart. "Please talk to me, my love. Is it the babe?"

"You destroyed yourself… you sully your good name… you desecrate the gods by laying with someone who will betray you… hurt you… kill your child…"

Closing her eyes tightly, Lyanna fought the voice. Fought the poison. Elia was her love… She loved Jon more than anything… She loves me…

"Lya, please?"

Turning, Lyanna came face to face with her fellow Queen. The moonlight slipping past the siege lines to cast through the windows. Illuminating her in an ethereal glow, Lyanna could see Elia's slender figure… darker skin… supple mounds… All on her mind, something inside of her snapped.

"Elia," Lyanna gasped, then pulled Elia in for a kiss.

Elia, surprise turned into a sultry moan as her sister-wife's tongue poked at her lips, begging… no, demanding entrance. She didn't even have time to part her mouth, Lyanna forcing her way in - making a thorough exploration with her tongue. Strong arms pushed her flat against the bed. Firmly pinning her, Lya hovered on her knees, ever mindful of their babe while possessing her sister-wife. Oh gods...

Join of her legs rapidly slicking with her desire, Lyanna grinded her hips against Elia's stomach - straddling her. "Need you," she mumbled against her lips. "Need you now, Elia." Needed to prove this real - prove that the beautiful woman beneath her was genuine.

"Please," Elia begged, her voice cracking. "I'm yours." Wherever this came from, she certainly wasn't complaining. Rhaegar or no Rhaegar - and Elia missed him desperately - there was no limit to her lusting for her she-wolf. "Touch me." She bit her lip, trembling with want as Lyanna's hand made its way down her body. Touching her nub, completely exposed to the night air. "Gods, please. Keep going."

Swiping through the wetness, Lyanna hissed as Elia's hands grasped her breasts, squeezing the full mounds gently, enjoying how full they were getting. "Fuck," Lyanna hissed, moving her fingers faster. One prodded Elia's dripping cunt, the Dornish Queen writhing beneath her, pushing her hips forward.

"Lya, I need your fingers, please!" Elia shouted, uncaring of who could hear. Kneading the swollen breasts of Lya's pregnancy. The devious part of her mind knew it would unleash the wolf in her wife.

Eyes darkening, the passion and desperation was too much to hold Lyanna back. The northern beauty wasted no time in inserting a finger inside Elia, joined soon by another. She growled, latching to her neck as the fingers pounded her wife - looking for the spot that would make her scream. Lyanna knew she found it when Elia's moans grew ever louder. Shrill in the shroud of night.

There may have been a siege outside but the Queens didn't seem to know or care.

Elia gripped the bedsheets, toes curling at Lyanna's motions. It wasn't as thick or long as Rhaegar's cock, but the feel of her soft skin and slender body filled with their babe awoke just as powerful a passion. "Lya!" Elia screamed her sister-wife's name.

The moans, the screams, the lust… Lips crashing together, Lyanna curled her fingers, drawing a wail into her mouth. She frantically ground her own core against Elia's leg, feeling a climax not far off. You're mine… I love you… you won't hurt me… I love you…

"Oh gods…" Elia gripped Lyanna's back, fingers digging into the soft skin as the orgasm ripped through her - Lyanna moaning hers into her mouth not much later. Gingerly, they fell on their sides, shivering through the aftershocks. "Mmmm…" Elia's forehead was drenched in sweat but she was quite content. "That was a surprise, but well worth it."

But Lyanna didn't share her contentment, frantically surging again. "I love you," Lyanna murmured before pressing her lips against Elia's again. "Tell me you love me," she pressed desperately. "Please, Elia…"

Halting her movements with a cup on the cheek, Elia stared into Lya's grey eyes. "I love you, never doubt that, Lyanna."

Tears pricking at her eyes, Lyanna believed her. Hugging her close, breathing in the spicy scent of her skin.

"She lies…"

"She deceives…"

Heat rising inside her once more, Lya flipped Elia onto her stomach - yanking her up to her hands and knees. "I'm not done with you." Elia bit her lip as she felt Lyanna's magic tongue swipe through her folds. If Rhaegar was here, I wouldn't want to leave.

"Lyanna… Lyanna…"


Struggle.

Drive.

Push.

Such was Rhaegar's existence, as if swimming through a thick, viscous ocean that tired him - drove his muscles to ache in agony. He wrestled through it, kicking and paddling. "For Lya… for Elia… for my children…" He fought and fought, desperate to reach the light he knew laid beyond the horizon. To escape the prison that was his mind…

It seemed like days… weeks… moons. Trapped for eternity in the soup surrounding him. But by the grace of whatever gods laid out there, he found himself transposed into something else. Hovering in mid-air. Splotches of white light flickered before him, showing Rhaegar glimpses of something… be it the future or some kind of nightmare Rhaegar didn't know.

Only that he would never wish to endure it.

A corpse upon a horse, wolf's head sewn to the headless shoulders and dragon wings jutting out from the back. "Targaryen King!" the men clustered around it cheered. "Long may he reign!" Another held up a severed head by its raven hair, violet eyes still wide in pain and terror.

Eyes Rhaegar had seen before.

A young woman, silver hair flowing behind her… yanked back as she cried out in pain. In agony as a huge brawler fucked her violently. The tears and snot flowing down her cheeks and nose clear as to her want of the situation. "Please… you're hurting…"

"No," came the grunt, the man's thick beard and long, braided hair giving up his plains identity. He fucked her ever harder, only making the unknown Targaryen scream even louder.

A hulking man in gleaming armor, antlers jutting out from his helm. A grin could be seen from his pulled-back visor, hefting a massive warhammer in his beefy hands. "You shouldn't have bred, dragonspawn. Now it's time to meet the fury." Letting out a cry, the silver-haired beauty upon the bed couldn't even try to run before the head of the warhammer slammed into her head.

"Muna!" Rhaegar shouted, recognizing his mother among the three, though his heart instinctively ached for each of them.

In an instant, he found himself in what seemed to be the throne room of the Red Keep, but other than the walls and ceiling it was unrecognizable. Blood covered everything, as if a slaughter had occurred here.

"Rhaegar!"

"Kepa!"

His eyes shooting to where it came from, Rhaegar felt his heart stabbed with valyrian steel. A piggish knight was hunched over Rhaenys, manticore on his armor as he plunged a dagger into her little body. Behind him, a giant of a man smashed a babe into the column… gods, was that Egg? "Egg! Rhae!" He tried to rush over but two knights - their black armor shrouding their bodies - grabbed his arms. As much as he struggled, he couldn't get free.

"Now the whore." From the Iron Throne, a black shroud announced its command. Obeying, the giant advanced on a prone woman. Elia! Her cries filled the air as she was defiled. Brutalized, Rhaegar unable to do anything but haplessly watch. "And now the wolf. Burn her!" A sudden explosion of black flames detonated behind him.

"Rhaegar!" Lyanna screamed as the fires consumed her. "Rhaegar, help me!"

"He can't help you," the shroud on the throne rasped. "That weak fool couldn't even save your child."

Roaring, struggling against the grip of the two black knights, Rhaegar's eyes fell on the throne. "I'm going to fucking kill you! Come here, father, and fight like a man!"

But it was not Aerys. Instead a massive black dragon erupted from the shroud. Maw open and engulfing him in a fiery inferno. Rhaegar's vision exploded into a chaos of red-orange, cries of Lyanna, Elia, Rhaenys… even the cries of little Egg piercing into him.

"Rhaegar!"

"Help me!"

"KEPA!"

The screams of his loves… of all those he loved, echoed long in Rhaegar's ears. Scarring his souls with the hottest of dragonfire. Interminable the echoes howled. His eyes shutting tighter as he waited them banished forever.

When they inevitably did, he looked up. Finding the throne room disappeared into an encompassing blackness tinged with red. 'My house colors?' Rhaegar stood, gazing around. Trying to find something, anything in the darkness. "Hello?!" There was no answer. Only a silence that screamed louder than any tortured wretch…

And then he heard it. A faint sound of metal against metal, but it was there. Banishing the silence. Rhaegar searched for it until a glow of red-orange loomed in the distance. He didn't waste time, legs pumping to reach whomever, whatever made that glow.

That turned out to be a man. Quietly seated upon a large stone, he sharpened a sword - the sound Rhaegar heard. And yet it was a blade unlike any other. Bright flames covered the smooth steel, showering sparks each time the whetstone slid over the metal. Rhaegar watched with amazement at his unburnt hands. The man possessed the power of the dragonlords, but his black hair and scruffy beard were not of Old Valyria.

Before Rhaegar could speak, the man preempted him. "She said that it was a blessing for you to come here…" The stone still scraped against the blade. "I disagreed, and even with you here, I still do."

Rhaegar blinked. "Do you know who I am?"

Grunting, he lowered his blade. Looking up to reveal piercing grey eyes. Stark eyes. "You claim to be a King and yet you speak idiocy to me." He eyed Rhaegar in disgust. "Yes, I know who you are, Rhaegar Targaryen. You wear my blade after all."

Strapped to his hip, Rhaegar gestured to Blackfyre. "This blade? The sword of Aegon the Conqueror?"

"Aye, him." Upon closer look, he wore the same padded leather cuirass of a northern warrior. "One of the few that came from my second boy's line that brought me pride." The Stark rolled his eyes. "The tribunal is still debilitating on you, however."

"I've been fighting for my family and my realm," Rhaegar shot back, growing tired of the stranger's insults.

Yawning, the man shrugged. "If you're here then you failed."

"Be generous, nuha jorrelegon." Suddenly a fine mist surrounded Rhaegar, golden in color and pulsing as it spiraled around his armor. "He is the first in so many centuries to be born with the blood." A contented sigh. "I can smell it coursing through him."

Rhaegar tried to step to the side, shake off the most. His efforts were in vain - it left on its own accord, trailing to just beside the northerner. Taking a feminine shape. Solidifying into the graceful form of a Valyrian beauty. Hair shining like moonlight, skin a glowing alabaster… eyes like deep, amethyst pools. "Who… who are you?"

Giggling at his stammered question, the beauty turned to her lover. "You didn't tell him?"

"I had a feeling you desired to," he answered, leaning into her touch. It was as evident as night or day that the two were lovers. "But best not to waste time."

"I agree." She turned to Rhaegar, eyes suddenly firm. "Rhaegar Targaryen, the blood of the dragon rests on your shoulders… the Prince born upon salt and smoke. The one who's line who shall break the curse."

"Not this again, my mother was forced into a marriage against her will because of prophecy…"

"Rhaegar… Rhaegar…" His blood went cold, memory singed into his mind. "Remember your blood… remember your fire…" The voice was that of the maiden. "The fate of the Promised Prince rests in your hands. You've seen the fate that befalls him if you lose."

"If he wins," the man finished.

"My father?"

"It doesn't matter, we have too little time." As is prophetic, a white mist began to materialize around him. "The Prince depends on you, Rhaegar. Remember your blood. Remember your fire."

"I…" but everything grew faint. Dissolving into light.

The maiden's voice was soothing, motherly. "With this sign, you will conquer." Sword twirling, the man cut a large line through the air, flames then drawing two rhomboidal shapes out from it… almost like dragon wings.

Before the whiteness enveloped him, Rhaegar heard one last phrase. Bells ringing in the background.

"Kill the boy… Kill the boy and let the dragon be born…"

Within the royal chambers, the candles that had snuffed out suddenly flickered back to life - yellow-white flames shooting thrice their normal height. The fire in the hearth roared loud, sparks shooting out upon the fireplace mantle. A servant that had just entered, readying to apply a wet compress to the King's forehead yelped. Fleeing in fright to fetch a Lord or Maester… someone, anyone.

Drenched in sweat, Rhaegar's eyes flew open. The purple in them glowing brightly from the dragonblood coursing within him.

Kill the boy…

Let the dragon be born...

A/N: So we see the first major showings of the spiritual side of the My Father's Son universe. Seems that there are two opposing sides here.

Jaime being ruthless to save Rhaella. Gotta love it!

Ned's a boss here.

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