In which ASoIaF stops pretending to be a low fantasy setting when all the magic comes back, thanks to a misplaced demonically corrupted Silver dragon. Its lack will no longer be an issue for anyone. Or anything. Good does not always triumph over Evil. What has been lost can not always be reclaimed. What has been forgotten cannot always be remembered.
Some decay is irreversible.
Winter is coming, but it will not do so alone. If the world doesn't end in fire, salt or shadow first?
It will end in ice.
Rust
The Wall II
Arthur Dayne took the large wooden bucket of snow from the apothecary owner's comely daughter and thanked her with a confident, appreciative charming smile -
Wait, shit, fuck no -
He dropped the smile quickly, but it was too late. The girl had already dropped into an atrocious half-curtsy, face flushing with a mumbled, "Yer grace" before she turned and escaped with a hopeful bounce to her step. His fellow Kingsguard Oswell Whent sidestepped to let her pass through the tunnel with a polite nod of his head to her and mockingly raised eyebrows to him.
"I do not want to hear it," Arthur hissed, reluctantly stepping back from the door so Oswell could enter the room.
"Are you giving the good people of Mole's Town false impressions of our prince?" As usual, Oswell ignored him with a mean smirk, kicking the door behind them closed with a snow covered armored boot. "As a tall, silver haired - "
"Ashen."
"Purple eyed, lusty - "
Arthur rolled his eyes skyward and headed deeper into the warren-like structure.
"Dornishman!" Oswell called out behind him.
The structure of Mole's Town fascinated Arthur. It reminded him of Planky Town by Sunspear, in the strange way that only seeing a complete and exact opposite of the familiar did. The trading town was built of barges and poleboats and merchant ships lashed together with hempen ropes, planks of wood were used instead of streets and the entire structure floated upon the mouth of the Greenblood river where it spilled into the Narrow Sea.
Mole's Town was largely built underground. The dark, warm tunnels between cellars and vaults served as the streets lit with moss and bark lamps smoldering behind treated wooden cups, turned upside down and slitted to let the light and smoke out. Smaller tunnels had been dug up to the surface at regular intervals to draw the smoke out. The ceilings were low and every inch supported by wooden rafters and pillars with a persistent damp, earthy smell but it protected the smallfolk well from the cold.
This far up North, they've been told that there were days a man could spit and it would freeze before hitting the ground. Arthur believed every word of it.
"If you would kindly cease breaking smallfolk hearts in the prince's name - "
"I smiled!" Arthur snapped defensively as he reached the main common room of the 'tavern,' a round den that branched into shallow tunnels to the 'rooms.' "I am allowed to smile."
"Not like that you aren't," Oswell snorted.
"There is nothing amiss with the way I smile," Arthur insisted, just to be stubborn.
It had been two years since the tournament in Lannisport for Prince Viserys and he still forgot about the white cloak. It wasn't his fault. Rhaegar did his best to ensure little changed from the days when he was just the prince's companion.
"I have a charming smile. Rhaegar has a charming smile." Oswell raised skeptical eyebrows. "He can smile." Arthur set the bucket of snow onto the tavern table with a loud thud and brightly asked, "Can't you, my prince?"
Rhaegar Targaryen glared at the small lit candlestick on the table before him like it had raised its banners in rebellion.
Oswell raised his eyebrows even higher.
Oh, so that's how it is. Arthur scooped a handful of snow out of the bucket and dumped it down the back of the prince's coarse shirt.
The reaction was immediate.
Rhaegar yelped like a kicked pup, hands flying to his back as he jumped out of his seat away from Arthur like he was dodging an assassin's blade, tripped on his travel bag - "WAGHGH!" And both Kingsguard silently watched as the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms flailed in a drunken pirouette trying to regain his lost balance, hit another stool, and fell ass first into the lit hearth with a puff of sparks and ash.
Arthur giggled.
Oswell looked at him. "How have you not been executed yet?"
"I almost had it!" Rhaegar roared as he leapt to his feet and angrily brushed the remaining hot coals off of him.
"Had what?" Oswell asked.
"No, you did not," Arthur said and Rhaegar harrumphed, glaring past him with offense written in every line of his body.
Wordlessly, Arthur retrieved another handful of snow and dropped it on top of the prince's ash covered silver-gilt head. It melted instantly with the hiss of steam, small streams of water drying even as they ran down his face so only a few drops even reached his chin leaving gray trails. Arthur silently repeated the process and raised expectant eyebrows when Rhaegar finally dragged his dark purple eyes to his own violet.
Rhaegar slumped.
"No," the prince admitted miserably. "I did not. You?"
Arthur grimaced.
"Are you two ever going to tell me what the seven hells you're up to?" Oswell spoke up grumpily. "Are we Red priests now, staring at flames?"
As the only one actually dressed like a Kingsguard, the youngest Whent crossing his arms with a scowl on his face and dark eyes narrowed was a proud figure in his all white armor made of enameled scales, silver fastenings and white cloak. The bat helm was a little silly looking, but Arthur could forgive Oswell for his lack of taste.
He was a Riverlander, after all.
Arthur glanced at Rhaegar, a silent question in his eyes. Oswell had joined them at the king's command right before they left Dragonstone. If Arthur felt like being charitable, he would say the second Kingsguard was an assurance for the king that his son and heir would be safe and not that Oswell Whent was a spy in white armor.
Arthur rarely felt like being charitable to the king.
Rhaegar pinched out the candle on the table with a despondent sigh. "If Father's new Master of Whispers has not found out and reported already…"
Oswell's eyes became slits as he dropped his arms to his sides, in easy reach of the sword belted at his hip and shifting his weight in preparation for an attack.
"It is not what you are thinking," Arthur said, deliberately remaining still. "It is about the esoteric, not the political." It was indirectly political, but then everything involving the prince was.
Oswell slowly relaxed as his gaze traveled from Arthur to Rhaegar and then to the candle still letting out a tiny wisp of smoke. "Does it have…anything to do with why the prince spontaneously bursts into flame?"
"Yes," Arthur and Rhaegar said.
"Unrelated to this…dragon we are searching this town for?" Oswell said like he believed not a single word of it.
Arthur Dayne of a year past would have agreed with the sentiment. Dragons were long gone. The Arthur Dayne of now was ready to believe almost anything.
"Entirely unrelated," Rhaegar said firmly as his collar started smoldering.
"Completely," Arthur agreed, motioning towards his own neck and the prince looked down.
Oswell narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
Rhaegar shoved his head into the bucket of snow.
"I am attempting to help him control it," Arthur finally threw his fellow Kingsguard a bone.
"You?" Oswell snorted.
Me.
Arthur stretched out his hands and it was the work of a moment to recall the exact weight and feel of Dawn's hilt in his hands. The way light played off the milky white blade forged from the heart of a fallen star and the simple steel detailing of its crossguard, the black leather of its hilt and the star of its pommel. He had stared at her in its scabbard for numerous nights as a boy. He had dreamed of wielding her. He had trained with her for years since earning his spurs. Killed with her. Sweat and bled with her. Until he no longer even noticed the way she balanced, how long the blade, how heavy the metal. He will die with her and he will never again use another weapon. He knew this blade by heart and his heart twinged.
The ancestral greatsword of house Dayne simply appeared in the palm of Arthur Dayne's hands.
Whent's eyes near fell right out of his skull.
"How?" The knight's voice was strangled. Arthur felt mildly offended and he was not certain if all the offense was his own.
The dragonlord is on fire and no one bats an eye, but gods forbid the Dayne has a magic sword.
Dawn had been with his family before the Valyrian Freehold even rose in the first place!
"I haven't the faintest," Arthur said blandly.
Arthur Dayne had given Dawn's awakening after what everyone was calling the night the Stars Fell not a second thought. Of course she would. Why would it be any other way? After ten thousand years, the miracle that had first seen the star delivered to the Torrentine kings of house Dayne had come again.
Like calls to like.
Then five days later, a raven arrived from Maester Aemon Targaryen at the Wall about a dragon, Rhaegar nearly burned down Dragonstone in his sleep, two Kingsguard, a prince and a lordly heir could swear they saw a sea dragon surfacing on the horizon and Arthur was forced to concede that there might be something else to it.
It did not matter what it was.
He was the Sword of the Morning. Dawn belonged to him and he to her.
The sword purred as a gentle, rumbling sensation in his chest.
"Dawn is also why I can no longer wear my armor," Arthur announced.
Ser Oswell Whent, the Bat of Harrenhall seemed as though he would rather walk off a short pier and drown than to ask, "What does the sword have to do with you not wearing armor?"
"She is a very prideful lady." Arthur then frowned. "You were there for that argument."
Oswell's eyes bulged incredulously.
"I was - you cannot mean -" Whent struggled with the words. "There was no argument," he said slowly, as if talking to a dim witted child. "You stared at the sword, yelled and then said it bit you."
And it had fucking hurt.
Arthur had tried to convince the blade that armor was important. Dawn was of the (biting) opinion that the Sword of the Morning was a fucking craven who needed to stop his whinging and start not getting hit.
The mail shirt and gambeson he was wearing under the unfortunate black surcoat decorated with the Targaryen red three headed dragon was a compromise.
"I was communing with the blade."
"You were just staring at it - "
"What did you think I was doing?" Arthur had to know. "Some odd Dornish custom?"
"I thought you were trying to avoid being seasick!"
Rhaegar straightened his back, taking the bucket with him. With a loud hissing noise the rest of the cold water was dumped all over himself and the cheap black clothing they had bought from Eastwatch-by-the Sea so the prince wouldn't have to leave the boat looking like a drowned rat.
Or buck naked.
By the time Arthur and Dawn had their spat and he realized that wearing his customary Kingsguard armor into battle was just going to get him, and by extension Rhaegar, killed they were already a sennight out from Dragonstone on open water. Deprived of his customary armor, Arthur had suddenly gained a mighty need for regular clothing so he wouldn't freeze to death in the North and the heir to Driftmark, Monford Velaryon had gained an almost violent preference for Rhaegar to wear as few dry clothes as possible.
So that his ship wouldn't catch fire and they all drown.
Arthur Dayne liked living.
Luckily for the Kingsguard, so did Rhaegar.
At any other time, Arthur would have said that forcing the prince of the realm to sleep in a puddle of seawater on the top deck was undignified and probably some form of treason.
However, Rhaegar was still setting his sheets on fire like a boy wetting the bed.
It had been just hours and his clothes were already burned through with several holes making him look more beggar than black brother. Arthur was almost getting used to being called 'Your Grace' over the prince in his borrowed clothes. Said prince sighed in relief as he steamed, standing there for a few moments more with the bucket over his head.
"Any other questions?" Arthur confidently swung the too-light Dawn over his shoulder…
…and it sheared right through the ceiling rafters like a hot knife through butter, showering both him and Rhaegar in wood chips and dust. The greatsword's amusement pulsed in his chest as Rhaegar peeled the bucket off and patted out the fires that ignited on him. Arthur knew exactly how long the blade was, thank you.
That did not mean he remembered how low the rafters were.
Oswell Whent palmed his face.
"Madness," he mumbled, despairing. "Utter. Madness."
"That may be so," Rhaegar said with a clipped tone. Since the Defiance of Duskendale, the word 'madness' has taken on a new meaning for the prince. "But it cannot be denied. Swim with the tide or drown in it."
Arthur nodded appreciatively. "Well said."
Oswell's face twisted, but he said nothing.
"Now, did you have any news, ser?" Rhaegar asked as he checked his shirt for any missed embers.
"Mere rumors." Oswell snorted as he dragged his hand over his round face. "The dragon is white, it's silver, it glows, it's transparent, it's living, it's carved from ice…" He waved a hand as if swatting away a buzzing fly. "If it were not for the fact that most believe the beast exists I would have thought us chasing tales."
"Odd," Rhaegar said slowly, frowning. "The Lord Commander gave the impression that it visited Mole's Town regularly."
"For what?" Oswell asked. "Kill livestock that hasn't already been slaughtered for winter? Which is none. Terrorize the clearly unafraid smallfolk? Burn down - "
"It is an ice dragon," Arthur said.
"Oh shove off with that." Oswell rolled his eyes. "There's a flying beast to be sure, but I would bet ten gold dragons on it being some thought extinct large white bird of the North."
"Maester Aemon believes it a dragon and he is of my blood, my house," Rhaegar spoke firmly. "We have had correspondence before this discussing our history. If he says it is a dragon, then it is a dragon."
"The Watch did strike me as perhaps too circumspect regarding its whereabouts," Arthur noted grimly. And he much misliked the grin he had seen on the First Ranger Brenn Flint's face. "If the beast has recovered enough to fly, yet is unchained, why does it remain?"
"You think it bonded?" Rhaegar's eyebrows rose. "To whom?"
"It is obvious enough that the brothel here is frequented by black brothers." Arthur didn't even have to guess from the conspicuously empty tavern they were occupying either and its surely very, very busy tavern keeper. He knew men and he had eyes. "Just as there are dragonseeds on Dragonstone, Targaryen blood has made its way to the Wall."
Rhaegar started. "Uncle Aemon would never - "
"The Great Bastard of Aegon the Unworthy, Bryden Rivers," Oswell said flatly. "He was sent to the Wall for kinslaying and breaking guest right, what is oathbreaking and desertion to that?"
"And any other house that has received marriages. The current Lord Commander is of a house that has received a Martell daughter after the unification," Arthur recalled and Rhaegar's expression darkened.
"I see." The prince's voice was as iron. "I believe I am owed more thorough answers from Desmond Qorgyle. If it is duplicity, the Watch may resist."
"My place is at your side, my prince," Arthur said. He had seen the quality of their fighters and their arms. It made no difference if Arthur had to raise Dawn against one man, or hundreds in nothing but a mail shirt. It was not arrogance.
"As is mine," Oswell Whent said sharply.
"Then we go now," Rhaegar ordered.
For the Sword of the Morning, one man or hundreds would make no difference.
Unfortunately, a dragon was no man.
A prince and two Kingsguard came across a dancing woman on the way to the Wall.
Arthur was aware that sounded like the beginning to some bawdy jape and the way Rhaegar near twisted his head off taking a second look as his horse rode past did nothing to help. Arthur was also a hypocrite, as he had done the exact same thing.
Mostly in surprise.
His younger sister Ashara was nearing six and ten and was already being hailed as one of the greatest beauties of the realm. It was a title Arthur felt was wholly deserved and here, at the ass end of the world at the Wall was a competing smallfolk woman in rough clothes doing who knows what in the snow. Arthur had blinked once to be certain he was not seeing things, then she was falling behind them and he was not about to stare after a woman like some green boy whose balls just dropped.
He thought that was the end of it, until Rhaegar slowed his borrowed mount to a brisk canter, then a trot and then a complete stop in the middle of the narrow beaten path through the piles of snow that on occasion nearly surpassed his height on a horse.
"My prince?" Arthur stopped beside his horse beside him.
The prince's face was set in an expression of grim realization as he wrestled with his restless horse. "Her hair was silver."
"What - " Arthur stopped.
The blood of Old Valyria was infamous for their silver-gold locks. Some, like Jaehaerys the Conciliator, had hair mostly of gold shot through with silver. Rhaegar himself took after his mother Rhaella in being silver-gilt with his much younger brother Viserys being more of an even mix like his father.
It could be a coincidence. There were many across the Narrow Sea with the look and Eastwatch-by-the-sea traded with Braavos. His arrogant cousin Gerold Dayne had hair of silver with a dragon streak of black in the center and Arthur's own ashen blond could be mistaken in the right light.
The dragon made coincidences unlikely.
Dragonseed.
Rhaegar slid off his horse and the animal steadied once his heat was no longer upon it. "We are not too far from the Wall and the snow is deep. They will not wander far," the prince murmured. "If we are mistaken, we can be on our way. If the dragon is at her command…"
Being thrown off their horses was the least of their worries.
Oswell's face was twisted up like a man struggling on the privy, but he got off his horse as well.
Their grim procession had a minor setback when Rhaegar caught fire again and had to throw himself into a snowbank to save his breeches, but they returned to the peculiarity soon enough.
And she was a peculiarity.
Oswell was draped in furs over his armor and Arthur was no different. The winter winds this far north were cutting. He had to check once or twice since undocking at the Wall that the cold sting he felt wasn't an actual bleeding wound on his face. He did not want to imagine what the North felt like if Rhaegar hadn't been radiating heat like a blacksmith's forge.
The dragonseed woman did not seem to be properly appreciating the fact that it was fucking cold.
She was also, as he noticed before, dancing.
With carefully performed twirls and everything.
"The woman's mad," Oswell muttered.
His prince stepped forward. "I am Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and I would speak with you, good woman."
The response was a raised hand in the clear 'hold' gesture as she turned, looking down and clearly focused on the placement of her feet and Oswell bristled.
"And disrespectful - Arthur!" Oswell bumped into the outstretched arm stopping the Kingsguard from taking the matter in hand.
"Dawn is scared," Arthur murmured, eyes narrowed.
"...your sword."
The Kingsroad from the Wall straight through the heart of the North was covered in snow save for the narrow beaten path two horses wide. There was nothing else around them for miles and yet Arthur's chest was tight with a borrowed tension, as if an ambush lied in wait beneath the snow.
"Yes, my sword," Arthur said sharply. "Be on your guard."
Dawn was terrified.
"That is a full step inner placement, not a half step," Rhaegar tried again and the woman paused, having clearly heard him.
She reversed her movements and then ran through the steps, clearly applying the prince's correction. Arthur realized he knew the dance from court, as strange as it was watching it performed without a partner, but she held her arms up as if there was one. She ran through the same sequence thrice more with unsettling precision before moving on. Rhaegar called out two more corrections, seemingly happy to play along.
Arthur stood at his side with his heart in his throat, not understanding as a rope in his chest wound tighter and tighter.
The dance completed, the woman's arms dropped and she turned to face them. Up close, the woman certainly looked the part of a dragonlord, reminding him greatly of Rhaella Targaryen when he had first come to court over ten years ago. A striking, ageless beautiful figure that could get away with wearing a flour bag and still look a queen and she almost actually was in a flour bag with a coarse loose brown shirt, men's trousers and boots. The only luxury was the fur of a white fox about her collar and shirt seam where it closed in the front.
Her deep, dark eyes of blue or purple reminded Arthur of Rhaella Targaryen currently.
Sad.
Arthur will only admit under duress that he had been anticipating the dragon to then come swooping down from the clouds on the attack and that was the reason he jumped near clean out of his boots when she simply said,
"Thank you, your grace."
Arthur saw the questioning, amused look Rhaegar directed at him and he was determined to ignore it.
"You are very welcome," the prince replied politely. Rhaegar put on a charming smile - see, Oswell! The Bat rolled his eyes upwards. "May I have your name?"
"You may," she said with a nod. Oswell bristled again at the slight imperious tone in her throaty voice. Arthur might have as well, if the woman's mere existence wasn't still scaring Dawn half to death. "I am Terendelev."
What kind of name is that?
Rhaegar leaned forward, lighting up the same way he always did around a new book or scroll. "As in Xorandelev or Teretharon of Valyria?"
A Valyrian one. That explains it.
"Your kinsman on the Wall made the same connection," she replied with an admittedly fetching smile revealing straight white teeth. That was when Arthur realized the complete lack of the Northern burr. She had a highborn Crownlands accent. "It is my name and I know no other."
"You were named after dragons," Rhaegar mused and Arthur almost groaned. If Rhaegar was letting his curiosity override his sense, then he was at least a little smitten already and it always happened at the worst fucking times.
The prince's words were followed by Terendelev's charming light laugh.
"Of course I was." Her eyes danced with mirth. "For I am one."
"No - I meant, the - dragons that breathe fire - of the Freehold…" Rhaegar stumbled through, flustered and Arthur felt no pity. The only Dayne he knew that went around calling themselves a star was his idiot cousin. Why various noble houses of the realm put on airs like they really were lions, birds or dragons in human form was beyond him.
"Not members of my house…acknowledged or…otherwise - "
"Elegantly done," Arthur muttered under his breath and Rhaegar glared at him.
Terendelev nodded in return. "I am aware, yet I am still a dragon."
All three of them blinked in unison.
"I beg your pardon?" Rhaegar blurted out.
She tilted her head to the side in an oddly avian gesture. "I am a dragon."
The words did not make any more sense the second time.
"Rrrrraagh! Why are we entertaining this nonsense!?" Oswell was just about vibrating out of his armor as he stomped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword and for a moment, the look in the woman's eyes seemed as though she was ready to eat him. "My prince! This is clearly just a madwoman - "
It happened so quickly.
Her eyes lit up with a silver glow as she threw her head back and then Arthur was blinded by a radiant flash. A shockwave of rushing wind and cold blew him clear off his feet as if he'd been kicked by a mule. It felt like he had been when he finally landed in deep snow, wheezing and had to scramble to his feet, calling for Dawn out of its scabbard and then freezing as the shadow fell over them.
The dragon was before them.
The image burned itself into Arthur's mind. It was silver and gleaming, horned head and broad wings reaching for the cloudless blue sky, the bleeding star high above them, as tall as the Palestone Sword tower of Starfall. There was a moment of quiet nothing, still, and then the upper body fell back to the earth with a weight he could feel rumble through the ground beneath his feet and thud in his chest and ears. Its breathing sounded like the great gusts of giant bellows with a bird-like clicking as its head twisted sinuously on the serpentine neck so it could lean closer, so that the molten silver reptile eye was directly facing them. Arthur could see the reflections of himself half-standing with Dawn in one hand, Rhaegar on all fours staring and sprawled out on his ass Oswell in the dark pupil.
"I am -" was a booming sound from the beast's mouth to Arthur's pure shock. There was a grinding sound like ice floes crashing into each other. The beast's shoulders were hitching and he realized with horror that it was laughing. " - a mad dragon."
Vapor glittering with ice shards puffed out of nostrils bigger than his head.
"My apologies, your grace," Arthur's mouth said reflexively. "Forgive us, your grace."
Fuck, shit, damn it to the Seven Hells -
There was another painful clashing rumble of icy laughter. There were flashes of teeth the length of longswords in its mouth. Arthur grimly raised Dawn, preparing himself to buy the prince time to flee when the dragon's head retreated.
"Apology… " Arthur's heart stopped. "Accepted."
It raised its mighty wings and Arthur was knocked over once more by the powerful gust of wind it generated as it launched itself into the air. He hastened to stand, but there was no need for his sword, for it was retreating towards the Wall. The weak sun flashed off its scales bright enough to hurt. He lowered Dawn and he was not certain if the relief making his hands tremble was from him, or her.
"My prince, are you well?" There was no response and Arthur sharply turned, stricken. "Rhaegar?"
His friend was staring after the creature, even as it disappeared over the ice edge of Brandon the Builder's great accomplishment. He did not move, still as a statue.
"She was a dragon," Rhaegar breathed. His dark purple eyes shone with absolute wonder. And a lot of other emotions that Arthur was not prepared to think about right now. If the hopelessly giddy smile the prince had on meant what Arthur thought it meant, the realm was very fortunate that Jon Connington could not, in fact, turn into a dragon for his 'silver prince.'
Arthur thought about pointing out they had almost just died, but knew it wouldn't change anything.
You could not have told me we were talking to a dragon?
Dawn felt indignant.
She was right.
Arthur still did not believe that had just happened. It felt like he had just woken from a dream.
"...are we going after it?"
Rhaegar startled as if stung. "Yes!"
Arthur nodded. "A moment then, my prince," he said as Rhaegar got to his feet, looking ready to sprout wings himself. "Ser Whent still needs to recover as I believe he just pissed himself."
"I - fuck you, I - I did not - "
"You also owe us both ten gold dragons."
Desmond Qorgyle looked much like Arthur remembered, but older, thinner, harder. Grey was streaking back from his temples among his dark hair and there were shadows under his dark eyes. The black was present, but the red of his house was completely missing. The only thing left he could see was the man still wore a blackened steel scorpion pendant. He idly wondered if the man remembered the boy Arthur had been back, or if the only person standing in his solar before him with the prince was the Sword of the Morning.
After a long moment, Lord Commander Qorgyle lowered the parchment in his hands. "And the Iron Throne is willing to honor this?"
"Dragonstone is," Rhaegar replied evenly. "And I am its lord."
Arthur curled his toes and relaxed them as he stood silently behind the prince's right shoulder. The admission that Rhaegar was purposefully omitting his father from the deal tasted stale, but Arthur was convinced of its necessity. The Night's Watch was neutral, to be sure.
Arthur was also certain it would be prudent not to test that neutrality.
"Why?" Qorgyle asked with calm, calculating eyes. "I assume it has proven unable to be claimed and ridden - " Arthur snorted. "As the old Targaryen mounts," Qorglye finished dryly with resigned amusement. "Boy, I have heard every ribald jest and jape in history about riding dragons by now and so has it."
That sounded ominous. "And the Wall still stands?"
"You know, I tried to have it poisoned?" The man admitted, bold as brass. "It marched in here with the cup and just stared at me, slowly pouring it out on my floor until I nearly pissed myself. Then it laughed." The Lord Commander's look was one of long suffering. "It has a cruel sense of humor."
Yes, it does.
"And don't get me started on the whores - "
The what now?
"Be that as it may," Rhaegar interrupted stiffly with reddened ears. "The knowledge of her existence and general location alone is worth the price and I am willing to pay it."
Arthur had argued against it as soon as the belated attack of nerves had passed. There was no guarantee he would succeed in earning the beast's loyalty at all now and the prince would be far better served putting the wealth of his seat towards more certain ventures. His kinsman Maester Aemon could keep him informed and make overtures on his behalf. He could not afford to empty his pockets like this, not now when he had barely just begun to prepare for his father's removal from the throne.
His words fell on deaf ears.
Rhaegar had left Dragonstone with two Kingsguard and a young heir's ship. No other guards, staff or even more ships to ward against the pirates known to prowl the Narrow Seas for goods or slaves. Winter storms on the sea were known to be harsh and frequent. He seemed convinced that they would arrive at the Wall before the bleeding star finally fell from the sky and that it would be the start of…
Something.
They had arrived after being at sea for a moon, as he foretold, and it was clear that there was a change in the world. The dragon had been found. It still left Arthur uneasy.
Qorgyle gazed at the prince for a moment more and then shrugged. "It is your money." He rolled the parchment up detailing the permission for release of funds and placed it aside. "It intends to travel into the far North soon," he said. "Don't say a fucking word to my First Ranger and it likes reading. Now get out before you set my drapes on fire."
Rhaegar inclined his head politely in contrast to the rude dismissal.
Oswell relaxed from his guard position by the door and fell into step at the prince's other side as they traveled down the floors of the Lord Commander's Tower. As far as Arthur could tell, it was much like the White Sword Tower of the Kingsguard. The top two floors were reserved for the Lord Commander of the order, but the rest of the tower served as living spaces for other members including a common room and undercroft.
Rhaegar waved down a black brother. "Would you be able to direct me to the library, ser?"
The thin boy bobbed his head rapidly, the way Arthur had known some lizards in Dorne to do. His eyes swung between the two of them in confusion until Arthur discretely jabbed his thumb at Rhaegar. "Yesser, yer Grace. In th' tunnels."
Rhaegar was an avid reader, but Arthur knew the last thing on his mind were some dusty scrolls.
Oswell made a face as they descended into the undercellars of the tower. "Is everything under ground?"
"You like snow?" Their guide said bluntly.
"How deep does it get?" Rhaegar asked in polite interest.
"Eight - ten men high."
Forty fucking feet!?
All three of them blanched.
"We are not staying," Oswell pleaded.
Rhaegar grimaced and Arthur knew the answer.
If the dragon went beyond the Wall, the prince was going after it.
Which meant Arthur was going after it.
Dawn felt…apprehensive about the notion, but her reasons escaped him. Arthur would not liken the mind that brushed his own, or the heart that beat in tandem to belong to a child. The blade had senses and sensations of her own. He had felt her curiosity about the North, so very different from the open sea or the dark, hard beauty of the volcanic island of Dragonstone.
Ignorant, yes, but not innocent.
The greatsword of house Dayne had ten thousand years of history. He could feel it as a deep still pool of water. The depth of his understanding was tapping the surface and watching the ripples spread.
Few locations or artifacts could match Dawn's history.
The Wall came close.
Arthur pursed his lips thoughtfully. The dragon scared her, that was plain to see. The dragon came from the far North and it intended to go back. Dawn did not want to follow it. What was up there?
And you called me craven.
Instead of indignation, Dawn's response to the tease was a pulse of dark amusement. Arthur was not sure if there was a worse reply he could have gotten.
"Here'un." The young black brother gestured towards thick, heavy looking vault doors that were cracked open. "Library."
"Thank you, ser." Rhaegar's eyes flashed to him and Arthur fished out a silver stag from the prince's coin purse for the boy, who flushed in gratitude.
"Thank youser, grace." The boy bowed and rushed off, clutching his stag to his chest.
Arthur watched despondently as Rhaegar hesitated, took a step forward, then fell back, puffed out his chest, deflated, ran a hand through his hair, put out some embers on his elbow and then frowned down at the rest of his tattered clothes as if just realizing what he was wearing.
"...it's a library?" Oswell spoke up, watching their prince with blatant confusion. "My prince, we can fetch and read the requested material for you…?"
"It might not even be in there, your grace," Arthur hoped.
"It?" Oswell asked. The older knight's head swiveled between Arthur's grimace and Rhaegar's embarrassed glower. Then his round face went blank and Arthur knew he had finally caught on.
"No."
He sounded horrified.
"Have a care not to command me, ser," Rhaegar said in that clipped tone and Oswell winced.
"My prince, I simply fear you are getting ahead of yourself," his fellow Kingsguard tried. "What do we really know about the creature? You cannot mean to present it to court like a lady - "
"Why not?" Rhaegar interrupted.
Arthur would say 'dragon' but that was precisely the problem.
"She sounds as one. Looks as one." And how. Arthur still thought it was a bad idea, but he was also not blind. "She is - " Rhaegar huffed in confused amusement. "Plainly making the effort to learn courtly dances."
I haven't the faintest about that one either.
Oswell Whent's mouth worked for a moment. It was clear the Riverlander had never anticipated having to actually argue with his prince against courting an animal. Jest's on him, Valyrians simply did not think like normal people.
"It is a convincing guise, your grace," Oswell croaked in a strangled voice. "However, children do not hatch from eggs."
Rhaegar's mouth opened and then he closed it, pausing. A thoughtful frown overtook his face, furrowing his brow deeply.
"You are correct, ser." He spoke after some deep thought. "If she is infertile, then the point is moot."
Arthur felt an overwhelming sense of relief that lasted just as long as it took for the prince to nod to himself with a renewed sense of determination.
"I will ask."
Then Rhaegar turned on his heel and strode towards the vault doors leading into the library.
Arthur stood there. He slowly slid his gaze to the left to look at Oswell. Whent's mud-brown eyes moved right to meet his in a silent moment of mutually bewildered, did he just - ?
Damn, shit, no -
"Prince Rhaegar, wait!"