Cersei

She hadn't expected him to come to her tonight. But he had. Her husband opened the flap to her tent and strode in confidently, wearing nothing but his boots, riding pants, and a loose silk shirt that was partially undone, revealing his smooth, muscular chest. His amethyst eyes regarded her hungrily, but truth be told she wasn't in the mood. It wasn't that he wasn't skilled, Cersei knew she was hardly the first woman he had bedded, but after putting a bastard ahead of her son in the succession and shaming her in front of the entire royal party she didn't understand how he expected her to be willing. Perhaps she would think of Jaime again, like she had on her wedding night.

Memories of that near-disaster did manage to bring a smile to her face. Rhaegar had been good, but that hadn't stopped her from crying out her brother's name as she finished. She could remember the fear that had gripped her as her new husband had rolled off of her and looked at her with a confused expression. Then, the man who had been so somber in the wake of the capture of King's Landing and the death of his wife and father had laughed.

"It seems your father was right," he had said drolly. "You were made for a royal marriage." But that had been then. Now, she allowed him to wrap his arms around her as she prepared to do her duty, letting him lay kisses along her neck that she might have enjoyed had she not been furious with him.

"You do not wish it?" he asked, whispering softly in her ear.

"Far be it from me to keep my lord husband from claiming his rights," she responded coldly.

"But you would, if you could." A statement of fact. He released her slowly and watched as she sauntered over to the bed, swaying her hips as she did so. She did not want him that night, but now that he was not pressing the issue she thought she might enjoy making him suffer.

"I'm surprised you did not wish to pass the evening with your blue mistress, my love." Cersei allowed a bit of disdain to creep into her voice. Her husband's love of music and poetry were things they could share, but some of his hobbies she simply could not understand, even if they held a morbid fascination for her.

"I wish you would not call it that. The shade of the evening shows me what problems might arise." Rhaegar sighed, his despondent gaze resting upon her. "I do not need it to see the difficulties I face in the here and now." Cersei allowed herself an unladylike snort. 'Difficulties' was an understatement.

"You shamed your trueborn son in front of everyone today!" she snapped at him. "Daeron may someday rule. How do you expect him to do so if he is not respected by his most unruly vassals?!"

"Daeron is third in line," he reminded her.

"When he should be second! Do you really think that bastard of yours will ever sit the Iron Throne? I doubt even the Northmen would support him!" Rhaegar closed the gap between them in an instant, raising a hand as if to strike her. She flinched, waiting for the impact, but it never came. He lowered his hand slowly and gave her a resigned look.

"In that, you are not wrong," he admitted. "Jaehaerys will never be King."

"Then why put him in such a position?" Cersei had gained the advantage, a rare enough thing in arguments with her husband, and she did not intend to lose it. "Why destabilize the Realm by according him so many honors he has no right to?" As soon as those words left her lips the fire returned to his eyes. Very well, let him be angry, Cersei thought.After all I've suffered it's far better than he deserves.

"Because his being here, with us, may mean that the Realm is saved from What is to Come."

"Prophecy?! You would decide the fate of all Seven Kingdoms according to something you saw in some fever dream or read in some ancient scroll?!"

"When interpreted carefully, it has proven itself to be useful. Had I not heeded the Higher Mysteries, the Realm would have been run into the ground by a drunken lout."

"Had you not heeded the Higher Mysteries, that lout would have never taken up arms against you!"

"I will not apologize for doing what was necessary. And can you really complain?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "Your family has benefited greatly."

"My family was given what it should have received under your father for years of leal service!"

"A mistake that might never have been corrected had I not taken shade of the evening before I left to face Robert. Since then things have gone well. Your father and I have given the Realm good years, and the North is well prepared."

"The North is well prepared?! You say that like it's a good thing!" Rhaegar gave her that look she hated, the one laden with condescension, as if all his talk of prophecy and Higher Mysteries was something she could never hope to comprehend.

"How can you doubt something when you have seen its power?" he asked, clearly losing his patience. "The maegi you saw as a girl spoke truly. Did you not wed the King instead of the Prince?" There were times she had regretted telling him of Maggy the Frog, of the future the woods witch had laid out for her after tasting her blood at Lannisport. But it had been early in their marriage, and she had been so alone in King's Landing. The man she had been infatuated with as a child had become her husband, and unlike her father and brother he had listened to her when the fear of the valonqar had gripped her again.

"You're ten children short of fulfilling that one, my love," she hissed.

"What a comfort that must be to your friend Melara." She slapped him. Hard. He smiled back at her. He had won this round. She had broken first.

"Have you ever considered you might have misinterpreted what you see?" she said carefully, trying to save face. "That it may be half true, as Maggy's words were for me? We have three children, Rhaegar, why could they not be the three heads of the dragon? Why does it have to be Aegon and…Jaehaerys?" From what she understood, the boy hated that name. So did she, albeit for different reasons.

"Not in this case. Not with him." His voice was heavy and melancholy, as if the weight of the world rested on what he was about to tell her. Cersei listened, not sure she would like where this was going.

"When Ned Stark hid the boy from me, I thought I had been wrong, that I might have misinterpreted his role in the Song of Ice and Fire. Once I learned the truth, I struggled to understand what it might mean. I consulted everyone and everything: Marwyn, the Red Woman, the archives on Dragonstone, the shade of the evening, my uncle in the far north. All have come to the same conclusion. The boy will die young. This is not some fortune-teller's farce, nor but one song among many. A chorus testifies to Jaehaerys' fate. This is his destiny."

"Then what good is it to bring him to the capital?" Cersei asked, now somewhat intrigued. Without knowing it, her husband had offered her a way to clean up the mess he had created.

"At King's Landing, if he grows to love his family, I may be able to make his death mean something. He may yet help Aegon become the Prince that was Promised." Cersei pursed her lips in frustration. The offer seemed to have been retracted.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she questioned him. "You've never been this open about the future before, not even to that cabal of sorcerers you place so much faith in."

"That is because I have never been this certain before. It is also because I do not want you to interfere. I know what you would like to do to the boy. Know also that I will do everything in my power to prevent it. My eyes and ears extend much farther than yours, my love. Even if you try to make it look like an accident, I will know. I cannot allow you to prevent him from fulfilling his destiny." She didn't bother to hide her frustration at this.

"Promise me you will not try to have him killed."

"I promise." It was a meaningless oath. All she had to do was speak to her father and he would no doubt take care of the rest. Although she had become accustomed to it, there were times she still appreciated not having to lift a finger to get what she wanted.

"I will hold you to that." A long pause followed, Rhaegar made for the flap of the tent as if to leave before stopping and turning towards her.

"I think the maegi's words would have come true in full had you been Robert's queen." Cersei admitted to herself she had thought of what it would have been like had she been married to Robert Baratheon.

"The man's appetites were far less restrained," she conceded. "I would not be surprised if he had fathered thirteen bastards. He might have known better than to legitimize them, though." She was disappointed that her husband seemed unperturbed by the slight. Instead, he gazed at her intently.

"Do you want to see?" The question hung heavily in the air. She knew what he was offering.

"Is that really what I will see?" She said derisively, doing her best to hide her curiosity. "You say the shade of the evening speaks to you of many things at once, and then only in riddles."

"That is when I only wish to see all it might reveal to me. Of the future and of things past for which I was not present it can be vague, but it speaks loudly and clearly of things as they might have been. You have only to focus on them as you drink it, to clear your mind of all else."

"What has it shown you?" she asked. "Of what might have been?"

"My death at the Trident. My family reclaiming the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood. Winter." He pulled out a small vial of blue liquid from one of his pockets, uncorked it, and offered it to her. It stank of rotting flesh.

"I cannot afford to have you doubt its power any longer," he said. "Too much is at stake. Drink, and see the truth of the maegi's words." In that moment Cersei wanted to push the vial away, to send it flying to the other side of the tent, to tell Rhaegar she would not be party to his madness.

But it called to her. When her father had told her that she would truly wed Rhaegar Targaryen, the only man besides Jaime who could ever be worthy of her, it had seemed like a dream. As the years had marched on, however, Cersei had come to understand that her childhood fantasies of being the Queen had been only that. Rhaegar was solitary, brooding, secretive, and favored his children by his first wife over the ones she had given him. He had made time for her, he had sung for her, and he was a more than capable lover, but Cersei knew deep down he only did those things to appease her, to keep her under control. There was a gulf between them that seemed like it could never be bridged, one that had only widened as time went by. At first she had wondered what she had done wrong, why she wasn't good enough for him, why she had to endure the indignity of being asked time and again by her father why she could never lift her husband's spirits. She had wondered why he needed prophecy, why he needed a Red Woman on Dragonstone when he had a golden one in his bed. It had taken years before she had been able to convince herself that Rhaegar had simply failed to appreciate her. It was all this that made the shade of the evening and its secrets so alluring. Perhaps Robert would have been different. Perhaps after a night together he would have never looked at another woman. Perhaps she would have been happy. Cersei took the vial from Rhaegar and slowly placed it to her lips, trying not to gag at the stench. Rhaegar placed a hand on hers.

"Clear your mind of all but that which you wish to know," he advised her gently. "I will be here should something go wrong." She tried not to think about that as she downed the vial quickly. It tasted as horrible as she expected at first, but soon reminded her of everything she had ever tasted, along with a few sensations that were new to her. She looked to Rhaegar. His long, silver blonde hair seemed to be shortening and changing color, becoming golden like her own. His loose shirt was replaced with white armor and a white cloak, and his features, though handsome, seemed to also become younger, more like those of a man she had not seen in ages.

"Jaime," whispered, putting a hand to her brother's cheek. "Jaime, my love, I've missed you." She laid back down on the bed and allowed Jaime on top of her, feeling more complete than she had in ages. He gripped her shoulders gently, and she closed her eyes as she prepared for him to enter her. Suddenly his grip on her shoulders tightened, then loosened as his hands slid clumsily about her body. She looked with horror to see her brother shed his armor, to be replaced by corded muscle and thick, dark hair. Robert Baratheon. The man's breath reeked of wine, and he seemed to pay her no mind as he was consumed by his own agony and ecstasy.

"Lyanna!" he gasped, tears rolling down his face. She was filled with hatred then, hatred more powerful than she had ever known. Hatred for the man she knew was her husband and the thing growing inside her that was of his making. She found herself scrambling up from under him, reaching for a glass offered to her by an old woman in plainclothes. She drank it hastily, loathing the taste but forcing herself to finish it to the last drop.

She turned back to the bed where the oaf had been, only to see in its place three blonde children with golden crowns upon their heads, two boys and a girl smiling back at her. She walked over to them slowly, but they bounded towards her, each one enveloping her in a warm embrace. She raised her head to see Jaime watching from a distance, still in the armor of the Kingsguard, his eyes filled with a sadness she couldn't understand. She looked to the eldest child, a boy no younger than twelve, and then back to her brother. The resemblance was uncanny. Cersei wanted to thank him, to tell him how grateful she was for the three miracles in front of her, when her hands began to feel wet.

She looked at them and saw they were covered in blood. The eldest, her eldest, was dying in front of her. Blood came pouring from every orifice as his face became puffy and purple. She wanted to scream. Jaime stood there, powerless to stop it. Tyrion laughed cruelly. The severed head of Ned Stark laughed cruelly from atop a spike; Stannis Baratheon and a boy with the head of a wolf joined them. Cersei dropped her son's corpse only to see a horrific gash spread across the girl's, no, her daughter's face. The youngest boy was taken by the hand by beautiful young brunette. She led him away into a raging inferno. She cried out his name until she was hoarse, but she knew he could not hear her. She was being drowned out by repeated chants of "shame, shame, shame." She sunk to her knees, naked and shorn of all her hair, covering her ears to block out the chants, before rising to her feet in defiance, with nothing but anger and hatred left to her.

The horrible blaze that had consumed her youngest boy began to spread, consuming everything around her. A fearsome girl with the Targaryen look stepped through it, regarding her as a dragon might regard its prey. Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, saw Cersei as nothing more than a piece of meat to be devoured, an obstacle on her way to fire and glory. Through the haze of the flames a massive dark figure could be seen. Cersei scrambled backwards, but it approached too quickly for her to escape and soon the flames were at her back. Daenerys smiled cruelly as a gigantic three-headed dragon emerged from the inferno, opening its maws to reveal rows of blood-drenched fangs. It shook the very ground with its roar and let loose a torrent of wildfire from its mouth. Stannis Baratheon laughed at the irony.

In an instant the flames were extinguished and she saw only darkness. She felt cold, colder than she ever had in her life. Someone was approaching, a pale figure with eyes shining blue. By the light that seemed to filter through them she looked down at her feet to see three golden shrouds covering three small corpses. She could not stop herself from crying, even as she was gripped by terror when her children's bodies rose up against her, their eyes now the same pale blue as the approaching figure. It was at that moment she realized who was coming. The valonqar. The little brother, here to take her life. He wrapped golden hands about Cersei's throat as tears streamed down her face. No, my love, it can't be you…

She awoke in a cold sweat. She was still in her tent. Feeling the sun shining down on her through the tent's fabric, she groggily sat up in bed. Rhaegar had taken a seat in a chair nearby, tuning his harp disinterestedly and already dressed for the morning ride. Her clothes were still on. She was relieved to know that some parts of what she had seen had not also taken place in reality.

"It seems you would have lived an interesting life had I fallen at the Trident," Rhaegar mused.

"I do not wish to speak of it," she told him. He nodded in understanding. She was far from forgiving him, but after such an ordeal she now could see why her husband was often so guarded.

"Come," he said, rising from his chair and proceeding out the flap at the entrance of the tent. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return home. Remember your promise, Cersei." As soon as he was gone she burst into tears. What she had seen was more horrible than anything she could have ever imagined. She wanted to desperately, but knew she would never be able to convince herself that it was merely a dream. As much as she hated to admit it, Rhaegar had been right. There was power in the Higher Mysteries. But her experience from the previous night had shown her something else. Their power was far from absolute. Her husband had thwarted his fate, and spared her the one she had seen in her vision, the one laid out for her by Maggy the Frog. If she were determined enough, she could still forge her own destiny. There needn't be a valonqar. Daeron could be the Prince that was Promised. And Jaehaerys…no, Jon Snow. Jon Snow could be nothing more than a footnote in history, a minor talking point when learned men spoke with reverence of the reign of Daeron the Great.