I do not own ASOIAF or GoT

but i wish though :-)

Chapter 2: Shadows and Prophecies

Prince Rhaegar cradled his newborn daughter, Visenya, in his arms. She was a delicate bundle, her grey eyes wide and curious, reflecting the flickering candlelight with an almost ethereal glow. Her silver hair, so fine and soft, framed her tiny face like a shimmering halo. Rhaegar's heart swelled with a fierce, protective love as he gazed at her, marveling at the miracle of her existence.

Visenya's tiny fingers curled around his thumb with surprising strength, her grip a testament to the life and potential she held within her. Rhaegar smiled, the simple joy of the moment pushing away the burdens and fears that weighed heavily on his soul. He gently rocked her, her soft coos filling the air like a sweet, innocent melody. The world outside the tent was filled with uncertainty and strife, but here, in this precious moment, he found a rare and profound peace. "Issa byka zaldrīzes" he whispered, his voice tender and filled with wonder. "You are the light in my darkness, the hope for our future." He kissed her forehead, the warmth of her skin a soothing balm to his weary spirit. "I promise you, I will protect you with all that I am. Kepa will create a world where you can grow and thrive, where you can be safe and happy along with your siblings"

Visenya looked up at him, her grey eyes unblinking and filled with an innocent trust that pierced his heart. It was as if she understood his words, as if she knew the weight of the promise he was making. Rhaegar felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, the depth of his love for her overwhelming in its intensity. He held her closer, his heart aching with the desire to shield her from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, a shadow loomed over them. The warmth and light of the moment were abruptly snatched away, replaced by an icy chill that seeped into his bones. A dark phantom emerged, its form shrouded in shifting shadows. Its presence was suffocating, a void that seemed to drain the life from the air around them. The phantom's eyes were hollow voids, filled with a malevolent light that sent a shiver down Rhaegar's spine.

"Was it worth it?"

"Was it worth it?"the phantom whispered again, its voice a chorus of sorrow and accusation that echoed in Rhaegar's mind. The words were a cruel reminder of the cost of his choices, of the blood that had been spilled and the lives that had been shattered. Guilt and sorrow washed over him, the weight of his actions pressing down on him with an unbearable intensity.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Rhaegar found himself standing on a desolate battlefield, the skies above dark and ominous. Rivers of blood flowed around him, staining the ground crimson. The cries of dying men echoed in his ears, a cacophony of pain and despair. He saw the Battle of the Trident in all its horror—the clash of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the relentless carnage. Men fell around him, their lifeblood soaking into the earth, their faces twisted in agony.

He was powerless, a mere observer to the destruction he had wrought. The weight of his guilt pressed down on him; this war, this suffering, it was all his fault. He saw familiar faces among the dead—noble knights and loyal soldiers who had followed him into battle, believing in his cause. Their eyes stared up at him, accusing and lifeless. The air was thick with the stench of death and the metallic tang of blood. His heart ached with sorrow and regret, the enormity of his actions crashing down upon him.

The vision changed again. Rhaegar stood atop the great Wall of the North, the wind howling around him like a mournful dirge. Before him stretched the endless, frozen wasteland of the lands of always winter. Snow and ice stretched as far as the eye could see, a barren and unforgiving landscape. The cold was biting, seeping into his bones.

As he peered into the abyss, a piercing blue eye opened within the darkness, staring back at him with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. The eye was cold and unfeeling, a harbinger of doom. A sense of impending doom overwhelmed him, the weight of the unknown pressing down upon him.

And then, from the depths of the frozen wasteland, a figure emerged. It was the dark phantom from before, but now its form was clearer and far more terrifying. It was cloaked in shadows, its features constantly shifting, never settling on one face. Its eyes glowed with an eerie, unnatural light, filled with malice and a deep, ancient hatred. The darkness around it seemed to pulse and writhe, as if it were a living entity, hungry and malevolent.

The phantom's presence was suffocating, a void that sucked all warmth and light from the world. It moved with a slow, deliberate grace, each step leaving a trail of frost and death in its wake. Its voice was a chorus of whispers, filled with sorrow and rage, echoing in Rhaegar's mind:

"Was it worth it?"

Rhaegar felt an overwhelming sense of dread, his body paralyzed by the sheer terror of the apparition before him. The phantom extended a hand, its fingers long and skeletal, and as it reached towards him, Rhaegar felt a coldness seep into his very soul. The touch was icy, draining the life from him, filling him with an indescribable horror.

Images flashed before his eyes: the fall of great cities, the death of kings and queens, the end of empires. He saw himself standing amidst the ruins of King's Landing, the Iron Throne toppled and broken, his family gone. The phantom's whispers grew louder, more insistent:

"Was it worth it? Was it worth the bloodshed, the pain, the loss?"

Rhaegar wanted to scream, to flee, but he was rooted to the spot, forced to confront the consequences of his actions. The phantom's eyes bore into him, and he knew that this was not just a dream, but a vision—a warning of what could come to pass if he did not change the course of his destiny.

Rhaegar awoke with a start, his body drenched in cold sweat. The remnants of the dream clung to him, vivid and unsettling. He rose from his simple cot within the confines of his tent, the heavy canvas walls barely muting the sounds of the camp outside. Soldiers moved about, their hushed conversations and the clinking of armor a constant reminder of their ongoing journey to King's Landing.

Fuck this

Sighing, he moved to the tent's entrance and pushed the flap aside, gazing out at the night sky, the stars shining down like distant, indifferent eyes. The dream felt like a warning, a prophecy of what was to come. He knew he could not ignore it. The sense of impending doom was overwhelming, and he was acutely aware of the price of his choices.

The battle was over, but the consequences were just beginning to unfold. The realm was scarred, and he bore the weight of those scars on his soul. He had to find a way to make things right, to heal the wounds he had inflicted. But first, he had to understand the meaning of the icy blue eye, and the threat it represented to the world he sought to protect.

Rhaegar turned back into the tent, reaching for the letters and maps that lay scattered across a makeshift table. The journey to King's Landing would be fraught with political maneuvering and the challenge of restoring order to a fractured realm. But the vision of the Wall and the ominous blue eye haunted him, a grim reminder that his true trials were far from over.

He ran a hand through his disheveled silver hair, trying to shake off the lingering dread. The phantom's words echoed in his mind: "Was it worth it?" He could still see the faces of the men who had fallen at the Trident, their eyes accusing, their deaths a burden on his conscience.

As he poured over the maps, his thoughts drifted back to Lyanna Stark. Her presence was a source of both solace and turmoil. He had loved her fiercely, believing in the prophecy that their union would bring about the Prince That Was Promised. But now, with the war's devastation and the uneasy peace that followed, he wondered if he had been wrong.

No prophecy must be right, it should be right ... I cannot be..wrong.

The Dragon must have Three Heads

If i am wrong then...

He shook his head banishing that thought

No i cannot be wrong.

The night dragged on, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. He reviewed strategies, wrote letters to allies, and tried to plan for every possible challenge they would face upon reaching King's Landing. But exhaustion crept in, his eyes growing heavy as the hours passed.

Before dawn broke, Rhaegar found himself slumped over the table, the maps and letters beneath him a disorganized mess. The dream still lingered in his mind, a shadow he couldn't shake. His breathing evened out as he succumbed to sleep once more, the weight of his guilt and the burden of his duties momentarily lifted as he drifted into uneasy slumber.

In the quiet of the early morning, as the camp began to stir with the first light of day, Rhaegar slept on, haunted by visions of the past and forebodings of a dark future.

"Lyanna"

Issa byka zaldrīzes - My little dragon