Please see the retcon notice in chapter 27 for a breakdown of the tourney timeline.
(I'll get around to updating and fixing the chapters eventually... probably)
Dawn of the 6th day of the Tourney of Harrenhal
Rhaegar stared forlornly out of the window of his quarters in the Kingspyre tower, fruitlessly trying to soothe his weary mind with the strings of his harp, his morning meal having grown cold. Since the harrowing dream he experienced the previous night, he has not been able to find peace. He had visited both the recently restored sept and the grotesque heart tree within the godswood to seek answers and peace, but all he found were the echoes of his father's mocking laughter. It was a small mercy that he did not have to compete on the first day of the champions round as the dishonor of withdrawing from the competition would undo much of the goodwill he had built with the lords of the realm.
As he strummed out the last few notes of Jenny's Song, he reflected on all that had happened over the past few moons. His dreams had become more and more dire and now they had reached new heights of torment. Just the mere thought of what he saw in his nightmare caused his heart to race and his fingers to slip on his harp causing a string of discordant notes to echo throughout his chamber. Rhaegar nearly threw the offending instrument out the window in a fit of anger, but he stopped himself. He was a prince of the blood, the one who was supposed to bring forth the promised prince, he would not lose himself to momentary bouts of emotion. He was not his father.
Rhaegar stood and began pacing. He needed council, but no one here could possibly understand. His wife, though a dutiful listener and wise beyond her years, was dealing with a difficult pregnancy. It was best to leave her in blissful peace. He laughed at the thought that the local maester or septon might provide council, and none of the lords here were learned enough to provide any insight. Rhaegar paused. That was not entirely true. The crannogman had spoken with knowledge of the mysterious world of dreams and prophecies. His green eyes were far older than they should have been for a man barely out of his youth. The future Lord of the Neck had spoken of the Isle of Faces, and that he might find answers there. Answers he must have.
"Ser Arthur," the prince called to his closest companion and a moment later the knight entered the chamber.
"Yes, my prince?"
"I need to go to the Isle of Faces, quietly If at all possible. Can I leave the preparations to you?"
The Sword of the Morning could not hide the confusion on his face clearly wanting to question the order, but the man was considered the greatest knight in the realm for more than just his skill with a blade. The kingsguard knew his duty well and gave a simple reply.
"As you command my prince, I will make ready to leave within the hour."
Rhaegar was grateful to have such a loyal companion at his side. It was a lonely road walking the path of one destined to reign as sovereign over millions of souls, doubly so for one tasked to ensure mankind was prepared for the long night. Ser Arthur made walking the path just a little less arduous.
The prince decided to try and rest as he waited for his kingsguard to return for him. Even though he was physically and mentally exhausted, he knew he had to always maintain the façade of a powerful prince. It was difficult to still his mind and force his body to relax, but the hope that answers might soon be found helped.
True to his word, Ser Arthur returned within the hour having obtained a guide and planned a discrete exit from the castle. Both the prince and the knight changed into much less noticeable clothing and slipped from the castle amongst the throngs of small folk who were coming and going from the tourney. Their guide showed them the way to a small dock, and with the exchange of some coins, likely more than the man would see in several moons, they ensured his silence and obtained a sailboat with which to cross the lake. Fortunately, Ser Arthur grew up on the sea and was well-versed in piloting such a craft. His friend assured him that with favorable winds they would reach the island in no more than one- or two-hours' time.
Rhaegar could not help but feel both anxious and excited as they made their way to the island. He was soon to have his answers, to have a clear path forward. They made good progress but as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, the island itself grew no closer. At first, he thought it must have been a trick of the light or perhaps an odd feature of the lake, but as time progressed even Ser Arthur commented on their lack of perceived progress. It soon became clear that something unnatural was at work. He was being denied access to the answers he sought. Anger burned in his heart. He was so close yet the answers he craved were being held just out of reach. He stood and roared in defiance and frustration.
"I am Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen! Prince of Dragonstone! Heir to the Iron Throne! Blood of Old Valyria! I will not be denied what I deserve!" His throat burned and he heaved great breaths as he attempted fruitlessly to reign in his emotions.
"My Prince, I think…" Ser Arthur's words failed as the enraged prince fixed the knight with a fierce glare, madness glowing like the coolest embers behind his deep purple eyes. The shocked look on his companion's face helped Rhaegar finally reign in his lapse in self-control. Taking several deep breaths, the prince sat back down and turned his eyes back to the ever-distant island.
"Please, I humbly come seeking answers to my dreams." He called out in a pleading tone. Rhaegar's heart fell as his words were met with only the sound of the waves lapping at the sides of his boat. As the silence stretched on, Rhaegar finally lost hope and turned to ask Ser Arthur to take them back to shore. But before the words could leave his mouth, a dense fog rose from the water's surface. In mere moments, the mists surrounded them and blotted out the sky. But as quickly as the fog enveloped them, it was blown away and the prince and his knight found themselves on the banks of the Isle of Faces. A sea of red leaves and bone-white trunks carved with faces depicting the full spectrum of human emotions greeted them.
As Rhaegar stood in awe of what was now before him, a man stepped from the forest, cloaked in green with antlers sticking up out of a cowl that otherwise obscured the man's face. Ser Arthur nearly drew his sword, but Rhaegar held out a hand prompting him to wait.
"Thank you for allowing us passage to your island my good man." The prince said, adopting a diplomatic and noble posture. The cloaked man had the gall to scoff at the princes' greeting.
"'Twas not I tha alud ye te walk beneth the sacred glade. Nor would I if twer ma say."
Rhaegar maintained his smile, but the previous anger he felt had been stoked all the same.
"You may not have allowed it, but someone must have. I would assume they are awaiting our arrival." The prince reasoned.
"Nay, I was bade only te allow the prince te follow, yon bondsman may wile away his time on the boat."
"Absolutely not!" Ser Arthur said fully drawing Dawn in protest. The man in green recoiled in fear of the blade and shielded his eyes as if the milky white blade were the sun itself.
"Surely you would not have a man sworn to defend me with his life break his oath. I am well versed in how seriously followers of the old gods take such things." Rhaegar said calmly. Though internally part of him couldn't help but take some small satisfaction in the man's discomfort. He may need the answers that could be found here, but he was still a prince and was due some measure of respect.
"Aye, bade yer man to put away yon star sword, it unsettles those who call the glade hame. I was bade te offer guest rights. Bread and salt. Ye will no be harmed before the eyes of the gods. Surely you ken how seriously the gods take such things." The man replied, making his displeasure clear in his voice as he produced said bread and salt from a satchel he was carrying.
Without hesitation, Rhaegar partook of the bread and salt and turned to address Ser Arthur.
"Sheath your sword Arthur and stand watch here, if this is the only way I can find my answers then so be it." The kingsguard grimaced and nearly growled at the cloaked man, but he obeyed.
"Good, follow me," The cloaked man said, and turned to enter the maze of weirwood trees.
Rhaegar hurried to follow him, the two walking in silence. The experience of traversing this ancient grove of red and white trees was beyond surreal. Rhaegar could feel the weight of ages hanging heavy in the air making it almost stifling to breathe. Worst of all, it reminded him of the dream he had moons ago at Summerhall. He half expected to see a stag chasing after a wolf. After walking what felt like hours but could not have been more than a handful of minutes, he was led into a clearing where he saw the largest heart tree he had ever seen, though one might describe it as many trees with many faces having grown into one. At the base of the tree, there was a bench made of old white branches woven together and topped with green moss.
"Sit, the singer will be along soon," his guide said brusquely before turning and leaving.
And so, Rhaegar was left alone in a place so otherworldly he could only imagine it in his dreams. Even though the sun was high in the sky, its light barely touched this place. Thinking of nothing else to do, he sat as he was told. Now that he was alone in this mystical place, he could not help but feel unnerved. Doubt began clawing at the back of his mind. Who was this singer his guide spoke of? Would they have the answers he sought? Was he mad for coming here in the first place?
"Greetings dragon prince" An ethereal voice greeted him. Rhaegar jumped up from his seat looking all around for the speaker. Moments later something he never even dreamed he would lay eyes upon gracefully descended from the branches of the great heart tree.
"A child of the Forest," Rhaegar said in awe at the being in front of him. She, he assumed, was no more than three and a half feet in height but looked neither like a dwarf nor a child, in fact, she seemed to carry a maturity one would expect of a crone upon her slight shoulders. She had wild auburn hair braided with thin twisted weirwood branches. Her skin was a deep brown dappled with spots not unlike a dear. In her clawed hands, she carried a white wooden bowl with some sort of red paste inside. Her large golden cat-like eyes were narrowed in annoyance as she looked over him.
"Child? I was here to witness your ancestor turn Harren's folly into the melted monstrosity it is today. We call ourselves those who sing the song of earth, though I am not blind to the fact that in your common tongue, it is much to say. You may refer to us as singers, though I am called Root." Her voice was beautiful, yet cold and it took Rhaegar a few moments to take in all she had said.
"Apologies, Lady Root." He said with a slight bow of the head, though he could tell by her exasperated expression that she did not appreciate the honorific.
"For all your learning, you still know so little," Root said forlornly. Her large ears twitched, and she turned her head as if to listen to something nearby. "They are nearly done with their discussion, one way or another, you should have the answers you seek soon."
"I don't hear anyone else," Rhaegar said, unable to hide the distrust in his voice, even though hope started to build in his heart at the prospect of answers.
"Yes, your ears would not be able to hear the True Tongue. Kneel." Root responded in a tone that brook no disobedience. Rhaegar for his part hesitated his mind instantly thinking of the human implication of the gesture. Though as Root's eyes bore into him expectantly, he eventually acquiesced and knelt before the Singer.
She dipped one of her clawed hands into the red paste and reached up to spread it across his forehead and along his ears. She opened her mouth to sing, but the sounds coming from her mouth were unlike anything a man might speak. She sang in the language of nature itself; he heard the babbling of a brook and the wind blowing through the trees. Rhaegar was entranced and was startled when she once again spoke in the common tongue.
"You may listen to them now if you wish. Open your mind and let their voices wash over you."
Rhaegar was unsure of what she meant but took a deep breath and focused his mind on hearing the voices she was speaking of. Slowly, he began hearing new sounds. The sound of a fierce storm, a bear's roar, rocks tumbling violently down a mountain, and the cawing of crows. The sounds began to grow louder and louder until they rattled his mind and caused a searing pain in his head, he could barely breathe. He closed his eyes and tried covering his ears, but the sounds kept coming. At first, all he could feel was the pain, but then he began to make out emotions and meanings behind the sounds. He sensed two voices locked in a heated discussion.
Again, I declare him my kin and call upon you to honor your oaths and cease your interference.
It is you who interfere, this is our place.
Our pact is binding, you will not keep me from him.
Your song is discordant. You will fail.
That is far from certain.
We eagerly await your replacement
And with that final jarring statement, the battle was over, and he was released from the overwhelming pressure that had come. Desperately gasping for air, Rhaegar felt blood trickling from his nose and ears and tasted the metallic liquid in his mouth. What had that child done to him, and what had he just been privy to? He felt a gentle hand being placed on his cheek and a clawed finger wiped away the blood from his nose. He heard yet another of the child's songs, yet this one was softer and helped chase the pain away. He opened his eyes to see a sad look on the singer's face.
"Apologies young prince, mortal men are not meant to comprehend the unfiltered true tongue, but I thought that you needed to hear that. The one who holds the answers you seek is not your friend."
"What happens now?" Rhaegar said after taking a few moments to steady himself.
"You must consume weirwood paste and lay amongst the roots of the heart tree," Root replied.
"Will it be as bad as listening to those voices?" Rhaegar asked cautiously. Root tilted her head in contemplation and took a few moments to respond.
"Nay, your mind will slip into the roots of the heart tree and will walk within its memory. Beware, only a true greenseer can control what they see. Those without the gift will be left adrift and at the mercy of those who do. You will see much young prince, do not lose yourself there."
With that warning, Root offered up the bowl of paste to Rhaegar. He studied it for a few moments, part of him was screaming at him to turn back now, to flee this place and never return. But he could not do that. He was Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, burdened by destiny. He would not turn back now that he was so close to his answers. Not allowing himself to dwell any further on those thoughts, he dipped his hand into the bowl and consumed the paste. He nearly gagged at the bitterness of the concoction, but the taste soon changed becoming sweet yet spicy, reminding him of some of the most delectable treats he had consumed in the past. He began to feel tired and felt himself being led to the base of the tree. As soon as he sat down, he was surrounded by darkness and silence. He wanted to call out, but no voice issued forth.
Without warning, he found himself on a battlefield. Two armies fought across a river that was quickly turning red with blood. He spied banners of House Targaryen and House Baratheon. He saw Robert Baratheon charging toward him like a demon of the seven hells screaming for blood.
Just as quickly as the scene had come, it changed. He saw a young woman who he somehow recognized as his sister walk into a flame and walk out with three dragons.
He saw a young boy falling from a tower and turning into a raven.
A dead king with the head of a wolf.
A girl without a face slaying an entire house.
A one-handed lion strangling its mate.
The visions grew more bizarre and came faster and faster passing before he could even make sense of them. Until finally one vision came into focus. A man stood at the head of an army as The Wall came tumbling down. His features were ever-changing, strait hair of silver gold shifted and changed to a dull brown then to dark curls. His eyes changed color from slate grey to brilliant sapphire blue and through all the shades of purple. He was of towering height then shorter than the average man. He was heavily muscled and powerful then lithe and agile. Even his companions were ever changing, a great black dragon, a massive white direwolf, a woman with hair kissed by fire, or a woman with golden hair. Throughout the ever-shifting nature of the vision, one thing remained the same. In his hand, he held Lightbringer, the sword that would banish the long night and summon the eternal summer. The vision ended as the prince raised his sword and bellowed the order for his army to charge, and once again he was floating in the void.
Panic once again began to rise when he found himself standing in the throne room, the imposter once again staring down at him from the monstrosity that his ancestor had created.
"So, you have come seeking answers." The shade of his father declared.
"Not from a man who would hide his true face. Show yourself." Rhaegar demanded. The man shifted forms and soon took on the form of a man the prince recognized as Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven.
"I tell you to show yourself and you take on the form of a dead man?" Rhaegar sneered.
"Dead? No, death has not yet found me. I live on to see my great work to completion." Bloodraven replied with a smirk.
"So, the rumors were true, you are some sort of unnatural sorcerer," Rhaegar replied with disdain.
"I have done what I had to, no more, no less," Bloodraven answered, his tone weary as if he had explained himself far too many times. Rhaegar considered the man, anger dimming as his desire for answers grew.
"What did I see before I was brought before you?"
"Possible futures. Things that may or may not come to pass. The future has grown increasingly more difficult to divine." Bloodraven explained dismissively.
"And yet I am still dreaming of things to come. You have some control over this place, are you responsible for my dreams as well?" Rhaegar questioned, remembering what the singer had told him.
"Yes, I have been the one guiding your gifts of foresight. You must be set upon the correct path. For the good of the realm, for the good of all mankind." Lord Brynden explained with conviction.
"You speak of guiding me, but all I have received is torment!" Rhaegar screamed in answer, his pent-up anger being unleashed.
"The world of dreams is not always easy to influence. I am limited in my tools, and I chose one that would spurn you to action. And now, here you are. Now we may talk freely." Bloodraven replied.
"So then talk, tell me why you trouble me so." The prince said impatiently.
"The Great Other is stirring, and his servants begin their inexorable march south bringing the long night once again. The realm has no more than three decades before they attempt to assail the wall. My servants and I are doing all that we can to delay their coming, but in time there will be nothing more for me to do and the dead will march on the land of the living."
Silence reigned as Rhaegar took in Lord Brynden's words. Aegon's dream was soon to be fulfilled. Rheagar without a doubt knew that this man who claimed to be his kin was speaking the truth. He knew it too in his very soul. This is what all his dreams, all the prophecies, everything had been leading to. He once thought that he was the prince that was promised, but of course, it could not be him. He would be a king and in his waning years by the time the enemy arrived. He knew that it would be his duty to raise the true savior of mankind. The coming of the prince could not wait another generation like he had hoped. Even as he grew more excited with the answer he had received; doubt began to claw at him.
"The dreams you have sent me insist that the prince must be born of a union between House Targaryen and House Stark. I know that according to Aegon's dream, the dragon must have three heads and that they will be born amidst salt and smoke. Tell me, where does the wolf play into all of this." Rhaegar questioned firmly.
"The hero of old who drove back the other was the first Stark. In their blood, they carry to power needed to throw back the great enemy, but it is not enough to end it. That is why they built the wall. They knew the enemy would return. But a union of Dragon and Direwolf, of fire and ice, blood of the kings of old and blood of new kings, would finally be enough to end the threat and usher forth a world without dark winters. There is but one Stark now that may bear such a hero." Bloodraven explained patiently.
Rhaegar's heart dropped into his stomach.
"There has to be another way. Lyanna is betrothed to Lord Baratheon. The chaos it would cause if I stepped between them would tear the realm apart." Rhaegar argued.
"I have seen no other way, and there is no more time. We cannot delay another generation. You would throw away our best hope for survival against the true enemy for fear of the petty squabbles it may cause? I thought you were made of sterner stuff my prince. Perhaps your father was right about you after all." Bloodraven taunted.
Rhaegar's anger burned, and he lunged at the one-eyed man hoping to strangle him. As soon as he made contact, however, only darkness and the cawing of a thousand crows greeted him. When the darkness cleared, he was standing at the base of a snowy hill topped by a wild grove of weirwood trees. Amongst the branches, he spied a massive three-eyed crow, its third eye full of malice. When it opened its dark serrated beak, Bloodraven's voice issued forth.
"Your time in this place has come to an end. In your hands rest the fate of all mankind. Throw away your honor and do what must be done. I believe a nightly reminder of your duty will keep you on the right path." The crow mocked, its voice full of malevolence.
"No!" Rhaegar cried before darkness once again enveloped him. He felt as if he were floating for an eternity left alone in silence, unable to cry for help, unable to move, alone with a terrible truth. After an age and an instant, he felt as if he was falling, with a sudden crash he opened his eyes and took in a blue sky empty of clouds.
"My Prince! You are awake!" Ser Arthur's voice cut through the remaining fog left over from his ordeal.
"What happened?" Rhaegar asked as he slowly sat up, realizing that he was once again in the boat.
"They brought you back and claimed that the trial had drained you. Are you well?"
"I am exhausted, but otherwise I am whole." The prince replied checking himself over.
"Did you find the answers you were looking for?" Ser Arthur asked, the worry still obvious in his voice.
"I found answers." Rhaegar answered, "But I am not sure they were the ones I was looking for."
The knight frowned but pressed the prince no further. Their return to the castle was made in silence and the sun was just beginning its final descent beyond the horizon as they made their way back into the castle. When the prince wearily approached his chambers, he saw Ser Darry standing vigil before the door.
"The princess is waiting to call upon you, your grace." The knight explained.
Rhaegar nodded and took a deep breath, attempting to banish the ill feelings and exhaustion he was experiencing. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a little girl running into his legs.
"Papa!" Little Rhaenys exclaimed.
"Hello, Little one." He smiled at his daughter but could not fully hide his distress.
"She refused to get ready for bed until she could properly greet you." His wife explained. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing that you should burden yourself with." He replied in a kind but tired tone. His wife was clearly not satisfied with the answer but did not press him.
Rhaegar was thankful for her prudence. How did one explain that the fate of the world rested on him bedding a maiden of five and ten? Could he even do it? Both his father's and Bloodraven's voices echoed in his mind mocking his weakness. He would not be remembered as a weak king, nor would he become a monster like his father or Lord Brynden. He was better than them, he would find a way.
After Elia had escorted his daughter away for bed, he prepared to get some much-needed rest. Unfortunately, The Crow once again tormented him with the consequences should he fail to bring forth the promised prince.
A/N And I am back. I kept running into a wall writing the aftermath of Robert's victory in the last chapter, so I decided to check back in with Rhaegar. I think it will also help the next chapter flow more smoothly. Anyway, if it wasn't clear, this chapter take place immediately after the end of chapter 26. I hope ya'll enjoyed the chapter. I think I have really locked in Rhaegar's personality and motivations which really helps solidify my future plans for him.