Rhaegar

The stairs were indeed right behind the opening, just as in Rhaegar's dream, their stone steps narrow, uneven, and treacherous, slick as though carpeted with damp, rotting leaves. As he and Arthur began their descent, it was not long ere Rhaegar felt as if the stairway stretched endlessly, like the refrain of some dreary song sung without end. Yet in each of his dreams, the stairs had led somewhere.

Sith the Rebellion, he had dreamed many dreams - and, as strange as it was bitter - those dreams seemed far more real than Rhaegar's whole life or that of his Seven Kingdoms combined. Rhaegar lived only to be awaiting the dreams.

One time, he had even dreamed of gods.

The first was a god with hair like golden spider's silk of web. He spoke no word, but in his hands rested a harp, and he played music upon it such as Rhaegar's ears had never known.

The god sat upon a stone by a stream, and near him, leaning over the water, was a goddess. She beckoned to Rhaegar with a graceful motion of her hand, and whenas he obeyed, she asked, "Whom do you seek? Dead ones?"

As Rhaegar nodded in silent assent, the woman offered a sorrowful smile, one that matched the melancholy dwelling in her eyes.

"There are not here," she said, her voice gentle yet heavy with certainty, "for death is a truth yet unguessed. Like the breath of wind, it may not be grasped within one's hand, like a doe its secret darts away from the hunter's step. What is death, and what is not? No mortal Man knows, for death bears no love for Men and shares none of its secrets. Behold!"

She gestures toward the waters of the stream, and Rhaegar, obedient to her bidding, gazed into them as though peering into a mirror. His hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, white as milk, but his eyes darkened like wood violets under the forest's shade.

"Yet all find their reflection in the mirror, save but one - and therein lies my hope," the goddess said. "For a day shall come when that which is good shall gaze into the mirror of evil, and the black sword in fire shall shatter the glass. Then shall the secret of Men and death be revealed."

Rhaegar looked upon her, bewildered, understanding nought of her words. Her face was grave, yet her grey eyes regarded him kindly, and the harp's melody wove on, unbroken...

This very same music Rhaegar heard now. Yet who did play now? Am I the one playing and she the one listening? Yet no... he thought he had never in his life listened to aught so beautiful, that there was nothing beyond this music, boundlessly sorrowful and boundlessly sweet. Its mournful sweetness filled his soul, every corner of it, dispelling the emptiness. There were no thoughts left, as if he had lost the ability to think. There was only the music, all through him, so beautiful, and Rhaegar willed do anything to find its source... He might not be the one playing, or might he?

Is Arthur hearing that as well? With difficulty, as though awakening, he became aware that the knight had halted upon the stairs and was gazing at him with alarm. They had both halted, it seemed, yet Rhaegar remembered not wherefore.

"What do you seek here, Rhaegar?" his friend asked quietly.

"The dead," he answered simply and absentmindedly. Those promised me by the one I keep seeing in dreams. Yet whom did he promise me? Whom did I desire? Not my wife... But who was my wife, and who was not? Who was my child, and who was not?

'What is death, and what is not?'

"The dead ought to remain dead," Arthur said, glancing uneasily down the stairs. "You ought to leave them their peace and take your own, holding fast to it, to live."

"Dead should stay dead, you say," Rhaegar mused. "Yet what of those who are dead while still living?"

Arthur answered not, nor did he move further. Therefor Rhaegar took the torch from his hand and strode ahead, going at the head now. The stairs, at last, had their end, that opened up before them into another cavern: taller, yet far smaller than the one they had traversed before. The same pale light they had glimpsed earlier illuminated the heavy, dense air within.

Atop one of the underground stones sat a huge bat, a beast of unfathomable for its kind size, blacker than the blackest night, unmoving, its equally black eyes fixed upon them, as though it wished to pierce their souls with its gaze like with daggers. Yet ah, that gaze!.. It was not the gaze of an animal, Rhaegar was sure. The moment he thought it, the bat, in the blink of an eye, ceased to be a bat, and stood before them as a man, his hair dark and his face fair and radiant as moon.

Arthur's grey eyes grew round as coins, and in an instant, his hand flew back to Dawn's hilt.

"Don't!" Rhaegar stopped him, smiling. "Wait!"

"My lord king!" The man bowed low, first to him, then to Arthur as well, casting upon the knight a smile both thin and wayward. A flickering light, like candle flames at play, danced within his keen black eyes. "It does you credit, ser Dayne, that you are so rathe to defend your king without delay. Yet overhasty zeal oft begets folly, and rashness has led many to ruin - bear that in mind. For I am but his servant and yours, and nought else but a friend."

Arthur stood mute, words failing him, yet the bat-man tarried not for a reply. Swift was he, and resolute, yet his movements remained light as down nonetheless. His gaze flitted promptly to Rhaegar.

"At thy summons am I come, o king!" He bowed again.

"I have thought it was you who called me here," Rhaegar said.

"Alas, my king, do you truly deem me so bold? I am but a humble sorcerer, a jester of children's tricks, master of paltry illusions. Surely not I, of all, would dare summon a king!" he spoke lightly, his eyes never straying from Rhaegar, nor his smile wavering.

"Paltry illusions?" Rhaegar asked warily. "In dreams, you did pledge me otherwise and seemed to ply a craft of greater import, lord sorcerer."

The man's smile widened a fraction.

"Did I so?" he replied with such indifference as though they spoke of some dish served at yesternight's feast. "And is not death itself but a paltry illusion? What is death, and what is not - have you taken thought, my lord?"

The same question, once more, Rhaegar's thoughts reeled, yet he answered sternly, as though he willed convince himself as well, "I know that Lyanna Stark is dead. I am certain of it. Arthur was by her side when she passed."

"Ah! Was he indeed?" The sorcerer's gaze slid towards the knight.

Arthur gave a curt nod, though reluctance furrowed his brow. Rhaegar noticed how his fingers twitched, restless, poised to grasp the hilt of his sword, and displeased that they could not. He trusts him not, Rhaegar thought, and unease stole upon him in turn. Should I, then? Too late. I have promised myself too much.

Slowly, with hesitance, he reached into his pouch. At once, the sorcerer's eyes gleamed like twin jewels. Curiosity burned in that gaze, and greed, and a peculiar, vast satisfaction.

All at once, Rhaegar felt how loath he was to part with the stone, as though yielding a thing dear to him, and ferlied. It is merely a stone, he told himself, yet then he recalled: It saved me at the Trident. His hand burned as he drew it forth.

"I swore I would bring you that which you did ask for, lord sorcerer," he declared lordly, offering him the stone. It was grey as ash, nought but unremarkable piece of rock. What might be so rare about it? "Now, it is your turn to keep your word."

Soorry again it took so long... I've edited this short part what seems thousands of times and still don't feel wholly satisfied with it, yet here it is, at last. Ty for reading! :) Next POV Beleg, then Nienor (I guess?)