Rhaegal rose early to say goodbye to his father before he left. He dressed quickly and ran down to the yard.
His father was standing beside his horse, surrounded by the men making ready and Ser Harlon. He was in conversation with Ser Harlon about something — the road ahead, most likely.
"Father!" he called.
"Rhaegal! How is it you're awake so early?" Kael looked surprised.
"I came to say farewell." His father's face broke into a smile.
Then came the crunch of snow behind him. He was not alone — others were coming. At least three. He turned and saw that it was not three, but Aeghal and his dog, Howl, coming toward them.
Aeghal had found Howl wandering the streets of Dragonhome when he was nine, on their second journey to Winterfell. Rhaegal had always thought the name was odd, but it had grown on him in time. He could not deny that the dog was the most faithful creature he had ever known. Once, Aeghal had caught a fever that kept him bedridden for weeks. Maester Halmar had feared he might not pull through. Howl had not left his brother's side for a single moment. Aeghal would swear the dog was what kept him alive.
"Father. Brother," Aeghal greeted them.
"Come to pay your respects?" Rhaegal said with a grin.
"I have, dear brother." Aeghal shoved Rhaegal's shoulder the way they had been doing for years.
"Can't we ride with you, Father?" Rhaegal asked, turning serious.
"No. We need to cover a hundred and sixty miles without drawing attention," Kaelverion explained. "Neither of you is experienced enough, nor seasoned enough as fighters — not yet. One mistake and the Thief King will know we've learned about the traitors." Kaelverion laid one hand on Aeghal's shoulder and the other on Rhaegal's.
"Promise me you'll come back," Aeghal said, his voice sharp with feeling. His face was grim. Rhaegal hated seeing his younger brother like this — the boy who wasn't really so young any more.
"I promise." Their father pulled Aeghal close.
"How long will the road take?" Rhaegal asked.
"With the gods on our side, ten days at a hard pace." His father glanced up at the battlements, where guards lined the wall.
"My lord, all is ready. We await your command," the captain said.
Kaelverion nodded, and Ser Harlon swung up into the saddle. Kaelverion held Rhaegal once more, then mounted.
Father — I nearly forgot!" Rhaegal called after him. "Daelays wanted to come and say goodbye too." His father smiled at that, then spurred his horse. The great gates of Dragonhold began to open, and in a moment his father and the men had vanished behind them — and by the time Rhaegal had gathered his wits, the gates were shut again.")
Rhaegal looked out across the empty yard. Too quiet. The memories still tasted sweet. One moment they had been playing at knights in the yard with Aeghal and little Vaelric — the next, the world had turned upside down. For the first time in his life, he felt truly afraid.
"Something is wrong. He didn't tell us everything," his brother said.
I know. But it's not our business right now, little brother." Rhaegal knew the real reason for the journey, but his father had asked him not to tell the others — not even Aeghal. Rhaegal hated lying to his brother. They had shared everything since they were small. The memory of their greatest secret still frightened Rhaegal at night, and frightened his brother even more. That night in the forest, Aeghal's scream, the sound of the man's skin cracking. Rhaegal would wake from it sometimes, but always found something to blame — he did not want his brother to know. Aeghal had struggled for a long time to put that night behind him. He had no wish to bring it back."
The crunch of frozen gravel and the clatter of a sword-hilt against a scabbard sounded behind them. Ser Roderik's thick black beard had a fine crust of frost at its tips.
"Well then. Are you ready?" the knight said.
Aeghal rolled his eyes as he turned to face him. Rhaegal gave his brother a sharp look of warning, then said:
"Of course."
Rhaegal trained with his brother every morning from dawn until midday, after which Maester Halmar taught them the things a nobleman needs to know.
Rhaegal had always searched in history for what he could not find in the present. Aegon's conquest interested him not for the victory itself — but because Aegon had three dragons, Meraxes, Vhagar, and Balerion the Black Dread, and still nearly lost everything in Dorne. Robert's Rebellion interested him because a man betrayed by his own blood still managed to bring a dynasty to its knees. Halmar always told these stories as though they were long settled. Rhaegal never felt that they were.
The morning light came in through the castle's high towers like quick-moving birds. Tower shadows fell across the training yard. The sharp ring of hammers on hot blades sounded from the forge — the sign that Dragonhold's day had begun. The mist of Rhaegal's tired sighs drifted from his lips like moths as he worked.
"Again!" Ser Roderik called to them. "We're nowhere near done."
Rhaegal let out a breath and drove his sword into the training dummy with everything he had. Nearby, Aeghal was drawing a bowstring. Rhaegal was the better fighter of the two — but he could not deny that Aeghal's aim was extraordinary. He had beaten even Ser Harlon once, on a bet that whoever scored lowest at the targets would have to stand up and sing at the dinner table in front of everyone. Rhaegal did not think he had ever laughed so hard as he did that evening at the sound of Ser Harlon's terrible voice. Come to think of it, he could not recall a single dry eye in the hall.
"Again!" Rhaegal's arms were beginning to tire. They did not rise the way they had that morning.
"Draw!" one of the soldiers called to Aeghal as he practised at the targets.
Don't muscle it — feel it. You ought to know that by now. I've told you a thousand times, and so has Ser Harlon," Ser Roderik snapped. Rhaegal paid no attention. He could not get his father out of his head, or the real reason for the journey. He felt he ought to tell his brother — but he was afraid of how he would react. Aeghal was impulsive and headstrong, and it was not impossible that he would simply ride after them.")
Then the bells of Dragonhold's highest watchtower began to ring. He knew those bells well. Seven long strokes — the middle of the day. The sound rolled down from the tower across the town that had grown up around the castle, which had become over the centuries an important eastern trading post on the royal road.
That will do," Ser Roderik said, waving the soldiers who stood watch near the forge. They nodded and headed for the barracks, and two others came to take their place. The wind caught the Targaryen banners at their backs and lifted the three-headed red dragon.")
Rhaegal spent the whole evening turning over what Halmar had said to them — or rather, asked. The old man had been telling them about the Battle of the Trident: how the Targaryen dynasty had lost its hold on Westeros for good. Rhaegar Targaryen, Halmar had said, had marched north with forty thousand men to stop the rebels. They had the larger army, but the rebels were harder, more resolute, and above all more loyal. When Rhaegar and Robert finally met on the field, the swifter Rhaegar had managed to wound Robert Baratheon — but Robert struck back with a blow that drove through Rhaegar's breastplate and through his chest. They say that when Robert caved the armour in, the rubies and gemstones set into it in the shape of a dragon's head flew apart in all directions, scattering across the water. The soldiers on both sides surged after them like starving wolves after meat. Halmar always tried to sharpen their thinking with riddles — that was his intention, at least. Rhaegal had never found them particularly useful, but he had to admit that the old man's question would not leave him alone. It rang in his head all evening:
"Tell me, Rhaegal..." Halmar said quietly. "What matters more: killing the enemy's commander, or winning the battle?"
Rhaegal did not answer for a moment.
"If Rhaegar kills Robert... he wins."
Halmar gave a slow nod.
"And if he does not?"
Rhaegal said nothing.
"Have you ever seen an army fight without its commander?" the maester went on. "I have. They do not fall apart at once. They only... fight differently."
A short silence.
"Rhaegar put everything on a single point," Halmar said at last. "And when that point failed... there was nothing left to hold the battle together. Rhaegar fought a duel, not a battle. If the enemy believes a lie, does the truth matter? When Rhaegar's army saw the northern forces marching toward them, they faltered. Why?"
The question turned in Rhaegal's head all evening: If the enemy believes a lie, does the truth matter?
What made the southern army falter at the sight of the northern force? The question went around and around inside him, as if it had breath and life of its own, marching in circles, searching for an answer buried somewhere deep in the folds of his mind.
Rhaegal lay back on the bed in his quarters, clasped his hands and put them under his head. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what Rhaegar would have done, if he were here. Would he have allowed the Thief King to send raiding parties into the North? Would he have let innocent people die? Or would he simply have turned his back on all of it and run — just as he had done with Lyanna Stark, before he lost her?
He became aware, at some point, that he had fallen asleep. He could not be entirely certain — he found himself in a dark, snow-covered forest, and from that he concluded he must be dreaming. He knew this forest. The smells, the sounds — they all reminded him of the Wolfswood. They had come here often to scout or to hunt. He knew the trees almost by heart. And yet... this was different. Something dark surrounded him, darker than any dark. He felt this darkness rather than simply seeing it. He moved forward. Everything looked the same, he kept walking, and yet seemed to make no progress. He grew steadily colder. Nothing around him showed any sign of life. Only the bare, snow-blanketed forest in every direction, a veil of mist covering his feet.
The fear came on gradually. He felt something wrong watching him. He saw no one, heard no one — yet felt its breath at the back of his neck.
Then he heard a scream. A child's, though he could not tell whether it belonged to a boy or a girl. Rhaegal moved toward the sound, and as he drew nearer it grew louder. He walked at first, then quickened his pace, and eventually realised he was running. The sound kept growing, more powerful, closer. He did not know how long he had been running through the endless forest, but he felt no tiredness. He ran on, until the child's scream shifted all at once into a man's roar. He saw him. The man who had given him nightmares since he was small. They all began differently, but they all ended the same. The man's skin was cold and pale blue. His body creaked and cracked as he moved. Part of his jaw had rotted away — only the teeth remained, balanced on the decayed remnants of tissue. The flesh had been stripped from his left hand by worms. His right eye burned blue. Rhaegal ducked quickly behind a tree so the man would not see him. He was exactly as he had been every time before — hundreds of times before. He could hear the man's laboured, agonised breathing. A boy ran past Rhaegal. He heard the man's stiff body turning toward the sound and beginning to move.
"This is only a dream," he tried to tell himself.
Rhaegal put his head around the tree to look. The man turned toward him at that exact moment. Rhaegal ran in the direction the boy had gone. He glanced back and saw no sign of the man closing in — but he was not watching ahead, and suddenly found himself at the bottom of a deep pit among the trees. He had fallen hard, yet felt no pain. He looked up. Snow was drifting down through the dense mist. He saw the boy he had been chasing. The boy could not have been older than little Vaelric. His eyes were closed. Then figures appeared beside him. Two, then seven — then suddenly they were standing all around the rim of the pit. The boy was very familiar to Rhaegal.
"He looks almost like..."
Before he could finish, the boy crouched at the edge of the pit to look at Rhaegal more closely. Unlike the other figures, the boy's body was not frozen. His hair was white with some blue.
This was the most terrifying dream Rhaegal had ever had. He had never seen this pit before. The man had always come alone. The boy opened his eyes. They were blue, burning like coals in a forge. He felt as if eyes were piercing him from every direction at once.
"Rhaegal!" Ser Olly shouted.
Rhaegal was not sure what had happened, but his heart was still hammering wildly.