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Walk Through The Fire

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276 AC

The ruins of Summerhall stood before Rhaegar Targaryen, his favorite site in all of Westeros. Alone with his thoughts, the prince would walk the blacken halls of his birth place, mesmerized by the stories told of Summerhall in his youth. Built by King Daeron II, the twelfth king to sit upon the Iron Throne, it was a place of relaxation from the trials of court for his family. He remembered hearing the tale of his birth. The tragedy that befell the castle while he came into the world. The death of kings and the birth of a prince. Rhaegar felt a connection to the ruins. Touching the walls, the black soot that painted his hand still remained, even after seventeen years.

These lands knew his songs. His harp, a constant companion when he traveled to Summerhall. The silver strings of the instrument shared in his heartache with the music they created together. He had come to Summerhall these past few years, singing under the moon and stars when he was not with his books by the sun or candlelight, or these past few years, building his skills with the sword. He had heard the whispers from servants of how his mother must have swallowed books and candles whilst he was in her womb. He did not even mind the whispers of knights, who jest and called him Baelor the Blessed reborn. He was more a scholar than a warrior, but that did change during his studies one day.

That day he marched up to Ser William Darry, the master-at-arms, in the yard as the knights were donning their steel, and told him he required a sword for it seem he must be a warrior. The field was silent. Rhaegar could tell no one was expecting this. Yet, no one questioned his decision at that moment, as he was equipped, and his training began that day. He was the Prince that was Promised, and he had to be prepared for when the realm needed him.


Rhaegar continued to sing in the ruins until his arms could no longer hold the harp and his eyes grew heavy with sleep.


Screams surrounded him, with the clanking of steel. He wore black armor, covered in rubies, while standing in the middle of a deep stream. In front of him, stood a stag. The antlers of the beast were towering, as if they could touch the sky, shadowing over Rhaegar. The stag rose from the ground, armed to fight from beast to man.

“You will pay, dragonspawn!” The creature shouted as it began to charge. Rhaegar readied himself for the fight, as the stream turned red around him.

The scene changed.


Was it snowing? No, Rhaegar realized as he reached out his hand. Petals. Petals from the blue roses. The further Rhaegar traveled, the harder the petals fell. It became difficult to see, as Rhaegar saw a figure through the winter roses. The ground shook as Rhaegar stepped closer to the figure. Three gigantic shadows appeared behind the figure. Their roars deafened Rhaegar, as his world turned black.

Again, Rhaegar’s dream changed.


He knew where he was immediately. In front of him stood Summerhall, but it was not the burnt ruin that he had come to know. This castle was magnificent, standing tall among the mountains behind it. The lake glisten, like diamonds, as the sun’s rays hit the water. Rhaegar was greeted with chanting of Valyrian. He made his way to the great hall, the room filled with people. His eyes went straight to the man in the center of the room, with shoulder-length hair that shone bright like gold. The slender man, Rhaegar recognized was Aegon V Targaryen. The king of Westeros when Summerhall burned. The man next to him had to be his son, Duncan Targaryen. The tallest of the group then was Duncan the Tall, the commander of the King’s Guard. They surrounded a fire. Something was in the middle, Rhaegar noticed. The fire seemed to get bigger, as the chanting grew louder. The flames spread up the walls, chants turning into screams. Aegon looked at Rhaegar through the flames.

“Find them,” he said. The ground below Rhaegar cracked. He fell through the earth, landing on his back. Rhaegar felt the ground vibrate below.


Everything turned to black.


Screams woke Rhaegar from his sleep, the sound of clanking steel ringing in his ears while the dreams faded. His heavy panting filled the silence in the field. While his breathing calmed, Rhaegar stared out at the rising sun. The vividness of the dream; the sound of war, the smell of the roses, and the feeling of the flame beneath his hand were almost life like. His camp fire was beginning to die down. Poking at the flame, he placed another log on it. Summerhall loomed over him. Thinking back, Rhaegar remembered the words Aegon spoke to him. Find them. Find who?

“Are you hiding something?” Rhaegar asked the ruins. He had to know what secrets were calling out to him from his dreams. Rhaegar grabbed a branch, lighting it with the fire. He headed toward the castle and followed the path from his dreams.


Rhaegar searched through the burnt rooms; touching and banging on the walls and the floors. There had to be something here, Rhaegar thought. He traveled into the great hall, making his way to the center of the room. Sunlight peeked into room and Rhaegar stepped gently inside. The floor creaked below his feet. From the stories Rhaegar was told of that night, Aegon was trying to hatch dragons from the eggs he had. Rhaegar continued to stare down at the floor. Did he place them in the flames? The age of live dragons was over, almost extinct until the Dance of the Dragons. To be able to ride a dragon was something Rhaegar would never be able to do. His foot slammed on the floor, in a bout of rage. The Targaryen line almost ended by its own hands! The foot slammed again into the ground. A creak turned into a crack.

The fall was instantaneous. The impact was sudden, and Rhaegar tried to reclaim his breath, as he laid upon bedrock. Something wet and cold landed on Rhaegar’s forehead, prompting him to slowly lift himself up. He had to paused at what lay before him.


The cave was wide and stalactites hung above him. Basins of water laid through the cave. Rhaegar noticed that the pools were of different depths as he explored. Some puddles, others so deep, Rhaegar could not see the bottom.


A sparkle caught Rhaegar’s eye at the bottom of one of the pools. He saw three specks, each a different colors. Undressing swiftly, Rhaegar dived into the water. He pulled himself deeper into the water, pushing with each stroke. Hands reaching towards the specks, Rhaegar gripped them, and pushed himself to the surface. Gasping for breath, the dragon prince pulled himself out of the pool, gripping his prize. Reaching the shore, Rhaegar looked down at them and was shocked at what his eyes saw. He must be losing his mind. In his arms were three dragon eggs. Magnificent beasts that kept his family in power for hundreds of years. It seemed that time had hardened them into stone. Yet, they would be a symbol for his family. Three eggs, three different looks. One was a white egg, silver streams laid through the ancient egg. The second red with copper markings spread throughout. The last dragon egg was a deep cobalt, with gold marking flowing deep. Rhaegar kept them close and looked for an exit back to the top.


Rhaegar sat close to the flame, drying off from his adventure. The eggs were placed in front of him. He could only stare at them in awe. The realization of what he had found was still stumbling around in his mind. Was this a sign of who he was meant to be? Should he show his family what he had found? This could be a sign of good fortune to come, but Rhaegar hesitated. His father had slowly been swirling into madness, cutting everybody off from him. No, he would keep this to himself. While he was fascinated with the creatures, maybe he did not know everything about them. He should head back to King’s Landing. When the time was right, he would show the eggs to everyone.

Some time later, a voice shouted for the dragon prince. “My prince!” The voice called again. Rhaegar turned from where he was packing his supplies to his horse, tightening the last strap. The eggs laid tucked in his bag, bundled in his clothes. He turned to see a kings guard racing towards him. The closer the man was to reaching him, Rhaegar recognized the knight to be Ser Jonothor Darry atop his dark stead. The Kingsguard stopped his horse feet from his prince.


“What is it, Ser?” Rhaegar asked the knight.


“Your mother, my prince. She has given birth. It is a boy! They named him Viserys. You have been ordered home by the king.” He announced to Rhaegar.


The prince nodded, lifting himself onto his horse. “Then we need to head home, so I may meet my little brother.”


They left to begin their journey back to King’s Landing.